AN: Enjoy the update!
This chapter contains mature themes.
It's dizzying, coming back down from the heat of it all; there's several seconds of panting breaths and sweat slicked kisses being pressed against her lips before it silently occurs to both of them that there's no need to be joined anymore.
It's very hard not to look at him as he rolls off her, his entire being still rocking with tremors as he wobbles over to her garbage, cleans himself up and disregards the condom. It's not just that she's never seen him naked before, it's that she's never seen him like this—never seen him completely out of breath, never seen his muscles inflated with testosterone and tendons popping along his arms and legs. She's never seen the crimson of his ears extend so far, never seen that telling red trail down his cheeks and drip off his chin, splattering patterns below his clavicle and into the hollow of his chest that she sometimes wishes she could occupy—
She catches herself staring again and, feeling sheepish, busies herself with removing the corsage on her wrist and promptly hiding beneath the covers; it's still sweltering in her bedroom, a combination of the heat of the moment and of Wally's unnatural warmth, and despite that fact that she can still feel her sweat pooling in the small of her back and rubbing against the sheets she does the cowardly thing and hides from him. It's just hitting her (all as she sees him out of the corner of her eye, palms pressing against his face for a moment before he runs both his hands through his hair, mouth quirked in happiness and length still stiff between his legs) what they've just done, how stupid she must have looked and sounded while it happened, and suddenly it feels safer to hide under the only layer of cotton she can reach.
Wally turns to her just as she settles against the pillows, face still set in that goofy smile and unbothered by his own body in the way she is; she can see his chest stuttering again, moving bumpily and stretching the scar over his heart a bit too tightly. She doesn't know why but the memory stirs something, something a little desperate and dangerous like the Metropolis girl used to be, and before she's thinking about it she feels her wary gaze soften.
"Come here." She tells him, sliding over and gesturing to the empty space beside her.
He doesn't need telling twice, but almost unusually he doesn't speed towards her—instead his grin grows more serious, more tender, his chin dropping to survey her as he walks in deliberately measured steps towards her. "That was…" He starts, trailing off when he reaches the edge of the bed, bending slightly to retrieve his underwear from the floor.
Amazing.
Spectacular.
Incredible.
Phenomenal.
Unbelievable.
Something she wants to do again and again, right now, please—
"I know." She tells him, even though as usual she doesn't. She wonders why she always feels the need to stop him before he finishes the endings of these unknown sentences, as if she's afraid that whatever comes next will change something between them or change how she thinks she's supposed to feel.
As he clambers into his boxers she wonders instead if there's a polite way to stop him from putting on his clothes, wonders if there's a way that doesn't sound pathetic to ask him to remain naked, to indulge her curiosity at his body… She can't figure out what to say and has to settle for watching him yank the fabric up his thighs, reminding herself that there will be other times. Or at least, she hopes there will be.
Wally seems to notice her gaze, brows raising at the slight wrinkle that appears over her nose as he pulls his waistband above his hips. "What?" He asks dumbly, one hand splaying on his stomach as he glances down to where he's still straining against his boxers.
As if she isn't hot enough her cheeks go off, blushing red as she glances up at the ceiling. "Nothing." She hesitates, hating herself. "… I've just never seen you—you know. Naked."
When she gets the courage to glance at him he's grinning wildly again, looking excited at how uncomfortable she is. "You've never seen me naked?" He snorts at her, repeating her words in a slightly mocking voice. "So, what, the last twenty minutes don't count?" He chuckles, and in the most Wally-ish manner she can think of he throws himself across her, half squishing her as he rolls onto his side of her bed. "We couldn't have exactly done that if I was wearing clothes, you know that, right?"
"Shut up." She sneers, one foot stretching out underneath the blanket and kicking him. "You know what I'm trying to say. It's different, in the moment. I mean—how often are you, are we, together—without, uh…"
She flounders slightly before she trails off, blushing hard again before she looks away from his cocky grin, yanking the blanket more tightly against her chest. Wally's blush, for its part, is quickly receding back to where it belongs the longer she's acting so stupid, only the tops of his cheeks remaining colored beyond his ears. "… Artemis Crock, are you trying to tell me that you think I'm hot?"
"No!" She bursts out, and it's the absolute worst lie she's ever told, with both of them lying hardly dressed and her body still pounding from the impact of his. Trying her best to look angry she hears herself snarling over his snorting laughter. "God, no, that's not what I'm trying to say—I mean—"
Wally ignores her rambling and leans in to try to plant a rather wet kiss on her cheek, not looking bothered when her palm catches him about the lips and forces him, head first, back into the pillows. "Yeah, yeah. Heaven forbid you're attracted to your own boyfriend." He chuckles when she pulls her hand away angrily before he gets settled onto his back, hands folding behind his head and eyes closing leisurely, looking incredibly content despite her seething. "Whatever, Babe. You can look all you want, I don't mind."
She catches herself glaring at him and immediately forces herself to stop, tearing her eyes from the smugness of his expressing to scowl at the ceiling instead. She doesn't know why she's acting like this, so rattled, undone—after all, it had been her idea to do it, her idea from the moment she realized she loved him and wanted some way to show him her feelings rather than say them out loud.
(Would it have been easier just to say it, she wonders, mouth opening automatically as if to test it. When all that happens is a slight clearing of her throat and a twisting in her stomach she decides she might have made the right choice after all.)
She just didn't expect to feel… like this. She's heard Zatanna talk about sex before—heard her describe the sensation of being pressed between the leather seats of a Cadillac and the muscles of a senior boy at her private school, remembers descriptions of moaning and sweat in between lewd details of things she didn't really want to hear in the first place. And yet she doesn't feel at all like how Zatanna described—she doesn't feel… detached from the moment. It doesn't feel like a conquest, another tally to scratch into the underside of her bed frame. It feels so much more… Real. Defined, as if it changes her in some way, maybe for the better.
She keeps expecting it to scare her, this feeling of… Easiness. She keeps expecting the girl from Metropolis to emerge from wherever she's run off to, expecting the other girl to be angry and frightened and lashing out against the bars of her cage, keeps expecting her temper to flare up around the spark of her insecurities and attack at Wally; and yet that angry part inside of her stays burrowed, the flames staunched. The feeling of him lying beside her, humming half with his own self-satisfaction and with the aftermath of so many overwhelming sensations… It feels exactly like when he had held her hand in Bialya, like the first time he hugged her (only a few feet from where they're laying now) and their seams had perfectly aligned to form something bigger than the two of them—
(And she's never believed in soul mates, never trusted the idea that someone could love another person so much that not even death could keep them apart, that they habitually come back to each other lifetime after lifetime— but isn't that what her and Wally do? They come back to each other?)
And maybe that's a little scary, if she stops to think on it, but for once in her life she doesn't allow herself to dwell on the thought; she feels her mattress creaking as she rolls towards him, still holding the blanket tightly to her breasts as she takes him up on the offer to look at him.
He's cooled down now, feverish skin no longer blotched and ears no longer crimson; his breathing has levelled out too, chest huffing out in an even pattern that's so slow that she's sure he's relaxed, on the edge of slipping off to sleep. It's strange, she'd been expecting him to want to talk about things, want to analyze like he always does—she isn't expecting the quiet that he's immersing them in, nor the satisfied smile hardly quirking around his lips. She wants to say something, anything, to break the silence, and once again she finds that her body is being led by her mouth; in the absence of words she reaches out for him, fingers brushing along his forehead and pushing his fringe off his face.
Almost the second she touches him Wally's eyes flicker open, looking slightly clouded as she runs her fingers through his hair; after a moment or two his amber lashes blink, head turning towards her and unconsciously pressing into her palm as she rearranges the permanently mused pieces at the crown of his head. "… You are, you know." She says quietly.
Wally blinks again, looking politely bemused as her fingers run down the side of his face, pressing the beginnings of stubble around his jaw back into his freckled skin. "What?"
She can feels herself blushing and quickly drops the intensity of his eyes, instead following the map of freckles she'd traced months ago into his skin—already there's unfamiliar ones erupting along the sunburnt bridge of his nose, fresh and unexpected with their newness. "Attractive." She says softly, thumb skimming the line of his jaw down to his chin, hardly brushing his lips before she loses her nerve and rounds back to his cheek bones. "… I don't think I've ever told you that before."
"Hm." Wally hums in the back of his throat as she follows the indentations of his bones back to his mouth, her thumb hesitating before tracing the bow shaped figure of his upper lip. She decides to take it as a good sign when Wally's eyes grow clouded before drifting shut, the rest of him remaining still beneath her fingers.
"I think it, a lot." She continues, fingers pausing at the dip in the center of his chin and dropping off his jaw, nail catching on the sharp curve of his jugular. "All the time, actually. Even before we got together—" She can feel herself trying too hard to be romantic, too hard to be kind to him, and suddenly her voice catches and she's forced to clear her throat, glancing up at him nervously as she traces the jutting bone of his clavicle. His eyes are open again, apple green and hazel flecked, impossible to ignore once she realizes he's staring at her."… The first time I saw you, actually, even though you were yelling at me."
"I wasn't yelling." Wally hums out, voice slightly hazy and telling her that he's enjoying what she's doing, getting lost in the feeling of her fingers mapping out the freckles of his chest until they pause, her brows raising as she looks at him. A distant memory seems to sound between them ("Who are you?" He had snarled, arms thrown wide in a boyish sense of abandon) and at once he quails slightly, back arching and prompting her to resume her tracings. "Alright, there was some yelling."
Her palm splays flat in the center of his chest, forefinger tracing indentations of muscle and nipple and newly blossoming wisps of ginger hair that are less man and more light, enjoying the way his breath seems to catch and another hum gets stuck in the back of his throat as she does so. Even though she sees the scar from the bullet in Metropolis she's not brave enough to touch it, a part of her still afraid that disturbing it will somehow send precious life running out of him again. "It doesn't matter." She says quietly, finding that she's telling the truth; it doesn't, not really—not when her fingers are feeling the uneven bumps of his abdomen, not when she can see the muscles of his bicep twitch from where they're still folded behind his head. It's hard to believe anything in the world matters in this moment, other than the two of them lying so close together. "The point is that—"
She hears her voice cut off as her little finger catches on the v-shaped line below his belly button, and without thinking she follows the indentation of the muscle until her fingers are brushing cotton; she hears herself suck in the breath when she reaches the stiff point between his legs, realizing that he's already hard for her again.
Oh. Fast Metabolism.
And she doesn't know why she pulls back, doesn't know why after touching him, after his being inside her, why she's hesitating the way she is; all she knows is that she nervously twitches her hand away from where he's straining at his boxers. This kind of thing is still a little strange for her, feeling herself being flooded with excited heat that she knows she'll probably always be a little clumsy with acting on; blushing, her thumb finds the other side of his v-shaped lines and traces back up to his hip before she pulls away. "The point is that you're really…" She pauses, embarrassed and not knowing what to say. "… You're really hard not to want, Wally." She tells him, settling back into her pillows and wishing she hadn't starting talking in the first place.
Wally holds her gaze for a long second, the shadows behind his eyes so intense that she feels as if she could drown in them all together. "… Well, what about you?" He asks her, voice low and ragged as he rolls towards her, propping himself up on his elbow. "Have you ever thought about how—"
His own voice breaks, and she's a little relieved that she's not the only one embarrassed by all this talking of feelings, by all the emotions and hormones their being together is stirring up. Absently she extends her hands above her head, pushing her loose hair off her face and into the plush of the pillow, yanking a little harder than she should as if reminding herself to focus, don't be an idiot—
His eyes follow her hands, swallowing quickly and glancing down to where her breasts stretch with the movement of her arms, hidden only by the loose fabric of the blanket. Somehow, in the second or two of silence, he figures out what he wants to say. "Have you ever thought about how much you make me want you? Without even thinking? Like—like the first time I saw you—"
"I don't think that counts for you.." She hears herself say teasingly, trying to break the seriousness of his expression and dispel the furrowing of his brows. "I was wearing a mask, remember?"
To his credit Wally allows his mouth to quirk upwards. "Hate to break it to you Babe, but your uniform doesn't exactly leave a lot to the imagination." He says, hardly teasing before he slips back into the intensity of before and his smile fades into something much older, more serious. "I'm not talking about that, anyway. Do you… Do you remember that night in the kitchen?"
"There have been lots of nights in the kitchen, Wally."
This time he doesn't indulge her teasing at all, mouth leveling out as he tries to recall the memory. "It was right after you joined the Team. It must have been midnight or so, and I woke up really hungry… I don't know what you were doing, reading a book or something, just sitting around the island in the kitchen like you belonged there. It was the first time I saw you without a mask on."
It takes her a second but she remembers: remembers debating with herself about whether or not to hide, whether to let him see her, remembers how angry she had been when he had acted like it didn't mean anything. "Oh." She says stupidly, blinking.
"Yeah." He says almost distantly, one hand reaching out to tuck a stray piece of her hair back into the mass collecting static on the pillow. "I don't know why that stuck with me—I mean, I knew you had to be beautiful. Hard not to be, with eyes and lips like those." He adds, glancing down to her mouth automatically as his hand strays to cup her chin. "But I just remember, that first time I saw you, I mean, really saw you… I kinda knew I was in trouble, whatever I told myself otherwise."
She hears herself snort. "Of course."
"You know what I mean." He scoffs back, hand pushing more hair back along the groove of her scalp. "I just—"
He cuts himself off as she shifts against the bed in a poor effort to try to tempt his hand into fiddling with her hair; almost too slowly the top of the blanket slips off her breasts, and suddenly there's a half second where his ears turn maroon again and his throat bobs excitedly, and it seems to takes a lot of effort to force his eyes back to hers. "… You're pretty hard not to want yourself, Blondie."
She feels her cheeks redden as his eyes lock relentlessly on hers, something deep inside her stomach beginning to twist and tighten in response; almost dazedly she's aware of his palm trailing down her neck, less carefully than she had traced him, fingers dipping below her collar bone and brushing against the curves of her breasts. "Wally?" She hears herself whisper.
He doesn't respond except to glance at her for a half second, fingers following the curve beneath her right breast and lingering along her ribs, tongue reaching out to moisten his lips as he gently peels the blanket off her skin; it's very hard to stay still, her hands still above her head and frozen in the ends of her hair as he drags the blanket down below her thighs. He's still hard for her, length now straining almost painfully against his boxers.
"You're so beautiful, Artemis." He whispers, and before he can do much more than press a thumb to the curve of her hip she's reaching for him, palm clapping at the back of his neck and pulling his lips to hers.
Wally groans into her mouth, hips digging into her thighs as he rolls on top of her; all too quickly she pulls him back by the scruff of his neck, nails digging into his hair. "Do you want to—again?" She pants out, trying not to sound too desperate.
She has enough time to see him nod frantically before his lips are back on hers, the hand twitching towards the slippery point between her legs.
It takes a while for real quiet to find them; even in the silence she can still hear the echoing sound of both their moans against her ears, can hear the lingering whispers of Wally's lips against her neck asking the tentative question of whether or not it was good. Most of all she hears her answer, the obnoxious snort she had let out while still out of breath, body humming from her third orgasm.
"What do you think, Wallman?" She laughed, the sweat on her skin practically making her stick to him.
Finally the quiet comes. And with it, her thoughts.
One of Wally's legs kicks out, the edge of his toenails catching her foot and doing little more than telling her that's he's starting to fall asleep; after the second time he had been too tired to bother redressing, but she's sure that should she want to wake him up all she would have to do was reach for his nakedness beneath the sheets. But she doesn't want to wake him, not really, not when her heart is so anxiously pounding inside her chest despite neither of them having moved in so long.
She can't escape it now, can't avoid it any longer.
She's in love with this boy.
And even though she knows she can't outrun this feeling, can't shove it aside like she knows it's safest to do she still catches herself trying, still sees her old tricks in the way she rolls until her back is facing him, figure coiled like a frightened child around her sheets. Still, her mouth is pushing her to say something, anything, to sooth her racing heart, and before she can even consider the fact that he's almost asleep she hears herself speaking.
"Wally?"
There's another jerk, this time his arm flying out to smash too hard against her back; it takes him several seconds to realize that he's still in her bed, the palm slapped between her shoulder blades slacking and pressing soothingly into her spine. "Yeah?" He croaks out, voice clogged with exhaustion.
She hesitates, wondering what to say, and spews out an answer that isn't quite right. "… Don't ruin this, okay?"
The hand on her back pulls back for a moment, and instantly she can sense him waking up, can sense the way the air changes around him and how his silence grows more pointed. "... How could I ruin this?" He whispers more clearly this time, and she can feel the mattress creak as he shifts closer to her, propping himself up on an elbow to better look at her.
She ignores his eyes on her face and feels herself scrunch more surely into a ball, her blankets creasing around her naked body. "… Don't tell me you love me, or something stupid like that." She says warningly before she turns her face to hide in her pillow. It's just as much a reminder to him as it is to her.
There's several beats of stunned silence before she feels the bed shifting again; she's almost expecting him to get up and leave, and therefore flinches when she feels an arm wedging between her and the mattress, dragging her until she's flush against his chest. "… Okay." He says into her hair, head ducking to press a kiss into the back of her neck, along the clean line where the warbled skin of her scar used to sit. "I won't say it."
And there's something so assuring in his settling around her that his lack of confession may as well be one altogether; rather than slow her rapidly beating heart she can hear it nearly double in speed, so loud in her ears that she's sure he can hear it too. "Good." She says quietly, voice oddly high pitched. "… Because I don't love you."
She's getting worse at lying.
Wally hums in to her hair, already drifting back to sleep and not paying attention to her anymore, arms still tight around her. "Sure."
She jerks awake when she hears the sound of her bedroom door being opened the next morning, all at once remembering her lack of clothing; suddenly she's a mess of wild tangled hair and creased sheets, scrambling until her blanket is ripped up above her shoulders in a rumpled mess and leaving everything below her ankles exposed.
"Morning, Beautiful." She hears Wally chuckle, and she feels almost every muscle in her body relax at the sound of his snorting laughter, one of her hands reaching from underneath her blanks to push the hair off her face; when she finally emerges from the thick and tangled blonde curtains she sees him fully dressed and grinning, arms laden with the most ridiculous thing she can imagine: a syrup soaked stack of pancakes.
"… You made breakfast?" She asks almost disbelievingly, her throat cracking with exhaustion as he clicks the door properly shut behind him, struggling to keep a hold on the plate and the carton of orange juice he's got pinched in the crook of his elbow.
Wally's foot hesitates almost unnoticeably as he starts walking towards her, head jerking to the side in what she can only assume is supposed to be a shrug. "Technically, Megs made these." He says easily, grinning at her. "But I was the one who woke up, starving after such a long night of—uh." He pauses again, sitting on the edge of her bed with his ears reddening, balancing the plate on his thighs and putting the juice carton precariously on the edge of her desk. "And I was the one who woke up at six in the morning, looking for food. And I was the one who brought them to you, in bed. So technically, I'm the one who made the whole breakfast in bed thing possible—"
"It's six in the morning?" She barks out, not paying attention to anything else he's saying, immediately letting out an exhausted sounding groan and yanking the covers above her head. "You're crazy, I'm going back to bed—"
She gets less than a second of peace before Wally's tugging her head free of her blankets, still grinning at her as if he couldn't be more delighted by her grumpiness. "Don't be stupid, that was hours ago. It's almost eleven now."
"You let me sleep for nearly twelve hours?"
"Missing the point, Babe." Wally chuckles, beginning to sound impatient as he gestures to the stack of pancakes with his brows waggling. "Breakfast in bed, remember?"
She hears herself grumbling and promptly stops when she notices that Wally's listening intently to the annoyed words she's muttering under her breath, as if he's memorizing the incomprehensible sounds she's barely letting escape the back of her throat—she can practically hear his brain whirring, filing away the fact that she's short tempered in the mornings to save for future reference. Rather than indulge him any further she sits up, carefully keeping her blanket pinned underneath her arms to covers herself.
"Thanks for breakfast, Baywatch." She tries to say kindly, realizing too late that she sounds sarcastic rather than grateful and forcing herself to smile at him as he starts sawing away at the pile of food with a fork and knife, almost spilling syrup on his jeans. "… Seriously. But you know I can't eat all this, right?"
Wally manages to spear several pieces of pancake on the end of the fork, waving it front of her face and ignoring the look she sends him when he splatters a few drops of syrup on her pillowcase. "You're forgetting who you're dining with, Beautiful. Open up."
It's probably the most disgustingly cute she's ever felt as she rolls her eyes and opens her mouth, allowing him to place an excessive amount of pancakes and syrup onto her tongue. Despite her glaring Wally looks quite happy, borderline thrilled; chewing loudly and forcing herself to swallow painfully she raises a brow at him, watching as he spears double the amount on the end of the fork for himself. "You're acting weird." She tells him, mouth quirking as he starts shoveling food into his mouth, syrup dribbling onto his chin. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Sure did." He says through a mouthful, thumb reaching up to wipe stickiness from his face. "… You let me stay last night. We've never done that before."
It takes her a second to realize what he's talking about—vividly she remembers rolling to find him in the middle of the night, remembers seeking his warmth out when he was hogging the blankets, and she realizes that last night was the first time her and Wally slept together, in more ways than one.
"Oh." She says dumbly, and Wally takes advantage of her open mouth and pushes more pancakes past her lips.
That afternoon is the first almost painfully hot afternoon of the year, and after their sweat soaked skin of the previous night cools neither of them can resist the beach, nor can anyone else in the Cave; by the time her and Wally resurface from her bedroom nearly everyone is outside, either swimming or lounging in the warm beams of sunlight reflecting off the water, conversation easy and laughter sounding too loud after months of tense silence.
To his credit, Wally lasts about five hours without mentioning Prom again; the days are getting longer now, a few hardly there wisps of evening clouds doing little to dampen their view of the sun disappearing into the horizon, coloring their Sunday sky with the promise of school tomorrow. The ocean water feels warm on their feet as they're walking along the shore line, shoes discarded on the beach and hands uncharacteristically clasped when he suddenly stills, forcing her to stop too.
"You never really gave me an answer." He tells her, voice slightly lowered so as to not attract the attention of M'gann and Zatanna, seated only a few yards away and lounging, bikini clad, in what's left of the fading sun. "About Prom?"
She feels her nose wrinkle slightly. "I thought no was an answer." She teases.
The corners of Wally's mouth quirks up, but it does little to change the fact that he's being serious. "That doesn't count. That was before… You know." He pulls her round to face him, his other hand finding hers and weaving their sweat soaked fingers together."Come on. You know you want to—"
"Wally—"
"I'm serious!" He cuts her off, seeing she's about to divert his attention with more teasing. "I want you there, Artemis. Please? If you don't give me a straight answer soon, I swear, I'm going to actually propose to you on this beach in front of everyone—"
"God!" She bursts out, cheeks setting off again when he makes a movement to get down on one knee, her hands leaving his to yank him firmly upwards by the shoulders. "Fine! I'll go to prom with you—"
Before she can even finish saying yes his mouth is on hers, cutting off her annoyed words with a wet kiss before he pulls back, grinning; for some reason she can feel herself smiling back, even if she is embarrassed when she hears Zatanna's jeering from the shore.
She feels herself submerging, settling into life for the first time; with Wally by her side she feels a sense of stability she hasn't felt since she was a child, when both her parents were walking on their own two feet and only bickering quietly in the kitchen. It occurs to her that she's finally feeling comfortable in her own skin, as if her muscles are unwinding and her bones are softening the longer Wally holds her; the girl from Metropolis remains silent, and where she would once whisper to her in darkened evenings there's now nothing, as if she's as wary of Wally and his warmth as she is eager to protect him.
(They've been together another four times now, twice more in her bedroom and once in his. Each time they finish she lies beside him under the covers and wonders why she ever fought this, what force in the universe she thought more powerful or consuming than the hazy way Wally stares at her in the half light, fingers reaching unconsciously for her pulse, to feel the impact of their being together thrumming against her skin...
The first night they spend apart after, in their own homes and in their own beds feels so strange to her, so lonely without him beside her. The next day he kisses her and it hits her harder than it always does: his smell, his taste, the overwhelming way he seems to invade her mouth and her thoughts and her heart. They don't stop to talk before, and he lets out a strangled moan when she clambers on top of him, her hips against his so ragged yet so soft and wanting that suddenly it feels as if it's their first time together all over again; and it's easier now more than ever to let him in—easier to sink her teeth into the swell of his shoulder as he gasps into her hair, hand tightening on her hip and trying to hold her closer for a second, just a few more seconds—)
She doesn't tell him that she loves him—although she suspects one day soon she will, when the words stop frightening her as much as they do. But she supposes there's something in the way he holds her after, in the way she wakes up on their nights together to find herself huddled in the crook of his arm, the way he kisses her awake before he sneaks out of her bedroom in the morning, that seems tells him what he needs to know.
The two of them have never really had a way with words, anyway.
Things are quiet around the Cave—With Tula and Garth gone she's spared the endless circles her and the other girl seemed to spin themselves into trying to recall absent details from Metropolis, from the long forgotten squid. She is secretly relieved when she's forced to pass their research along to the Justice League, and she isn't bitter to leave behind the stuffiness of their darkened conference room and the strange nightmares all this thinking and spinning always gave her.
And perhaps it is out of character, her being this happy; it certainly feels like it is, when her cheeks ache from smiling and her stomach is twanging from laughing so much at the little jokes that pass between her and Wally. Sometimes she'll catch her reflection on window panes or in the mirrors in the bathroom, and for a moment she'll try to find the girl she used to be— try to force herself back into her brooding, back into the melancholy girl with the steely grey eyes, the hurricane of a person who had joined the Team in August with too-sharp arrows and rough edges to her skin. Wherever that other girl is, she isn't staring back at her.
For the first time in her life everything is perfect. Except—
Wally jumps and lets out several loud snores, arm bursting out violently and catching her pony tail; predictably she jerks awake as his fingers knot into her hair, yanking her head back and forcing her out of the warmth of his chest that she's been sleeping in. Before her eyes are even finished snapping open he's rolling on top of her, sending her mattress quaking as he attempts to flatten her in his sleep, knees knocking painfully against hers and hand yanking the ends of her hair up to his face. She winces in pain as he lets out an exaggerated exhale and makes the strange little humming noise he always lets out when he's content, the tail end of her name bursting out of his mouth before it turns into another snore.
He's disgusting. Or at least that's what she tells herself as she smiles.
It has to be about four in the morning— she's slept with him enough to understand his patterns, his predictably. For Wally this is the witching hour, the point in the night where his muscles are beginning to grow restless, beginning to rebel against the human instinct of sleep. He'll thrash for the next hour and a half or so, wake the both of them out of unconsciousness, and then finally at six he'll be forced to get out of bed, stomach begging for food and legs begging to run.
As if to prove her point one of Wally's thighs spasms and slams hard in between hers, the movement sending a surprised huff of breath from her lungs. It's quiet, but not quiet enough; at once he's awake at the noise, hand slapping out several feet too far before he realizes he's right on top of her. "—mis?" He whispers dryly, still too asleep to say her name properly as he lifts his head from the pillow.
"Hi." She croaks back, nudging him in the shoulder until he gets the message to ease up onto his elbows. "Everything's okay, you're just squashing me. Roll over and go back to sleep."
He does as he's told but she allows him to drag her with him, allows him to pull her into his heat until her head is hidden in the warmth underneath his chin and his thighs are pressing into the backs of hers. "Sorry. I should go back to my room." He whispers, fingers running through her hair and getting caught in the tangles.
Neither of them make to move. "I don't mind." She says honestly, pressing back into his chest. Unthinkingly she drags his arm around her, clutching at his fingers and pressing them against her clavicle. Ever the opportunist Wally disregards her placing and keeps fidgeting until he's got the swell of one of her breasts in his hand.
Wally settles back into sleep while she's forced into restless dozing, woken every few minutes by his thrashing. Finally, after an hour passes and she can't take it anymore, she decidedly ignores his protesting and rises out of the comfort of the blankets.
Still half asleep she wanders through the halls, not quite sure how she's going to kill the next hour or so until Wally's fully awake and out of bed. The Cave still feels oddly warm from all the heat they've been getting, the skin on her legs hardly pricking underneath her sleeping shorts as she approaches the kitchen. Unthinkingly she turns towards the couch, already looking for the remote and wondering if there's anything even slightly interesting on at five in the morning. Like always her head turns to automatically glance out her and Wally's window, hoping for a glimpse of the sun as it make an appearance over the ocean.
She sees the sun alright, blazing red and orange streaks beginning to burst out over Happy Harbor as the day begins, but she also sees something else— her eyes narrow and her stomach begins to twist with anger when she can clearly see blond hair and ebony skin marring the familiar landscape. Furiously she looks away, ripping a blanket she doesn't need off the back of the couch and flinging herself onto the cushions, slamming the power button on the television as hard as she can with her thumb.
She hasn't spoken to Kaldur since the day he returned from Atlantis, hasn't said anything to him beyond the awful things she had yelled at him in the hallway. Since then she's only seen him a few times in passing, been too preoccupied with her anger to follow him with her eyes, to make sure he's alright with the absence of his friends she accidentally forced him into sending away. She slams her thumb repeated against the remote, nervously flipping between channels and feeling guilty. It's not like Kaldur to be awake this early in the morning; he usually goes to bed quite early and sleeps late... Unless something is bothering him.
She manages three full cycles through the mass of channels before she can't stand the guilt filling her stomach; turning off the television she wraps the blanket more surely around her shoulders, jaw tight as she gives into the clenching in her stomach.
The wind is blowing off the water when she makes her way down to the beach, pushing her messy hair back over her shoulder and making her grateful for having the foresight to bring the blanket with her. Even the sand is cold for the first time in days without the sun's heat, oddly damp and sticking to the bare bottoms of her feet.
Kaldur doesn't hear her as she approaches their spot over looking the water, head bowed in thought and knees straining over crossed legs. For a long moment she stands several feet behind him, trying to figure out what she wants to say. Nearly a minute passes as she debates simply turning around and heading back inside, trusting in the sound of the waves crashing against the shore to cover her presence. Finally, she forces herself to be brave and charges forward.
He hardly moves when she sits down beside him, not acknowledging he's even aware of her presence beyond the movement of his jaw, which turns once in her direction before dipping back down to stare at the sand. She takes her time adjusting the blanket on her shoulders, tactfully keeping her eyes adverted until he can arrange his features with what he wants to show her.
When she finally looks at him it strikes her how awful he looks; there's strange tawny circles under his eyes that seems to be almost swollen with a lack of sleep, the usual milky color of his irises reminding her of infection and illness as they dawn a blotchy, sickly red color. The corners of his mouth are cracking and bloody in some places, as if he's been biting layer after layer of skin off his lips.
Her gaze strays to the way his shoulders are slumped and sunken, and before he can look back at her she turns her head towards the ocean, frowning. "... I'm sorry." She blurts out. She doesn't know what she's apologizing for, exactly: for her yelling, her screaming his and Tula's secret in the hallway, for ignoring him all this time. All she knows is that she's sure she's responsible for whatever is happening to him, and as angry as she still is she can't bear the weight of his sadness on her shoulders anymore.
"As am I." He says back, throat sounding dry.
There it is, as simple and plain as the waves rolling up a few feet in front of them. She nods, unthinkingly reaching out to clap a hand on his shoulder, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. She's so tired of being angry with him, tired of fighting against the good intentions she knows he has but doesn't understand. She decides to leave any other words or arguments where she buried them before in the sand.
Kaldur ducks his head again when she touches him, her hand splaying flat across his shoulders. It's only then that she notices he's shaking. "Kal?" His shoulders keep quaking under her fingers. "Kaldur? Are you alright?"
"She left." He says, voice sounding oddly restraint, as if he's physically keeping a flood of emotion from outpouring from him. "Tula left with Garth."
Oh.
She doesn't quite know what to say at first, thumb moving automatically to rub reassuring circles into the middle of his back. The gesture is borrowed from Wally and feels too forced when she does it. "... I know that. I mean— You were the one who told her to go, right?"
In answer he shakes his head, eyes screwing tightly closed as the gills on either side of his neck flare with emotion. "I... Told her, yes. But that was after..."
"After?"
Kaldur hesitates, as if deciding on his wording. The curved edges of his teeth escape his mouth again to peel back more too-new skin from his lips. "... Garth overheard our conversation in the hallway."
Her hand freezes on his back before it retracts, clapping around her mouth. "Oh, Kaldur—" She starts to say between her fingers, horrified for a half second before confusions sets in. "But— but he already knew about you and Tula, didn't he? Or at least suspected? That was why he— you know— in Athens, with me—"
She's cut off when he shakes his head again, looking pained. She's silently grateful for the fact that he didn't make her finish the sentence, as if putting into words what happened and hearing it aloud will somehow make her feel worse about it. "You are right in that he suspected. But our conversation gave him the... Confirmation that he needed to take further action."
"Confirmation?"
Kaldur looks as if he can't stand to explain it to her, and she instantly regrets asking. "As is Atlantean custom." He sighs, pausing for a moment and looking as if he's summoning a certain amount of strength to be patient with her ignorance. "As I understand it, on the surface world mere suspicions are enough to raise concern with a partner, but in Atlantis... How do I explain this?" He mutters, biting his lip again. "Atlantean mating and courting customs are different than the surface world's. Any indiscretions, and the shame associated with them, are tolerated as it is understood that to make them stop one would only have to be a more attentive partner. However, if the lovers in question are not discrete, if their actions publicly shame the partner with their obviousness, there are... There are ways to eliminate a rival, and stop them from courting your partner. But they cannot be acted upon until one is certain of their partner's... Cheating? Is that the phrase?"
She feels herself nod, mouth still hidden behind her hand. "So... So me yelling, that was enough to make Garth snap? To give him a reason to...?"
"I believe so."
Her fingers crumble from her chin and find the edge of her blanket, clenching a piece of fabric tightly in her palm. "... What did he do?"
"Not very much." Kaldur admits after a moment, trying to smile and not managing. His skin looks oddly pale in some places, too dark in others. "He waited until I sought him out after we spoke. Waited until Tula was absent and I explained why he would no longer be welcome at the Cave...
"Then he attacked me."
Despite the fact that she's rounded on a few of her Teammates before the idea still slightly shocks her. "I'm so sorry." She hears herself blurt out, hands getting a death grip on her blanket and twisting it anxiously between her fingers. "I shouldn't have said that, Kal, it's all I've been thinking about—"
She's on the verge of ripping the fabric when he reaches out, looking miserable as he forcibly pries her fingers apart, letting go too quickly. "There is nothing to apologize for." He says smoothly, and she can tell he doesn't really mean it. "It was an encounter that was long over due between Garth and I."
There's a moment of silence between them and she imagines the thrumming of magic in the air, all electricity and water and wind. Almost warily her eyes start scanning what she can see of his skin, checking for injuries, and as if he knows what she's thinking he speaks. "There will be no marks. Atlantean duels over partners are typically fought like Neanderthals— pardon me, without magic— to ensure no physical harm is done. Dense skin, as you know. We are a very superficial species, and a bloody victor would be no more desirable than a loser."
She hears herself let out a sharp exhale, not quite a chuckle but more than simply a noise of disbelief. "... So there was a winner and a loser then?" In response Kaldur tilts his head to the left, shoulder rising and falling quickly in the odd Atlantean shrug she's noticed before. A little desperately she nudges him, trying to get him to smile again. "Come on, must have been you, right?"
Kaldur looks out towards the water. "I am stronger than Garth, if that is what you are implying. Although he is a far better sorcerer than I, I am perhaps quicker, better equipped for combat—"
"You're being modest, Kal."
She's relieved for a moment when she sees a ghost of a smile, her stomach automatically sinking when it disappears with a slightly bitter frown. "I was besting him until Tula found us. Until we were forced to explain our fighting."
Her stomach clenches. "Oh."
"... I had thought I was the victor." He says quietly, head ducking down to stare at the sand. "Had Tula not intervened I doubt very little would have stopped me from... But after we explained, after everyone had finished yelling and feeling betrayed, after Garth turned to her and demanded a decision...I had thought between the two of us she had preferred me. But when Garth forced her to choose between us... I was the one left feeling defeated."
She wants to say something comforting, something that will make his pain easier; as usual, she comes up with nothing. How can you comfort someone with a broken heart? How can you dull the pain of rejection? How can you soften the fact that for a second time now Kaldur's been unwanted by the girl he loves? Feeling empty she lets her gaze return to the ocean as he sighs beside her, leaning gently backwards until he's lying in the sand.
"I now believe I know what Tula felt, the day I left for the surface world." She hears him mutter. "... If I had known my leaving would cause this kind of pain, I would have rather died than part from her."
When she gets the courage to glance back at him he's got one of his elbows bent around his eyes, shielding himself from the rising sun and whatever emotion is showing on his face. "... I'm so sorry, Kal." She whispers, not knowing what else to say.
("Ahem."
She looks up from her book when a hand appears in front of it, perfectly manicured nails flexing insistently atop her spot on the page. Almost dryly she raises her head, palm knocking the intruder away and splaying flat across the words she's just been reading. "Can I help you?"
In response Zatanna flexes her fingers again, other hand on her hip and not indulging the way she stares at her in an annoyed fashion, elbows flexing into the island counter as she shifts her weight uneasily. "You lost the bet." She offers in explanation, smirking and gesturing again with her hand. "Told you Wally was going to ask you to Prom."
At once she feels her expression sour, cheeks reddening as she makes to go back to her reading. "So?"
"So?" Zatanna repeats, rounding the edge of the counter and pulling up a stool beside her. "So you owe me some money."
It's very hard not to roll her eyes, fingers folding down the corner of her page absently. "We never said anything about money—"
"Don't be a sore loser."
Disliking the name calling she scowls, leaning back to dig into her jeans pocket more for the sake of getting on with it than anything else; she knows that no matter how much she disagrees the other girl will remain insistent until she's suckered into losing the argument. "Whatever, take it." She snorts, slapping a wrinkled five dollar bill on the counter and pretending not to be bitter about it when the other girl reaches for it, looking gleeful. "Enjoy. Can I get back to reading now?"
"No." Zatanna replies cheekily, still grinning. "What's wrong with you? Don't you want to talk about what kind of dress you're going to wear? Or how you're going to style your hair?"
Her fingers flex on her page. "Zatanna." She says warningly.
As if understanding that she's being annoying with all the teasing the other girl's smile falters, fingers pinching tightly around the money. "Indulge me, Artemis. Some of us didn't get an invite."
This strikes her as odd, her eyes leaving the dollar bill to stare perhaps a little too analytically at the other girl's face. "... Dick didn't ask you?"
"Oh, he asked me alright." Zatanna says sourly, looking upset. As if unaware of it she watches the perfectly filed nails crumple the bill mercilessly into her palm. "That's the problem. If he hadn't said anything I could have made a big deal in a week or so about how it was so last minute, and how I was only asking him because I was desperate— instead he asked me with plenty of time to spare. If I said yes it would be like, a thing, or something."
She frowns. "So... You want to go with Dick?"
"Yeah."
"And he asked you? But you said no?" When all she gets is a glum sounding sigh and a nod out of Zatanna she shakes her head, feeling confused.
There's a few beats of silence where her eyes half wander back to her reading, wondering if they're finished with all the talking; as usual Zatanna won't allow it, changing the subject instead. "... Can I ask you something?"
It's unusual for Zatanna to ask permission for a question— usually the younger girl charges ahead, disregarding all small talk. The change of pace is enough to make her glance up from her book. "... Uh, sure?" She says, feeling wary.
Zatanna hesitates, actually hesitates, and that alone is enough to send several warning bells sounding at the back of her mind; when the other girl actually pauses to bite her lip her hand automatically closes her book, her place on her page be damned. "What's up, Zatanna?" She asks more insistently, beginning to feel worried.
"I was just wondering..." She starts, trailing off in a way that continues to make her nervous. "I mean— what's going on with you and Wally, exactly?"
For a second the worried look she's wearing stays on her face, mind blank for a moment before she snorts; the question is so far from what she's been expecting that she can't help her laughter, or the odd twang of relief that sounds in her stomach. "What do you mean, what's going on?" She chuckles, eyes crinkling with mirth. "You know what's going on, we're going to Prom."
Zatanna seems to loosen at the sound of her laughter, although still looking slightly uncomfortable as the corners of her mouth quirk upwards and then fall. "Well— I mean, I know that. I just meant... you guys seem happy. Like, crazy happy. Suspiciously happy, considering arguing is one of your favorite pass times. It's just— strange, all things considered."
"Why?"
The other girl shrugs, hesitating again. "I mean— your Dad is still out, Artemis." She says seriously, with the air of someone breaking some bad news. "And... That's still a big deal? Isn't it?"
She doesn't quite hear the end of the sentence, a strange ringing having started sounding in her ears at the mention of her father. Yes, yes she knows he's out. She knows he's coming, she knows he won't stop until he gets his revenge for her betrayal, for her lack of obedience. She hasn't forgotten, she's...
She's just been a bit distracted.
The smile she's wearing suddenly feels waxy as she forces it to stay in place, feeling oddly like all the air has been let out of her, as if someone has just kicked her as hard as they can in the abdomen. "I know that." She says, hating that it sounds somewhat hollow. She isn't aware of her fingers running along the jagged pages of her book and doesn't wince when the paper slices reddened lines into her thumb."... Hard to forget something like that."
Zatanna's carefully watching her reaction, trying to see through the stony expression now crossing her features. "Maybe it's not my business, or whatever. I just thought... I mean, I know you. I know it bothers you that he's out." She feels herself nodding. Yes, it bothers her. Yes, it had been the reason why she had shut everyone out in the first place. Yes, it kills her, knowing that he's out and hunting her and she's as helpless as a rabbit trying to outrun an arrow. "I just— I mean, you're going to have to face Sportsmaster eventually. I was just wondering... It seems like a pretty heavy thing to be weighing over a relationship."
She tastes blood on her tongue and realizes she's been biting as hard as she can into the inside of her cheek. "... It is." She gets out.
It is. It is. It is.
Zatanna stares at her for a moment before bursting into speech, talking very quickly and in a soothing tone. "Not that I'm, like, being critical or anything. I'm really happy for you. And for Wally. And obviously you two have it under control and have talked about it, like—"
She feels herself tune out, teeth resuming their biting.)
Even now the words bother her, her tongue running over the jagged line of torn skin in her mouth as she mulls them over. Zatanna was right, she knows it— even if the other girl didn't say it in so many words she knows she's going to have to face the truth at one point or another.
Sportsmaster is out. He's coming for her.
... And even though it feels as if everything is different now, nothing's really changed...
It's the not knowing when that's making everything too easy; things have been so... Quiet lately. Both outside her head and in it— there's been no strange buzzing to remind her to be on her guard, no sightings or missions that keep old instinct up, on alert. It's been her and Wally; it's been lazy afternoons spent walking with their feet in the water and evenings so warm the bare skin of her thighs sticks to the couch cushions when he presses against her. It's been too much of what she's avoiding, this attachment, this love that she's now so dependent on that she hardly thinks she can live without it anymore.
She's grown too used to being normal.
All this happiness is intoxicating, blurring what she knows to be true. She's only felt this way once before, maybe twice— her mind twitches once towards the false-memory of laughter and her couch and then switches directions altogether, calling forth a pain in her knees and her head in her mother's lap, trying not to cry with relief when Paula had popped back into existence last November— but like an alcoholic returning to their favorite drink she can sense how dangerous it is. How as long as her tongue can taste its lingering presence she won't be satisfied until she consumes more, until her thirst is finally quenched.
She's spent so long being unhappy that she's underestimated how difficult it would be to give it up.
Is that what she has to do to face Sportsmaster? Give up happiness?
But that's not an option, she reminds herself, coming back slightly to the sound of the water and the warmth of the sand beginning to reflect back the heat. It can't be, now more than ever. She can't go back to being the lonely girl with the angry grey eyes. She doesn't know how to be her anymore.
But doesn't she have to be? Isn't that the only way to survive?
... Isn't she dependent on the Metropolis girl too?
But she's... The other girl isn't there anymore. And maybe she won't be, as long as Wally's making her laugh at the way his nose scrunches when he looks into the sun, as long as he keeps threatening to sweep her off her feet when she gets too sullen. It's not like she can simply summon that other girl back, she doesn't know how she even sprang into her mind in the first place—
She scowls, remembering the taste of bile and watching the only boy who she's ever loved coat the street crimson with his blood. That's a lie, she supposes. She knows exactly what has to happen to get her back, or at least has a good idea of it. Wally has to die, or close to it... But it's not an option. So far from an option that she feels sick even thinking about it.
No, Artemis is going to have to fight this battle on her own, without the other girl's instinct for bloodshed and without Wally's annoying habit of self-sacrifice. When and wherever it happens. She'll have to fight her father by refusing to play the game his way, refusing to use anything he taught her but— but she'll still have to beat him, if she's going to stop the never-ending torture his mere memory can summon. She'll maybe have to kill him. And as for Wally—
She glares out at the water. She'll have to keep Wally safe too.
It feels so strangely like old times, back before everything... Changed. Back to that game of chess she's been letting sit too long, her pausing starting out with good intentions— to collect her thoughts, to take a break, to form a strategy, for just a second, please— turning into something thicker, more permanent, unyielding. But the game between her and her father can't be played like that, not really. Not when the man sitting on the other end of the board hasn't once stopped planning moves and counter moves.
She's not ready to go back to playing the game, can't stand the thought of reality when living in her own world with Wally has been so deliciously perfect. But Zatanna's right... Her father isn't going to stop the way she has. Ever.
More out of frustration than anything she throws herself backwards in the sand, not looking at Kaldur as she does so; she suspects he's sleeping, or nearing it, face still hidden in the fold of his elbow and chest rising and falling in even breaths. She feels like a fool, not stopping to think of this sooner. For letting herself fall for Wally without looking at the wreckage of complications she was leaving in her wake.
For not the first time she wonders if things would have been better if she had simply turned her back on him in his bedroom, if she had been strong enough to shut down all those emotional impulses and simply leave him behind like she's always hoped she would...
(There's not a point in worrying about that now, she supposes. The damage is done— and in many ways it might not be as bad as she thinks it is. Wouldn't her father discourage the notion of love? Wouldn't he dismiss it as childish? Stupid even? Does that mean in some twisted way it's what she's supposed to be doing?)
(Thinking like this only confuses her, years of training to be cold and isolated knocking against the too-new emotion running through her, and she promptly stops.)
She doesn't know exactly when the idea occurs to her; she drifts in and out of a half sleep on the beach, mind still circling around ideas and half formed thoughts. She thinks she dreams of Wally, dreams of music she hasn't heard before and the sound of his hums disappearing into her hair. When she blinks into wakefulness the sky is a proper blue, and as if waiting at the front of her mind like a present the words are out of her mouth before she really knows what they are. "I want out." She croaks, voice hoarse with exhaustion.
The words are so quiet that she's not surprised when Kaldur doesn't react; almost impatiently she rolls onto her side and disregards her blanket, now uncomfortable as the heat of the day begins to build. "Kal?" She repeats more clearly, watching the level nature of his breathing stutter for a second, knowing that this time she's disturbed him out of the unnatural stillness of sleep. "... I want out. Just for a little while, okay?"
There's a pause and she waits for him to emerge from his elbow, eyes still that bloodshot color from before as he squints at her. "Out of what, Artemis?" He asks her, voice polite but wary.
She opens her mouth but finds suddenly she can't stand to look at him and say the words; lying beside him on the beach it feels almost strange, being able to look him in the eye so easily, their height difference no longer noticeable. Hesitating she rolls onto her back, pressing her shoulder blades into the sand. "... Out of missions for a while." She clarifies, voice wavering slightly as if she actually feels ashamed of asking this of him. "And I want Wally out too. I just want the both of us to—" She finds she doesn't have an ending to her sentence. "... Just till the end of summer, okay?"
She doesn't know why she sets the deadline there. It just feels like if she can make it through the heat of it, she can make it through anything.
Kaldur's trying to read something in the indecipherable lines of her face. "The both of you? Out of all missions?" He asks slowly, eyes narrowing.
"Yes."
"... And if they involve Sportsmaster?"
Her mouth twists into a bitter snarl before can stop it. "... Just me. Wally has to stay." She says quietly, hesitating before she speaks with a renewed intensity. "You have to promise me, Kaldur."
He pauses, eyes narrowed and reading her face as if making sure she isn't saying anything other than the truth. "I cannot make promises. You know this." He tells her frankly, ignoring the way her eyes close in annoyance. "But I will try my best. Why is your heart changing suddenly?"
The last part is odd, and it takes a few seconds of her frowning before she realizes what he's trying to say, her eyes opening. "Sudden change of heart." She corrects him, going back to looking at the bursts of blue and pink flaring out across the sky.
"As you say." He presses, continuing to stare at her. "You will forgive the question. It is simply out of character for you to shy away from a battle. And Wally will not be pleased—"
"Then don't tell him." She says quickly before hesitating, wondering how much to say— she's not entirely sure she wants Kaldur to know just how much she loves Wally, how she wants to stop all those blood-pumping moments when she's afraid she might lose him. Why she's also afraid, afraid of the battle with her father that she knows is coming but can't quite face, not yet. Instead of saying any of these things she sighs. "... I'm just don't want to think about when all this is going to stop." She blurts out, one hand raising to gesture to the empty air above her face but not elaborating any further. "... I hate that... That half second before a mission, where I can't help but wonder if something is going to happen. If this might be it for one of us... I just want a little time to be happy, okay?" She bites her lip, adding the last part in an undertone. "Just for a little while longer. Is that stupid? Or as selfish as I think it is?"
Kaldur frowns for a moment, looking thoughtful. "No, it is not." He says honestly. "... I understand, perhaps more than you are aware. But you realize, Artemis... I cannot formally suspend you and Wally missions. If I did it would mean your removal from the Team... If you are needed, you will have to be present."
The way he says the last part is open ended, as if he's half expecting her to change her mind and suddenly resign from the Team. "No, I know." She says quickly, frowning. "And that's not what I want, either. This Team is..."
She doesn't finish the sentence but she thinks he understands what she's trying to say, or at least he pretends to as he nods. "Of course. And as for Wally—"
"Just let him think things are slowing down. Please."
When he turns his head to look at her she deliberately keeps her eyes adverted from his, not wanting to see the knowing and perhaps slightly judgmental look on his face. "That is two secrets I am hiding from Wally now." He tells her, turning back and disappearing behind his elbow again. "I can only wonder what you hide from me."
She swallows, mouth tasting oddly bitter as she forces herself to smile. "For you, Kal? I'm an open book." She says between her teeth.
For the most part she avoids Wally's house, going there on occasion and when she's sure only Mary will be home to make small talk and give her fresh baking to take home. She gets the courage to finally ask about his black eye but Wally refuses to talk at all when she tries to bring it up, and she learns to let it go.
By and large they spend most of their time away from the Cave at her apartment, studying around her kitchen table and listening to her mother's old Vietnamese music. Paula always makes a bigger deal out of these afternoons than she has to, moving wildly about the kitchen and cooking dish after dish for Wally to consume with an increasing about of vigor. She wonders in the back of her mind if her mother missed having someone to cook for, with her only remaining daughter eating so little and existing largely on a diet of tea and whatever she can steal off her boyfriend's plate; these suspicions are confirmed when, while in the middle of mopping up the sauce on his plate with a piece of overly buttered bread, her mother reaches across the table to pinch Wally about the cheek, as if his gluttony is somehow endearing rather than nauseating.
In typical Wally fashion he's asked her too late to Prom—when she goes shopping with M'gann for a dress to wear she finds everything is largely picked over, with nothing available in her size or budget that she actually wants to wear. When she's sitting on her couch, ignoring the television in favor of complaining loudly to Paula (who approves of Wally, even if she does pretend to be angry that he didn't get her permission before asking her daughter to Prom) her mother simply smiles; it's not until later when she turns in for the evening that she discovers a rather simple looking black dress folded neatly across her bedspread.
She thinks she recognizes it from some obscure childhood memory she can't place, remembers her mother tottering around in high heels and slamming the door behind her while wearing it. The dress itself looks quite plain when she puts it on, with a simple v-shaped neckline and a hem that skims the middle of her thigh, although she supposes it could be worse—it could not fit at all. At first she's simply relieved that she has something to wear, even if it isn't exactly like the mess of ribbons and jewels that she knows all the other girls will be wearing. It beats showing up in her jeans.
It's Zatanna and M'gann who really make something of it; when she tries it on for them in the afternoon of Prom night she doesn't even have enough time to finish saying that it might be a bit too simple before they're picking at it. It's a different kind of picking than they did when she first met Wally's parents, or perhaps it's simply because she feels so much differently about this event than the last. Either way, by the time they're finished with her and she's standing in front of them, clad in dangling earrings and delicate bracelets and a necklace that makes it nearly impossible for anyone not to notice her breasts straining against the fabric… She has to admit that she feels pretty.
It's a mark of how awful her life has been up until this point that the sensation feels borderline alien to her.
Despite the fact that she spends the afternoon watching her and M'gann smudge make up on their faces and fidget as they repeatedly try on their dresses Zatanna seems to handle the whole thing with a decent amount of grace; only once or twice does she slip up and make a snippy comment, a little sore about the complications that forced her to reject her invitation. "You could come with us tonight, you know." She hears herself say kindly, leaning forward so the other girl can apply her lipstick. The three of them learned very quickly that despite her good aim with a bow her hands simply aren't adept at the precise lines needed for make-up.
"And have to stand there awkwardly while you and Wally are off making everyone vomit on the dance floor?" Zatanna counters, smiling at her cheekily. "I'd rather not."
She's forced into silence as the other girl smears crimson gloss on her lips, one of her thumbs reaching out to turn her chin towards her cerulean eyes so she can better see what she's doing. With nowhere else to look she's forced to meet M'gann's anxious glance in the mirror. "You're welcome to come to me and Connor's too."
"Double puke."
More silence, her mouth taking advantage of the moment when Zatanna leans back to survey her work to speak without disturbing the lipstick tube. "... Gotham Academy is having their Prom tomorrow night. You could still go with Dick."
"Can't." Zatanna says quickly, applying another coat. "He asked someone else. Barbara Something."
There's an awkward silence in which her mind strays to the unknown redheaded girl who had waved to him across the Gotham Academy courtyard. Finishing with her lips Zatanna turns towards the mirror, swiping the same cherry gloss onto her own mouth and not looking at M'gann when the other girl speaks. "That's too bad." She says, sounding as if she means it. "When is your school's Prom? Maybe we could all go together, like a group thing, or—"
"That neckline doesn't really work with your hair down." Zatanna interrupts, something in the expression on her face telling them both to drop it as she gestures towards her hair, falling in straight blonde sheets down her back."We should put it up."
She can see M'gann hesitate before nodding excitedly in the mirror in front of her, the three of them squished into the tiny bathroom where Wally had once helped her tend to her bleeding hands. "Oh, we should!" The martian squeals, looking up from her own reflection. She's been finished getting ready for what feels like hours, perfect skin and hair unfurling from her body at the slightest thought, dress strained against the added curves she's given herself for the occasion.
"And what? Just wear it in my usual pony tail?" She hears herself snort, leaning around Zatanna to examine her reflection.
"No." The younger girl says haughtily, still looking a little ruffled from talking about Dick before. "It'll be prettier."
"Please, Artemis?" M'gann squeals, moving behind her and already busying her hands with the ends of her platinum strands. "You never let us play with your hair!"
She doesn't think this is entirely fair, and nearly says so as she scowls at her own reflection— she's been letting M'gann braid knots into her hair since almost the second she met her, the resulting mess taking hours with a brush to work out. Still, she can't help but soften at the other two's expression in the mirror; in the silence the two girls seem to swell with excitement, as if this is something like fun for them rather than a favor. Unconsciously she feels herself raising a hand to rub the base of her neck, making sure the neckline on the back of her dress covers what's left of her scar. "… Sure."
Even if it requires a lot of time and several fingers singed with a curling iron she has to admit that whatever they do is beautiful: nearly an hour and a half later her hair is sorted into curls and twisted into a long cascading knot on the top of her head. Perhaps she spends a little too long admiring herself in the mirror, because when she meets Zatanna's gaze over her shoulder the other girl is smiling wryly at her, something a little too knowing glinting in her eye.
"Bet you five dollars you're in love with him."
It's said in an undertone, quiet enough that M'gann, who is preoccupied with her own hair now, won't hear the words whispered over her shoulder and almost directly into her ear. She smiles, shakes her head, but can't bring herself to say anything back.
Even she's not stupid enough to take that bet.
By the time Zatanna and M'gann send her off to meet Wally by the zeta tubes she feels entirely not like herself in the best way possible, even if her heels do pinch her feet and the tiny bag Zatanna forces her to carry doesn't hold much other than lipstick and her cellphone.
When she sees Wally, ears reddened and clashing horribly with the green tie he's still fumbling with, it's very hard not to run towards him, even if her heels would allow it; she has to settle for admiring the way his grey suit crinkles around the lines of muscle she knows so well, elbow pinching the box of the corsage he's gotten her in the wake of the old one going bad after it was forgotten for hours on her bedside table.
It takes him too long to hear her coming, head jerking up and flashing a second of frustration with his tie before his face splits into a ridiculous looking grin; in the moment she feels so wonderfully whole, so perfectly beautiful that she very nearly loses her head and bursts out that she loves him from across the room.
Instead she ignores him when he greets her, her hands reaching out when she stops in front of him to attend to his tie; it's very obvious she doesn't know what she's doing but it's still very satisfying to watch him blush and look her once over, nearly dropping the corsage in his distraction. "You're look great, Babe." He says sincerely, stuttering slightly through the words when his eyes are pulled automatically with the help of the necklace towards her breasts, ears leaking crimson into his cheeks as he grins, looking as if he can't believe his luck.
(And he was right about one thing— the ridiculous smile he's wearing now is worth every bit of discomfort this whole Prom thing is forcing her into.)
She leaves the tie worse off than it was when she started, her hands running over his chest to smooth the collar of his button down against the shoulders of his blazer. "So do you." She says truthfully, and even though Zatanna told her not to she leans in to plant a kiss against his freckled cheek, leaving behind a cherry colored imprint of her lips.
She pulls back with a snort when Wally's mouth bursts into an adorable stammer, trying to look at him coyly rather than like the big mess of nerves that she actually is. "... Is that for me?" She asks huskily, glancing at the corsage box.
"Oh— Yeah, it is." He gets out, still blushing and looking as if he's only just remembered why they're even standing there, dressed so nicely, in the first place.
Feeling better about this whole thing the second time around she delicately extends her wrist, trying to smile kindly and not make fun of him when he fumbles with the box, fingers a bit clumsy as he secures the corsage around her wrist. "... Another lily?" She hears herself ask, looking at the familiar delicate white and the fresh green springs of garland curling around it.
Wally's brows furrow as he fiddles with the clasp. "Yeah. I figured they're you're favorite." He mutters absently, glancing up at her. "I mean, you wear lily scented perfume, don't you? My mom grows them in the garden sometimes, I thought I recognized it, I mean, if you don't like it I—"
The second he says it a pang runs through her, a dull ache of caring and tenderness, and now more than ever she doesn't give a damn about whether or not they make it to Prom at all. "I love it." She says seriously, reaching up to press another scarlet kiss into his cheek. "It's great, Wally. Thank you."
She's not even pulled back yet when she feels the familiar vibration of her cellphone, thundering away in the tiny bag she's stuffed it into; automatically her hand flies to her pocket to silence it, but before she's even finished dismissing the message and telling him that nobody will be disrupting their night she's caught off by the usual monotone voice over the loud speakers, barely audible over the sudden siren blaring: Team: Report to mission debriefing room.
Together her and Wally glance up towards the voice and then at each other, brows raising in matching looks. She tries not to notice the twisting in her stomach, and quickly reminds herself of Kaldur's half-promise to keep her and Wally out of the thick of things.
He probably thinks they've already left... That's it.
Instead of following the orders of the monotone voice she grabs his hand, tugging him a little insistently. "It's nothing." She tells him firmly, nearly shouting over the sound of the alarm and the vibrations of her phone."... Why don't we skip it? Just pretend we didn't hear it?"
Wally grins at her, fighting against her tugging. "Is this Artemis Crock I'm talking to? The same one who was dreading going to Prom just week ago?" He chuckles as the alarm dies, leaving a quiet ringing in her ears. "Come on, what if it's something important?"
She scowls as her phone switches to voicemail. "It won't be."
Wally keeps grinning at her, looking half-bemused by her peevishness. "But what if it is?" He counters, teasing. "Come on, it will take two seconds. After that, I promise, we'll leave."
She can't see a way to argue around it and instead rolls her eyes as he doubles his grip on her hand, forcing her away from the zeta tubes. "Fine." She sighs, and more out of curiosity than anything she fumbles to check her phone. "Missed call from Kaldur." She mutters to herself, eyes narrowing at the pixels on the screen.
... No.
"Probably just wanted to get a photo of the two of us before we headed out." Wally chuckles easily, leading her down the hallway. "I saw him bothering Connor and Megs when they went out, I thought Supey was going to clock him—"
She hears herself force out a laugh, stomach suddenly clenching painfully tight.
AN: And another chapter! Thanks for much for all the flustered/emotional reviews I received for the last chapter. The responses make the occasional pain of writing this worth it.
On another note: Does anyone have any updates on YJ Season 3? The last I heard we were all still binge watching. Not that I'm complaining, but have we heard any new "confirmations" other than Gred/KF/Aqualad?
Please read and review!