AN: Enjoy the update!

She's not out of Wally's bedroom before she starts ripping his sweat shirt off herself, in her haste leaving a deep, almost bleeding scratch down her forearm. His door isn't even fully shut behind her when she leaves his sweater unceremoniously rumpled on the floor outside it.

(And her heart is pounding like she's just been sprinting, like it did the first time he lifted her from the ground without warning and sped off; and she tastes the sand and the heat and Wally, Wally is on her tongue and the walnut flavor is tempting, it's always too tempting—)

Even with the sweater gone she can still smell him on her, can still taste his lips lingering on hers; the lights have turned on in the hallway as it nears morning, all the mistakes she made in the past hour seeming blaringly obvious now that she's no longer in the dark. What did she have to kiss him for, anyway? And why did she have to go into his bedroom— It was stupid, why is she always so stupid?

Why is she always so weak when it comes to Wally?

He's no good for her, he always has been— or rather, she's no good for him. How can she be? She's the girl with the blood stained fingers and the bad attitude, who was taught to hide behind brash words and a sneering voice; she'll never be good enough for him, never be whole enough...

But it was so easy. It's always easy, recklessly simple to get lost in him, to lose the tainted part of her and allow it to leak out of her as he touches her, pieces of her falling apart under the influence of his touch, of his lips...

But that's exactly why it can't happen. A few kisses and some conversation in the dark doesn't mean anything, doesn't change who they are. She's still rotten to the core and he's still—

(Perfect, whole, too-good-for-her—)

Wally. He's still Wally.

But this finding each other in the middle of the night... Even if it wasn't intentional, a mere coincidence that her and Wally were both awoken by nightmares... Whatever it was it didn't make matters any better, she's sure of it. Why did she have to comfort him? Why didn't she leave? She should have turned on her heel the second she saw him... And why did he even need comforting? "I could feel it... The lightning, running through me... It was like sensory overload..."

She feels so frustrated, both with Wally and with herself, that for a moment she considers turning around, considers flying back to his room and shouting at him again... But no. No good can come from that either, can it?

Zatanna was right all along— what a stupid thing it was, dating someone on the Team. The thought wells up inside her so bitterly that before she can stop them tears are prickling against her eyelids, weighed down so heavily with her own exhaustion and self-hatred that they start dribbling down her cheeks so hard and fast she can hardly see. "Don't stand there pretending like you can help. Not when the only thing I need right now is you..." Why did he have to say something like that to her? Doesn't he know how... How awful it is to hear something like that, how torturous it is to hear the words come out of his mouth, when it's all she can do not to turn back now, when it's all she can stand to not go running to him, not to hide from the world in the comfort of his arms...

"Boys!" The word bursts out of her mouth just as she turns a corner, now so frustrated and angry that her feet actually still, muscles clenching and fists waving wildly. She's not even finished seething when she hears sounds on the other side of the doorway she's accidentally been lurking by; before she even has time to figure out where she is or who might find her the door is opening.

She deserves a trophy for maintaining eye contact when Connor appears, his muscled body clad in only a thin pair of boxers and his hair mused with sleep. "Why are you yelling?" He scowls.

"I—" She starts, going a deep shade of red when his eyes narrow at the tear tracks on her cheeks, his brows raising; she has the sense to wipe her nose loudly on her arm. "I wasn't yelling."

Connor's expression softens slightly, no doubt listening to her heart thundering in her ribs and wondering what's happening; before he can express any other sentiment M'gann is appearing at his side, yawning and pajama clad. "A-Artemis? What are you doing here?"

She doesn't even know where "here" is, unsure about which one of their bedrooms she's accidentally stumbled upon. As usual she can't find the right words, her head and heart so full of emotion that she's having a hard time thinking of anything other than Wally. Feeling stupid she hears herself mumble something about taking a wrong turn on the way to breakfast, and almost traitorously a tear wells in the corner of her eye, slipping part way down her cheek before she can brush it away.

Connor blinks at her, gaze leaving her face and instead examining her ruffled hair and the lingering redness in her cheeks; before she can think to hide them behind her back she realizes he's spotted the still bleeding scratch on her arm, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the livid bruises on her wrist. Almost unnoticeably she can see him shifting his jaw towards M'gann; it's not the first time she's been sure they're having a psychic conversation without her; sure enough, in an instant M'gann's eyes dart downwards just as she gets the sense to cross her arms, hiding the worst of the damage.

In the few seconds of sticky silence that stretches out between them the other girl seems to become more alert, tasting the emotion in the air and growing concerned. "Artemis?" M'gann says more clearly, squinting at her in the light of the hallway. "What's wrong—?"

"It's—" She starts, voice breaking off as she glances at Connor. Somehow it would feel worse, repeating what's happened in front of him; feeling slightly choked she clears her throat. "...Sorry. Nevermind."

In the half-second she takes to rub her knuckles against her eyes she can sense the two exchanging a bewildered look; when she emerges the other girl takes her delicately by the hand, carefully avoiding putting more pressure on the bruising. "Why are you crying?"

She feels pathetic, her throat tight as she shakes her head. "It's just—" She glances again at Connor, who has taken this moment to tactfully stare at the top of the door frame. Feeling silently thankful she inhales sharply, rushing through the words so quickly she stutters. "It's W-Wally."

She can hardly get through saying his name without falling apart, her chin wobbling before she feels herself dissolving into embarrassing tears; behind her knuckles she can sense the dumbfounded expression on Connor's face but as usual M'gann takes it all in stride, guiding her inside the room and patting her awkwardly between the shoulder blades, trying her best not to sound confused. "It's alright." She offers a little helplessly, one hand fumbling for the door to shut it behind her.

Almost the second the other girl says it she can feel waves of artificial comfort washing over her, a sensation she knows isn't real but can't help but want to disappear in; still shaking she struggles to level out her breathing through her barely contained sobs, inhaling the scent of the bedroom—honey, violets, and something metallic, like copper— and realizing she's somehow found her way into M'gann's bedroom, not Connor's "I'm sorry." She blurts out, pulling back and ceasing the clumsy wiping of her eyes. "It's early, guys, don't let me—"

"Save it." Connor cuts across her. "What's the problem?"

With a wave of embarrassment she's steered towards M'gann's unmade bed, the other girl sitting close beside her and leaving Connor in exile at her desk chair. "God." She mutters, wanting to run away as her cheeks turn a bright crimson. "I'm serious! It's stupid, anyway... I—I'll leave, it doesn't matter—"

There's a click of the lamp and the whole room is illuminated, and she tries her best not to look at the exposed muscle of Connor's chest as she turns to M'gann, focusing hard on the bright pink pattern of her pajama bottoms. "Of course it matters." The martian says seriously, hand dropping from the lamp shade. "What's going on? Did something happen?"

Saying it aloud is about as embarrassing as the current situation; for several seconds she opens and closes her mouth like a trout, only stopping when Connor cuts her off with an annoyed hiss. "Will you spit it out already? I want to go back to sleep."

M'gann shoots him an annoyed look, and she ignores the wave of artificial solace that washes over her to make up for it. "… I just kissed Wally." She blurts out, hands instantly hiding her face.

There's a girly gasp and M'gann sits up straight on the edge of her bed, looking delighted. "Really? But that's good, isn't it?"

"No!" She hisses miserably, feeling like crying again. "It wasn't—I didn't mean to kiss him. It was an accident."

Connor makes a noise in the back of his throat. "How do you accidentally kiss someone?"

"I don't know!" She fires back, beginning to get frustrated; she's not wording this right, all the thoughts and feelings inside her head hindering her from speaking properly. "It just kind of happened."

M'gann looks confused when she wipes at her eyes again, apparently too busy mulling over the situation to reprimand Connor. "But… You kissed him? Doesn't that mean you're getting back together?"

"I don't want to get back together!" She bursts out, cheeks firing again in a blotchy red.

There's another silence in which M'gann looks hurt and Connor seems to bristle, looking annoyed than she's disrupted their sleep with a lot of crying and yelling. "… If you don't want to get back together then why did you kiss him?" He asks, sounding slightly cold.

She sighs again, shaking her head and glaring at her knees. "I don't… It was this stupid storm. I saw Wally by the window and he was just so… Strange. I've never seen him act like that before. I would talk to him and it was like I wasn't even there, like I didn't exist for him."

The desk chair creaks as Connor settles himself more firmly against it, looking at her as if he thinks she's an idiot. "You kissed him to remind him you existed?"

"No!" She says defensively, shoulders hunching. "I just— he came at me, and he started freaking out and I just thought—" She glances down a little stupidly at her bruised wrist, sensing that the other two are looking at it. "I don't know why I did it. I just thought it would help."

There's more quiet at her outburst, and when she glances at M'gann she's a little surprised to see the other girl looking so deep in thought, her brows furrowed and her lip between her teeth. "Wally was acting strange? During the storm?"

There's an awkward pause as the other girl's tone registers in her mind, her eyes narrowing. "... Yeah." Once again she senses rather than sees the look M'gann and Connor exchange, the other girl resuming her lip biting moments later; looking between the two of them she feels as if she's missing something, left out of an internal conversation again. "... What?" She asks quietly, unnerved when they don't immediately answer. "What?"

Once again M'gann looks at Connor, something unknown in her expression. "It's just... Connor walked in on him, a few months ago. By the window." An odd pause. "... There was a thunderstorm then too, wasn't there?"

There's hardly a beat of silence before she cranks her neck around to copy M'gann's staring at Connor, her heart back to pounding against her ribs. So she was right, last summer— something had happened during that storm, something had happened to Wally and she hadn't been there to stop it—

(It's not her job to stop these things, she's not his girlfriend—)

As if he can sense the sudden burst of anxiety jumping in her stomach Connor glances at her, sighing; it seems to take him a while to answer, like he's debating exactly how much to share with her. "... Like you said." Connor says quietly, hands folded over his bare plane of muscled stomach and voice hushed in the darkness. "He didn't seem normal. Jumpy. Eyes unfocused. It took him a while to even notice I was there, and when he did… He was quiet at first. But then he couldn't stop talking, mentioning you—" She feels a pang run through her, as if somebody's just submerged her head in ice water.

For some reason Connor stops talking and she shifts on the bed spread, turning towards him. "… And? How did you... Fix him?"

"I didn't." He says bluntly, finally looking at her hard in the face. "I had to leave him like that. Like he was about to—"

"Bolt away at any second." She guesses, finishing his sentence for him; when she glances at him he's frowning.

Beside her M'gann pulls her knees up under her chin, looking troubled. "… He once told me he gets afraid, sometimes, when he runs." She says thoughtfully. "Like if he goes too fast… He'll just be sucked away by it. Disappear."

"Is that possible?" She blurts out, looking between them; she's all too aware that the flicker of fear running through her isn't being hidden from present company. "Could that even happen?"

M'gann and Connor exchange a look, and when the other girl brushes her hair behind her ear she gets the sense that there's something she isn't being told. Before she can demand any answers it's Connor who's speaking, not looking at her. "... He called you his Lighting Rod." He says gruffly. "A few days after you broke up."

She feels the confusion setting on the lines of her face. "His Lightning Rod?" She repeats, the words feeling strange on her tongue; in her mind she imagines a metal rod, flexing towards the sky, and a twang of lightning colliding with it in a loud bang. It doesn't seem quite right. "...What's that?"

Connor shrugs. "No idea." He pauses. "Just thought it would mean something to you."

She's suddenly aware that her mouth is so dry she can hardly swallow, her stomach beginning to swirl violently inside her; it feels as if she's looking out into the darkness, into a great unknown something that she should understand more of. "So what does that mean?" She whispers, voice cracking. "I-I mean..."

She looks helplessly between the two of them. "I don't know, Artemis." M'gann whispers, fingers pressing against her lips to stop herself from biting them. "He's never— even Wally doesn't know the full scope of his powers. It's just that maybe—"

"There's a reason I couldn't calm Wally down." Connor finishes gruffly, watching her. "... And there's a reason you could."

It's too much to think of, so many questions popping into her head that she can hardly pick a direction to follow through with. She's lightheaded, on the verge of vomit; for some reason she can't look at Connor anymore, her shoulders shaking as she turns to face forward.

There's a beat, and despite the suddenly wave of artificial calm flowing over her she can't stop her stomach from churning, back slouching as she braces her elbows on her knees. Lightning Rod, Wally's Lightning Rod. What does that even mean? "… I think it's kind of romantic." M'gann says, trying to cheer her up with a smile.

"It's not supposed to be, Meg." She mutters thickly, the heels of her palms pressing painfully against her eyes to keep herself from crying. "I can't—we're not together anymore. I can't be that for him, whatever it is."

"Well, you are." Connor says severely.

She wants to hit him but decides she can do without the sore hand, instead running her fingers angrily across her scalp and trying her best to level out her breathing. "... How am I supposed to do this?" She whispers finally, embarrassed when her voice breaks with stress; once more Connor and M'gann exchange a look at the abrupt change in her tone. "How are either of us supposed to get over each other if we're still doing shit like this, if I can't stop myself from—from kissing him, the second either of us let our guard down…"

She feels a cool hand on her back. "It'll get easier, Artemis." M'gann says quietly, hand splayed between her shoulder blades. "… It's still new. You'll learn how to get used to it."

"Will I?" She counters, knowing she's whining but unable to stop, still fighting off tears. "How am I supposed to get used to being this—the goddamn Lightning Rod, or whatever he calls it. I can't—I can't be that and be nothing else to him, that's—"

She stops talking when her voice breaks with panic, allowing M'gann to loop an arm around her shoulder and drag her like a child until she's hiding in the hollow of her neck. "I don't know what to tell you." The other girl admits, one hand running along the top of her head and smoothing her short blonde locks against her scalp. "… Maybe you guys just need a little space."

There's a beat before Connor speaks, sounding unsettlingly casual. "Come to Quarac with us."

It takes her a whole five seconds to convince herself she isn't imagining him speaking; when the words and their meaning finally wash over her she lifts from M'gann's neck so violently she feels a jolt of pain spasm through her, the two of them exchanging a confused look. "… What?" She hears herself ask, beyond confused.

Connor spares an annoyed glance at the disbelieving look on her face before he crosses his arms, looking moody. "You said you needed space." He says simply, shrugging stiffly. "There's a lot of space between here and Quarac."

"But, I don't—"

When she swings her head around to stare at M'gann she's surprised again to not see her own shock mirrored there, instead being replaced with a thoughtful look. "Actually, that's not too bad of an idea." The martian admits, biting her lip. "You're finished with school for the summer, right?"

"I—yeah." She blinks, trying to figure out to if they're both being serious or not. "… But—"

She's not sure how to say it; all she knows if that there's a big difference between invading their space in the early hours of the morning and crashing their entire trip. As if she can guess what she's thinking M'gann shrugs, thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into her shoulders. "Why not? We were going to invite the whole Team anyway— kind of a graduation trip for me and Connor—"

"M'gann—"

"Besides," the other girls starts, no longer listening to her objections and instead beginning to babble, "it wouldn't be like you were tagging along with just us two, Garfield and Marie are there— Oh! Hello Megan, you've never met them, have you?" There's an excited edge to her voice. "What's stopping you? It'll just be for June—we were planning on leaving in a few days, and being back by the beginning of July—and you'll love Garfield, you've always been so good with kids."

This last part isn't true but she doesn't point that out, feel awkward. "… I don't want to, like, intrude or anything."

"Like you aren't doing that already." Connor huffs, the corners of his mouth jerking up nonetheless.

She doesn't accept the offer to accompany M'gann and Connor to Quarac, but she doesn't say no either; instead she makes an excuse to leave the room quickly, not sure what she wants. "Get some sleep." M'gann tells her, one hand on the door as she smiles a bit too kindly at her. "And think about it, okay? You still have a few days before we leave."

And she does—so much so that she can hardly stop. The thought of leaving everything behind for a few weeks is more than tempting… The few times she can bring herself to ask M'gann a few questions the more appealing it sounds—they'd flying there on the Bioship so there'd be no need to pay for a flight. They'd be staying with the unknown Garfield and Marie, who have a spare bedroom and a couch they'd be will to give up.

(... They'd be in another country altogether, which would more than save her from awkward encounters like she had with Wally the morning after the storm, in which she had been picking half-heartedly at her cereal and he had paused in the doorway of the kitchen before walking right by her, pretending she didn't even exist—)

She has to remind herself that there isn't anything here for her. She tells herself that sometimes distance is needed to see things clearly.

(She thinks of leaving Wally behind and hates how badly that hurts.)

The rain from a few nights ago seems endless, the sudden downpour seeming to draw all the heat out of the sand along the beach; even Gotham City seems more smoggy than usual, billowing clouds overtaking the city and staining everything in a familiar toxic looking grey. More out of sheer boredom than anything she hangs around the Cave, stalking through the halls and wishing the weather outside didn't so starkly reflect her mood.

"—I do not understand it either." Kaldur's voice sounds out from behind an unmarked door and she realizes that she's wandered into the most abandoned part of the Cave, the unknown hallways that contain the conference room she once interrogated Roy in. "But if we are to assume that our information is correct..."

Her mind is still so preoccupied with thoughts of Quarac that at first she doesn't register why her feet slow, ears perking at Kaldur's tone; it takes several seconds for her to place the hushed, almost frightened whisper that's barely audible through the oak doors. "But can we assume it's correct?" She hears Dick counter, his voice skeptical. "The Doctor was terrified when the League interviewed her, she was too afraid to talk. Even Batman—"

"I do not see a reason for her to lie." Kaldur interrupts. Against her better judgment she stops a few feet past the doorway, listening hard. She's been so wrapped up in Wally the last while she's hardly bothered with reading mission debriefings or following up in the once curious Doctor Sandsmark and the even more mysterious young Cassie; turning, she creeps as silently as she can towards the doorway. "... The League saved her life, cared for her daughter in her absence. A parent would not forget a debt like that."

The hallway is completely deserted, and it occurs to her that perhaps this is the reason Kaldur and Dick are meeting here to talk rather than the more populated areas of the Cave, which are filled to the brim with activity on such a rainy day. "... Whatever your misgivings," she hears Kaldur continue, his voice now sounding stubborn. "You must admit that her story fits with what Artemis reported of the mission in Athens. Sportsmaster did steal an artifact from the museum—"

"Artemis said herself that she didn't see what he took. What it comes down to—"

Dick abruptly stops talking, and for a moment she thinks she's been discovered in her eavesdropping; before she can even feel guilty Kaldur's speaking, as if he's just raised a hand to quiet his companion. "... What it comes down to is whether or not you trust Artemis' judgment." He says slowly, sounding stern. The words seem to hang in the air for a moment, waiting to be challenged.

"Of course I trust her judgment." Dick instantly says dismissively, voice snappy. There's something else there, something unsaid, but before she can figure out what it is he's continuing, sounding much more fierce in his argument. "The Doctor's lied to the League before. Her daughter, Cassie..."

"The League has been investigating." Kaldur says quickly. "They were very intrigued by the mission report from Athens. I cannot reveal specifics, of course, but..." He hesitates. "She's powerful, incredibly so. Perhaps even unique in her kind."

There's a silence between them, as if they're both mulling over lost details; nearly a minute passes and she nearly walks away before Kaldur is speaking again, no longer stern and instead sounding as if he's lost inside his own head. "The artifact the Doctor found, the one that we agree Sportsmaster took..."

"If it's what I think it is then it's Babylonia." Dick finishes. "It shouldn't have been dug up in Olympia. There's something funny too..." There's the sound of paper sliding across a hard surface. "These pictures were in the museum's archive, I ran them through League databases. Look at the symbols on the outside—" Kaldur makes a low an indistinct noise in the back of his throat that Dick seems to take as an invitation to keep talking. "They're extra terrestrial in origin. No matches organic to earth."

There's another long silence and more sounds of paper sliding over surfaces, as if Kaldur's riffling through the photographs. "Perhaps... I cannot be sure." He mutters. "It does appear... I will have Tula examine it, she is much more knowledgeable in Atlantis' history than I am. Perhaps my King will also oblige, if he is not too preoccupied with young Artur..."

More muttering and indistinct shuffling, although this time the quiet doesn't last long enough for her to lost interest; she can tell Dick seems to be gathering his nerve to ask something, to confirm suspicions she knows he's had for far too long. "... We know the tablet the Light stole in Metropolis tracks EMF readings— which are released during magic, alien, or zeta beam outbursts... And the artifact supposedly was letting off EMF waves, which means it's of magic, alien, or zeta origin..."

"Correct."

"... So what's the point?" Dicks huffs out, sounding frustrated. "I mean, when the tablet first got stolen in Metropolis I thought we were dealing with the Light tracking and eliminating the League— targeting the most powerful, those with magical or alien powers first and then slowly infiltrating zeta beam transportation and attacking us one by one. But this... This is history; it's not profit or a means of manipulation. I just can't see the end game here."

There's a brief moment of quiet and she gets the impression that Kaldur is staring Dick down with his milky eyes, brain whirring behind folded hands. "As I said before, I do not understand it either." Kaldur says steadily, an edge of frustration underneath his smooth tone.

She hears the sounds of chair scraping against tile, as if it's been silently agreed that the meeting is over; she knows it's time to leave before they emerge from the door, but before she can gather her bearings Kaldur's speaking again. "Apologies, I have been meaning to ask— have you any luck with the task I set you?"

"I'm trying Kal. Doesn't exactly help that Wally's been by my side almost constantly ever since him and Artemis split."

This quirks her interest; rather than turn away from the door like she knows she should she leans closer, ears listening hard when Dick continues. "... You know he'd tell her anything I found out— which isn't much. Last time the League caught Sportsmaster with facial recognition technology he was heading to Bialya, although I'd bet my life he's already passed the artifacts onto whoever sent him to collect them in the—"

The voices are getting alarmingly loud on the other side of the door, as if the room's occupants are mere feet from exiting; panicking slightly she looks around for a place to hide, only just managing to leap inside another conference room before Kaldur's opening the door to the one she's been listening in on.

"... You still don't think we should tell her?" Dick's finishing, passing her hiding spot.

"No." Kaldur says plainly, and once again she gets the impression that he doesn't want to be argued with. "You do not know Artemis as well as I do; I am sure if we fed her information in regards to his location she would attempt to capture him, if not kill him."

There's a pause. "...You really think she would kill him?" Dick asks quietly.

She hears footsteps echoing down the hallway, feeling unnerved when Kaldur doesn't answer.

She doesn't know how long she waits on the other side of the door, her mind racing; when it finally occurs to her to leave Kaldur and Dick's foot steps have long since disappeared, the silence in the hallway pressing almost painfully against all the thoughts whirring inside her skull.

It feels as if she's traveled miles in a simple matter of minutes, the swirl of information almost too overwhelming to dissect— for the first time since her break up with Wally parts of her feel awakened, no longer numbed. Sportsmaster is in Bialya, Sportsmaster is in Bialya...

She unaware when she rips blindly out of the conference room, walking aimlessly through the halls; Sportsmaster is in Bialya, and Dick's tracking him— but he doesn't have the stolen artifact. Where did he hide it? Who did he deliver it to?

Does that even matter?

She's hardly noticing where she's going, only vaguely aware of the mechanical gaze of Red Tornado as she wanders back into the more inhabited parts of the Cave. If she's being honest, truly honest, she doesn't give a damn about the mystery of the artifact, doesn't care about the endgame of the Light... For the first time since that night on the roof top her father feels real again, tangible, a thing to be broken, destroyed—

She can hear M'gann and Connor talking on the couch as she passes through the common area, feet pounding loudly against the tile in the kitchen but she doesn't stop to say hello... No, this is important, much too important. She's closer now than she's ever been to—

To what?

Her heels catches slightly as she tramples through the hallway as the zeta tubes come into view; the snarling voice in her head seems to repeat the words again and again, as if trying to drown out the echoing of Kaldur's lack of response to Dick's question. "You really think she would kill him?"

Her hand waves automatically through the air in the center of the room, the movement sending the invisible screen she knows is there popping into existence. Her heart seems to thud against the ends of her fingers as she types his name.

Before she has time to brace herself she's staring at her father. She hates that she sucks in a terrified breath.

The weather beaten face seems to observe her as much as she observes him, and for a long moment she stares unblinkingly at the pixels that make up Lawrence Crock; his reflection is as terrifying on the screen as he is in the flesh. The photo has to be from a few years ago— even now as she compares it to the memory of their last encounter she remembers the deepened crows feet around his eyes, the fine lines blossoming around his mouth from the cigarettes he purses between his lips.

She doesn't know what she's looking for; some trace of familiarity, of likeness, maybe. Some imprint of the what he might have been to her, if he weren't the kind of man she was. Maybe she's simply looking for a connection between the photo in front of her and the person she only half-remembers from her childhood; the man who was both terrifying and a source of protection, the one who would make sure dinner was on the table and would run her burnt fingers under faucets, the person who gave her the hated and prized gift of archery...

She blinks, and in the brief moment she's hidden behind her eyelids something changes; when she looks at the photograph again all she can remember is the taste of her own blood in her mouth and the sensation of blonde hair being cut from its roots. All she can feel is the unyielding pain of a javelin against her neck.

Would she kill him?

The Metropolis girl answers before she can mull it over. Lawrence sent Paula to prison and left her broken. He destroyed Jade and chased her away. And whether he meant to or not he molded Artemis and left her to rot in the Gotham apartment. He's the reason her family is no longer a family, the reason no amount of bleach will purge her home of the stench of cigarettes and the old liquor stains...

She thinks of her sister again. Jade would kill him, with no hesitation.

... But would she kill him? Would Artemis kill him?

(And she's thought this over a thousand times, a thousand different ways. And maybe once she thought she knew the answer but now—)

With another wave of her hand the image fades, the screen disappearing again as a surge of unfamiliar and feral hatred burns through her. Yes, she's sure the Metropolis Girl wants her creator dead, wants him to suffer while she does it— and she had been so close to doing it, that night on the Athens rooftop...

But is Kaldur right? Does Artemis want him dead too?

The second the question is asked Wally's face flickers to the front of her mind, his absence suddenly more painful than it's been since the freshest days after the break up. She thinks of all the times she stopped herself from doing what she wanted, all the times the distrust and fear her father instilled in her prevented her from falling in love; all the fighting, all the screaming, all the walls her father built that Wally had to rip down before he could love the smallest and most frightened parts of her. If that hadn't been there they would have had more than a few months; they could have had years together... They could have had their whole lives. They could have had forever.

But any kind of forever with Wally isn't an option now, is it? That had ended the moment Wally jerked ahead of her and beat her to the rooftop, the moment Sportsmaster realized what he meant to her. No, she knows her father. She knows that should he ever have a use for her he will bait her with Wally, knows that he will use that one weakness against her. Together or apart Wally's in danger.

She wonders what Wally would think of her. Wonders what he would think of the girl standing here, plotting murder.

(Is she plotting a murder? Is that Artemis? Or is that the Metropolis girl?)

((Who is she?))

She blinks again, and this time the image of her father's face burns hard against her eyes, far more persistent than any of the tears she's shed in the last few weeks. But perhaps the time for crying is over. Maybe it's time she stopped mourning the life she could have had and started making something of the life she's stuck with instead.

She wonders what the girl who grew up in the Gotham apartment would do. The person, that girl with the long blonde hair and the steely gaze seems gone now, lost forever. What would she do? Would she kill her father?

(She thinks of her own terror but she also thinks of the rent money, how it appeared every month without fail. She thinks of how sometimes she would wake up and the fridge would seem fuller, the apartment tidier, how sometimes a new book would appear on her book shelf...She remembers the loneliness cascading through the other girl's veins. She remembers how desperate and terrified she was when her father disappeared into the night. Her father had meant safety. Her father had meant beatings and screaming and cigarette burns but he had also meant power. And if there's one thing Lawrence taught her, it's that power could protect her.)

And it's strange, or at least it feels that way when she turns her back on the Cave and walks towards the zeta tubes, thinking only of Paula and the cup of tea she wants when she gets home. It feels as if a flame has been lit inside her stomach, the same kind that Zatanna once put there with a glass full of vodka— although, she supposes, old memories burn with a lot more bite than any liquor.

It's strange, how quickly she grew up. How quickly her mind switched from prom to potential murder. It feels as if every drop of hope Wally dribbled inside her leaked out of the roots of her hair when her father forced her to scalp herself; feels as if her heart is both simultaneously too full and too empty. It strange how quickly all those dreams of forever can be shoved into forgotten corners of her mind, boxed up and never to be opened again.

And now that's she's used to looking at the short haired girl in the mirror she supposes she can admit something to herself: it was pathetic, building her life around Wally. And maybe she did deserve to be burned, to be scalped, to be beaten within an inch of her life on the rooftop. Maybe it was the shock she needed, the wake-up call she's been dreading, a stark reminder that she isn't an ordinary girl capable of ordinary love with a beyond extraordinary boy.

No, she knows now what she should have known from the beginning: you can't make homes out of people. You can't own them, can't renovate them. You can't expect them to comfort your insecurities, can't use them as a getaway from the real world. People aren't homes, and it was wrong to turn Wally into that. It wasn't right to build him up as an unstoppable force against her many demons. No boy can help her outrun all that, not even the fastest one alive.

(And she supposes, in a way, that settles things. Makes it easier to let that old life with Wally go. Because no matter how she looks at it, she knows one truth: as long as Lawrence is out there, Wally isn't safe. And of all the blood that's on her hands, she refuses to let a drop of it be his.)

And Kaldur's wrong; she doesn't know if she would kill her father, but she knows that the idea of letting him slip through her fingers again is intolerable. So perhaps he was right about one thing. And Quarac may not be Bialya but it means a chance, however small, to redeem herself.

Is she brave enough to take it?

"You really think she would kill him?"

A thousand times she's asked herself that question. She wishes someone else would answer it for her.

"You're not focusing, Artemis." Oliver tells her the next afternoon.

His words seem to jolt her out of her own thoughts, which until a moment ago had been consumed with nothing but her previous night's work in tracking her father, plowing through old phone records and searching old security camera footage, desperate for a hint as to who he's working with in Quarac. Blinking a little stupidly she lowers her bow by a half inch, suddenly realizing she's been firing almost blindingly at her target; she's supposed to be testing the density of the new heads he's placed on her arrows, and when she pulls her eyes into focus she's embarrassed to discover her last three shots have been terrible, nowhere near the crimson dot in the center of the board.

Oliver drops his jaw to survey her, mustache bristling with what she can only assume is a sympathetic smile. "Something on your mind, Sweetie?"

Ignoring his gentle tone she feels her cheeks blotch, one hand pressing her hair out of her face. She hates the length; it's still too short to throw into a pony tail yet long enough to fall constantly onto her forehead, tickling her. "No." She mutters quickly, fumbling for her quiver for another one of the new arrows. "Sorry, here—"

There's a bit too much understanding in the look he sends her, even if it is hidden behind his mask; she doesn't know why he bothers wearing his full uniform, it's just the two of them in the training room, and she hasn't bothered changing out of the sweat soaked tank top and shorts she'd been working out in when he arrived.

Instead of saying anything Oliver watches for a long moment as she notches another arrow against her finger, as if trying deciding how to breech the subject they're looming closer to. "… I've heard you've been having some boy troubles." He says quietly, crossing his arms.

Her stomach clenches as if he's just sent an arrow into her liver, but rather than be betrayed by the flicker of emotion crossing her features she adverts her gaze. "Oliver." She says lowly.

As usual he ignores the warning, torso bending as he leans down to examine her form as she pulls her arrow taught. He must see something in the tightness of the muscles of her shoulders because all at once he straightens, sighing. "... We've all been there, Sweetie. Myself included." The way he says this is strange, and rather than deem this with a comment she sends him a withering look; for some reason he takes this as an invitation to continue. "Comes with the territory. You fight beside these people, emotions run high, close quarters—"

He cuts himself off when she releases her arrow, head turning automatically to follow it as it pierces the scarlet dot in the center, splitting the cork and notching cleanly into the target. "I'm not talking about this with you, okay?" She mutters gruffly, and as if to dismiss him she shoves her bow at him, ignoring the way it fumbles into his hands as she turns to leave. "New arrow heads are great. Can I go?"

"You have to talk about it with someone, Artemis." Even though his face is still friendly something changes in his tone, and at once she gets the sense that she's not supposed to cross him. She winces when he passes her bow back, a little rougher than he should. "It doesn't have to be me. After everything that happened in Athens— Kaldur told me he's arranged extra sessions with Black Canary—"

"I don't want to talk to Black Canary!" She bursts out, cheeks reddening.

When she makes to duck around him again she's not surprised when he blocks her. "You'll do what you're told, young lady." The last part is meant to be a bit of a joke, or at least that's what she supposes when his mustache twitches with what looks like a smile; when nothing happens other than her increased glaring at him Oliver seems to deflate a little bit, looking serious again. "Alright, alright. You're tough, I get it."

"Can I leave now?"

"No." Oliver pauses, looking at her again; she's suddenly very aware that she must look exhausted, under eyes purple with lack of sleep and hair unwashed and uncombed. "... Just let me do something for you, alright? Let's fly the girls out to Hawaii for a week. Or— you're sixteen soon, right? You gonna get your license? How about you and I go car shopping?"

It's very hard not to snort in his face, and she's thankful that this time she manages to get around him. "I don't need anything."

"Come on, Sweetie." He calls after her. "I know they say money can't buy happiness but—"

She hesitates, no longer listening to his babbling as a thought occurs to her; she wonders if Oliver is aware of the League's tracking of Sportsmaster.

Turning back to him, she feels her expression set, scrutinizing him as he talks himself into silence. "… I was thinking of going to Quarac, actually." She says carefully, watching his face closely. "Connor and M'gann are going, they invited me along to meet her—" Her words skip for a half-second as she reads his face, which is rapidly switching from his usual grin to something else, something she can't quite identify. "I don't know. She calls them her family, but they aren't. I don't know."

Oliver must notice the way she's watching him; at once the uneasy expression drops and he seems to force himself to chuckle. "Quarac, huh?" He says, voice sounding measured as he takes a step or two towards her.

As if to buy himself some time he reaches behind her, pulling one of the arrows he gave her from her quiver under the pretense of examining it again. She knows Oliver well enough to know he's doing some quick thinking; she's sure that he knows she would consider him not telling her about the League's investigation of Sportsmaster base treachery, but she also knows Oliver wouldn't be one to betray such highly guarded intel so easily.

The awkward silence stretches out for so long that for a half second she tricks herself into thinking he's still unhappy with the balance of her arrow heads; at least, she thinks so until she catches the way he's studying her through the eyes of his mask. "… Long way from home, isn't it?" He says gruffly.

"… That's kind of the idea." She admits, shrugging. She wonders if he'll try to stop her, if maybe he's been tasked with doing so by the League. "… Apparently her family lives in an animal sanctuary, right along the border to Bialya."

Oliver makes an indistinct noise in the back of his throat at her emphasis; she can tell he's still thinking very fast, wondering how much to tell her. She wonders if he realizes this is a test, wonders if he realizes that she's measuring how much to trust him in the future. "Well." He says after a long moment, voice sounding a little strained. "If you need to get away, then get away. That's fine."

"... Really." She watches as he gives the arrow one last look before reaching over her shoulder again and replacing it back in her quiver.

It might be her imagination, but in the half-second Oliver's masked eyes look at her she sees a flicker of something there— before she can dissect it he's straightening, looking serious. "Go, Sweetie. Relax, and clear your head..." He trails off strangely, jaw setting; for a long moment he seems to debate what he's about to say. "Listen, while you're there—"

"Yeah?" She says too sharply.

More hesitation. "Whatever else is going on, just remember... The most important thing you can do right now for your Team is getting over that Wally kid, okay?"

Again her stomach clenches, but she stops herself from bursting into speech; whatever explanation she owed Oliver evaporated the second he decided not to tell her about the League's tracking of Sportsmaster. "... Whatever."

The idea of leaving to Quarac takes hold of her, and even as she curls up on the couch in the Cave with a book in her hands she can hardly bring herself to read it; she knows it's ridiculous, foolish even, to go after Sportsmaster but a part of her can't help but obsess over the possibility of another encounter...

But she also knows it's pure fantasy— it will be next to impossible to illegally cross into Bialya once she's in Quarac and so watched by M'gann and Connor; furthermore, she suspects Oliver has alerted the League of her going there. She's sure they will be watched while they're gone, some junior members of the League no doubt already assigned with making sure she doesn't run off unnoticed. But at least she's got them cornered; no one can forbid her travelling there without revealing a larger plan that she's still sore about being kept from her— either way, she gets to do what she wants: go to Quarac or track Sportsmaster.

... Still. Even if she didn't know her father was there she suspects she would have made the decision to go to Quarac on her own. For some reason she feels an immeasurable pull towards the place, as if it somehow holds answers to questions she hasn't even thought of yet...

She glances up from the book she's pretending to read when she hears laughter across the room, a small smile crossing her face when she sees Kalur and Tula walking hand in hand down the hallway. Ever since her sudden arrival a few days ago the two have been inseparable—blissfully in love and oblivious to anything or anyone else.

And maybe that's it. It's not just the two of them who are wrapped up in their own lives—everything around the Cave seems to have slowed down, the usual trickle of higher ranked missions having been replaced by low level skirmishes that leave them all annoyed and hardly out of breath. Even the usual occupants of the Cave now appear at infrequent times: Zatanna seems to have grown tired of her constant wallowing and unceremoniously disappears into the confines of a summer country club and its endless supply of suntanned boys; when she tells Dick this she's met with a stale looking stare before he disappears too. Raquel only shows up infrequently to make use of the library, always managing to leave before she can bump into Kaldur or Tula. Roy's been absent since the day she met him on the beach.

When she mentions all this to Kaldur he obliges in answering her unasked question. "... Wally will be leaving soon as well. I believe he is going to visit his Aunt Iris."

For the first time in her memory the rocky mountain she calls her home feels so unnervingly empty, so horribly lonely that she can't help but be reminded of the abandoned Gotham apartment she was locked away in as a child; between the two couples and her own awkward run ins with Wally she can hardly stand to leave her bedroom in the mornings.

(She doesn't admit it, even to herself, but she wants to be as close to Bialya as she can; even without the lure of her father she wants to stand near the same soil where Wally and her once met for the second time, back to the moment she contemplated teaming up with the unknown boy in desert. And even though she'll still be miles away from that holy ground she can't help but feel like she'll see things more clearly over there, back to the sand that echoes whispers of words he once said to her...)

... Maybe she should go. Just to clear her head.

She needs to hide from the shame of what her father did to her on the rooftop and needs to grieve the loss of the girl she used to be; above all, she needs to be alone, or at least alone enough. She needs an escape from the ghost of Wally, which seems to follow her like a shadow around the Cave, around her apartment, sitting across from her at the table in her kitchen. She needs sunshine and dry air and roads she's never trodden down. She needs to run away.

Artemis is a born runner.

It doesn't even occur to her to tell her mother what's happening until the next morning when she's already packed; Paula happens to roll past her bedroom when she's fastening the zipper on her duffel bag, and before she can even think of a way how to explain the older woman is holding up a hand, looking defeated. "Oliver called last night." She sighs.

"Oh." She says stupidly, not sure what to make of this. Privately she thinks that it's a low blow, him tattling to her mother.

She's expecting Paula to be annoyed about being the last one to know about the trip; instead she shrugs, looking as if she's fully aware she's lost her grip on her daughter. "… Just be safe." She tries to say sternly.

For some reason the words send a twist in her stomach, and in the awkward silence she can hear herself screaming at her mother after returning from Athens, can hear her own crying and the half formed words that burst out of her mouth as she had tried to tell her everything hat have happened; more than ever her father seems present in the apartment, choking the both of them.

(And she wants so badly to tell her mother how broken she is— but, she supposes, that isn't exactly a secret. She doesn't know how to put into words how worthless she feels, how lost, how her life feels as if it's crumbling in on itself and how she needs this. She needs this one thing, this one stupid trip, this one pathetic half hope that's more than an excuse to hide in the Metropolis girl and her blood thirst than stay here and watch pieces of her shatter—)

Before she can even think of how to say this Paula's rolling away, wheels squeaking a goodbye in the darkened hallway.

With everyone scattered in so many directions she's not expecting a big send off from the Team, but for some reason that's what they get the morning they're supposed to leave; they're greeted at the docking bay by too many people, mentors and Teammates who all want to hug them and give them well wishes before the part ways for the better part of the summer. For some reason she feels claustrophobic when Oliver loops an arm around her, reminding her to enjoy herself while she's gone.

It's a strange feeling, leaving somewhere—she's so used to being the one left behind that she doesn't quite know what to do with the tightness in her throat, the wetness than comes to her eyes when Dick slings an arm around her shoulder and Zatanna plants a teasing kiss on her cheek. It's not just that she'll miss them, all of them— it's like she'll miss the moment, who she is at this point in time. It feels as if she won't be the same when she gets back, that none of them will; like they'll all be different people and once again she'll be left grasping at old memories and forgotten pasts.

Tula nods politely at her when they say goodbye—there's still an unknown coldness there that she can't help—but Kaldur breaks their seemingly permanently hand-hold to embrace her, arms winding around her shoulders. "You sure you can handle things around here without me?" She tries to tease, palm slapping between his shoulder blades before she pulls back.

"We will manage." Kaldur says back, smiling at her—it's one of his rare ones that expose his oval teeth and make it nearly impossible not to do the same back.

"Oh, sure you—" Her clever comment is cut off short when she catches sight of red hair over his shoulder.

Her eyes flash almost habitually to the jarring apple green of Wally's eyes, and for a moment her brain doesn't register the way her expression falls or the sudden twisting in her stomach. In fact, for that one moment she almost expects to feel the familiar jumping sensation at his presence; it's sudden absence reminds her of losing her footing on a staircase, of her waking from dreams convinced she's falling.

(Reminds her of lips pressed against hers and a thousand reasons why she can't love any part of him. Not anymore.)

It can hardly last more than a half-second—just long enough for her to memorize the tightness of his jaw, which seems to be twisting around something he won't say, not in front of everyone. Before she can do anything other than close her mouth he's looking away; ducking his head and shoving his hands shoving into his pockets he turns, stalking off towards the Bioship. She knows that look well: he wants her to follow him.

(And like always, she can't resist.)

The exchange is unnoticed by almost everyone around them, M'gann squealing loudly through each goodbye and laughter sounding at Connor's sour expression at all the attention, but Kaldur catches the panic flickering behind her eyes, glancing back just in time to see her quarry disappear behind the reddened metal.

"… You do not have to." He says quickly, his hands tightening on her shoulders as if he's warning her to stay in place. "I can go and fetch him if you wish."

"No, I'll…" She starts, feeling a little helpless when she glances at him; she can tell he knows as well as she does that following Wally is a bad idea. She knows going after him will only make things messier, more complicated— but what is she supposed to do? Leave things unsaid? Pretend, forever, like the thunderstorm never happened?

It takes too long for her to find her voice, throat dry when she swallows, not looking at Kaldur. "I'll deal with it, okay?" She mutters, ducking around him.

She can sense Kaldur's gaze turning to follow her but she doesn't glance back; he may know her better than almost anyone but there are some things, she thinks, he'll never understand. Like how she knows, deep down, that she'll have to face Wally sometime; somehow leaving without saying a proper goodbye seems cruel, especially with so many things feeling unfinished.

(They've never done well with unsettled scores and old debts, have they?)

And she knows without being sure of how she knows it that this time will be the last time she says goodbye to Wally; it's time for her to finally break the promise she made all those weeks ago. The next time they meet, nearly a month from now, they will be like strangers all over again; and she'd rather break his heart fully now than do it later, when she comes back sterile of his scent and kindness.

(She feels as if she's walking a death march as she climbs up the ramp, moving quickly so as to avoid any curious eyes that may have turned to follow her as she disappears into the Bioship.)

She inhales the usual coppery scent when she enters the ship, shoes squeaking against the flooring. Her stomach jumps almost the second she enters the main cabin— even in the half-light his hair is still vivid, easy to spot in the dullness of metallic. He's slouched in his usual chair, behind the seat she would normally occupy; he had told her once that he chose that spot as often as he could because he loved watching her hair in the light, how it shimmered in long platinum lines down her back.

She feels like a fraud, an imposter of the real Artemis as she stands there, hair no longer long nor shiny. She hates the scruff of blonde hair that hardly brushes the tops of her ears.

All the courage it took to follow him seems to evaporate the longer she looks at his back, watching the tightness of his shoulders as he stares at her in the reflection of the glass opposite him. Her fingers tremble as she grips the strap of her gym bag and she seriously considers bolting right back out the way she came. Before she can decide whether or not to run she hears Wally's shoes squeak on the floor as he turns to her; suddenly looking at any part of him is impossible. Pretending to be fascinated with the dirt on the toes of her sneakers she does her best to breathe.

"Hi." He says at last, voice almost too-carefully measured.

She makes a show of glancing upwards and fixing her gaze on a spot somewhere above his left shoulder. Her knees quiver. "Hi." She mutters and, feeling like she's exhausted the most of her bravery, she scampers like a coward towards the back cabin.

So much for that.

She feels like an idiot as the door swings closed behind her, not quite blocking out the frustrated sigh that Wally lets out from his chair; she's back to being afraid of him, back to being frightened of all the feelings swirling between them, running like a kicked dog with its tail between its legs...

She's not expecting him to leave it at that and he doesn't; he allows her about ten seconds to panic in the cabin before he follows, appearing just in time to watch her throw her bag on the bottom bunk, claiming it. "You weren't going to say goodbye or anything?" He asks almost accusingly; she's not even looking at him and she can tell his ears are going off.

She wishes she hadn't let go of her bag so quickly; now there's nothing to do with her hands. Doing her best to harden her voice she ignores twisting of her stomach, which feels less like she's going to be sick and more like she's recently swallowed a wriggling python. "Bye." She offers almost indifferently.

The second the words leave her mouth she can tell they're the wrong ones; Wally lets them hang in the air for far too long, their cruelty ringing loudly in her ears and making her hate herself even more. "That's it?" His voice isn't even raised but she still winces as if he's just screamed at her; when she makes the mistake of glancing at him he's got his brows furrowed, jaw tight as he tries to read her expression. "That's all I get?"

Something must show in her eyes because after a moment his spine seems to straighten, his hands clenching inside his pockets as he stands directly in front of the door, frowning. She knows it isn't meant to be predatory, his standing there isn't meant to mean anything it's just where he stopped when he came in— but still, she can't help but feel cornered, trapped under his scrutiny as she squints at her.

She hates when he looks at her like this, jaw dropped and scientist eyes analyzing her like she's one of his experiments— it always makes her feels as if whole parts of her are suddenly transparent, like he can suddenly see more to her than even she knows; just like it did the first time he did it she can feel her heart suddenly pounding inside her ribs, her cheeks bursting into an ugly red. Fixing her uncomfortable hunching she straightens to her full height, careful not to blink. "Goodbye. Kid."

As she says it his frown turns into a full out glare, as sour as if she's just started spraying swears at him; suddenly it's as if it's months ago and they're both full of nothing but hatred for each other. She knows that he's fully aware of what the words mean. She knows it's not simply a goodbye, but she can't quite figure out what she wants to say instead. It's not I love you, but it could never be I hate you either. And maybe it's the thousand things she's felt since she first walked away at their window, the words she'll never quite work out how to get out of her throat without them leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

And somehow, as always, she thinks Wally knows without her saying. He knows how badly she's missed him because he's missed her just the same; every minute, every hour without him has felt endless, and imagining her whole life like that is more terrifying than she can put into words. He knows how she'd wander around out of habit because he's trod that same lonely path too; he's known the pain of seeing something that reminded him of her and realizing, with a crashing weight, that she wasn't there anymore, that those long conversation about nothing are now only memories that will be lost between the two of them. He knows just as well as she does that that kind of realization is like having the air knocked out of your lungs, like having whole pieces of you sliced off and thrown away.

And she knows, as does he, that they've risked their lives for each other. And they both know they would do it again, and again, and as many agains as it would take to keep the other safe. They both know that they might have belonged together, that if things were different and if they had met just in passing on a street or at a high school dance and weren't the type to wear blazing symbols on their chests they could have, maybe, been two parts of a whole. But she can't belong to him, and he can't belong to her because people can't be owned by other people. You can't make a home out of a person. And it was wrong for two people so different to try.

And he knows, as well as she, that this time when one of them walks away it will mean goodbye. It will mean an ending to Wally and Artemis. Not as people, not on their own. But it will be the end of their belonging together. It will be the end of running back to each other and the start of something else; the start of wistful looks at old photographs and hazy thoughts after one too many drinks. It will be the end of the end.

And maybe the beginning of something else too.

Wally blinks and the moment ends; she turns her back on him under the pretense of fumbling pointlessly with her bag, ignoring it when he lets a loud exhale out of his nose. She waits to hear the sound of his sneakers against the tile and the swing of the door behind him as he leaves.

"I hate goodbyes." He mutters instead. He shoes squeak as he shifts his weight.

(He doesn't accuse her of running away from him. He doesn't ask her the thousand angry questions burning inside his head. And maybe that's one of the things she both loves and hates most about him— how even after all this time he never quite does what she's expecting.)

Rather than send another look his way she makes a bigger deal than she has to about extracting her toothbrush from an inside pocket of her bag. "… Then let's not bother, okay?" She says as meanly as she can, her fingers shaking as she fumbles with the zipper to replace it.

Her heart is pounding so loudly in her ears that she can hardly hear the sound of him approaching; like an idiot she jumps when she turns to find him behind her, a clean foot away but still close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. It strikes her, in the back of her mind, that he's gotten taller without her noticing again. "I hate when people leave." He says quietly, the whispered words ruffling her too short hair and sending a wave of the alluring walnut smell over her; it's very hard not to reach out and touch him, not to lean in and kiss him just for the sake of smearing the almost pained expression from his features. "… Reminds me of when they said they wouldn't."

"… I never said I wouldn't leave." She tries to say back, voice hushed for some reason. She feels as if there's a shipwreck inside her lungs, pieces of metal impaling her and making it impossible to breathe for fear of drowning.

He's standing too close to her.

Wally's hands are clenched in his pockets, as if the thin strip of denim is the only thing holding him back from touching her. "No." He shrugs, and for some reason the corners of his mouth quirk up in a twisted, gut wrenchingly small smile. "I know that... You just promised you'd always come back."

His voice breaks at the mention of the old promise and a part of her seems to come back to reality; blinking a bit too rapidly she slips out from where he's cornered her, striding across the room at random until she can no longer feel his heat licking at her skin. "I am coming back." She mutters, trying to sound annoyed. "July 4th, Baywatch. Mark your calendar."

For a half-second he stares at the spot she just vacated, inhaling heavily. Feeling stupid she crosses her arms, shifting her feet like an idiot. "Not like that." He mumbles, gaze dropping to his shoes.

He doesn't continue, but she hears the words inside her head as if he's just yelled them in her face. "You promised you'd always come back to me."

Her ribs seem to compress and she's sure she can feel her own bone marrow piercing her heart. Once again she feels like he's giving her a way to back-track, to take everything that's happened since the 28th of May back, like if she can only find the right words to say none of it will matter anymore. Whatever those words may be they don't come to her, her throat seeming to tighten as if the Metropolis girl herself is choking her. Instead of saying what he needs to hear she says the only word that comes to her mind whenever she's frightened like this.

"… Wally." She breathes.

"It's stupid." He says quickly, sounding as if he has a head cold as he turns back to look at her. "I know it is. I just thought…I feel like if you leave, that's it. I'm out of second chances." His ears seems to turn nearly purple as he pauses to wipe his nose on the back of his hand. "If you go, it's really over for us."

She realizes she's got her fists clenched so tightly around her forearms that she's left reddened marks behind.. "... It's already over for us, Kid. I don't know how many more times I have to say it."

"Is it?" He asks accusingly, and for a moment she sees a flash of the madness she's only ever seen lightning illuminate. "… Because you kissed me, Artemis. I know I didn't imagine it." He says fiercely, beginning to look angry. "I know I didn't imagine that, I—I can't think up something that real."

She's not sure what that's supposed to mean but the way he says it makes her blush. "I-I shouldn't have done that." She stutters, shaking her head. "It was… I didn't mean anything by it." This is a lie and they both know it, but he doesn't bother to correct her. "… You can't… We can't keep doing stuff like this, okay? Kid? We can't keep fighting like we're—"

Wally lets out a low hiss and talks under her. "Oh, fuck off—"

"—Still together." She finishes, eyes narrowing at his swearing. "… We can't okay? We're nothing to each other now. Get used to it."

Something flashes behind his eyes, something hurt and vulnerable, and for a moment he seems to get so frustrated with her that he can't speak, instead shaking his head and glaring hard at the ground. "… You're not nothing to me. You're something." He says after a moment, and even thought the words are sweet he spits them at her as if he wants them to gouge pieces of her flesh away. "And I know I'm something to you too."

"Still." She says insistently, sighing. "It doesn't— I'm not anyone's anything okay?" She mutters, and it feels safer to be annoyed than whatever other emotion is eating her from the inside out. "… I'm nothing."

She doesn't mean to say it the way she does—broken sounding, defeated—but it comes out like that; almost at once Wally's head is jerking up, expression no longer angry but somehow not anything else she can identify. "Don't say that."

For some reason she shakes her head, blinking quickly as if she's about to cry even though no tears are burning at her eyes. "It's fine." She says stiffly. "Just go, okay?"

"Artemis—"

She's wrong—she might actually cry, and she needs him to leave before the last piece of resistance she's trying so hard to cling to crumbles underneath her completely. "I-I don't want to leave like this. Can you just get out of here?" She says quickly, shutting her eyes.

She feels stupid, standing there with her fists clenched at her sides, eyes screwed shut—she can feel her insides warbling, shaking; it takes every bit of strength she has not to throw herself at him, not start crying and demand to be taken care of like a small child. With every squeak of his sneakers she can feel herself getting closer—she needs him to leave, needs him to get out of her life—

(And she can't help but think that losing the person you love is the worst kind of drowning; now more than ever the loss of Wally, the loss of first love, seems to stick to her bones, cling to her skin. She thinks of how she used to dive into him, how she used to burrow herself in his goodness and hide from the worst parts of herself in there, how he felt like an endless pool of hope, of happiness. And the loss of someone like that is far worse than having water fill her lungs, more terrible than having parts of her burst under the pressure. It's pouring whole oceans inside of herself and realizing that nothing can fill the emptiness of his absence, no amount of holy water will ever replicate the reckless joy that once was Wally's kind of drowning—)

She hears the door shut, and the sound seems to echo a thousand times inside her. When she opens her eyes she realizes she's alone in the little back cabin.

(And she doesn't know why, but she didn't think he would really leave.)

AN: Another chapter up! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews for the last chapter, a few of them were so kind I was almost in tears.

Please read and review!