Parenthesis

by knottedblonde

"She tries to put a lot of words into the kiss, words she isn't brave enough to say out loud: She'll stand by him because she cares about him, and if there's anything he's taught her it's that when you care about people, really care about them, you don't leave. Not forever." Sequel to my other story, Artemisia. Artemis-centric; the gap between Season 1 & 2. M in later chapters.

29. Sweep of the Sand

AN: Finally an update! Thanks so much for all the reviews- I just noticed Parenthesis passed 400. Words can't express how happy that makes me.

Please enjoy.

---

"Artemis? Are you even listening?"

She blinks; when she realizes that she's supposed to look up from where she's been staring at her feet as they slap down the boardwalk she'd met with an annoyed look from Zatanna. "What?" She says automatically, wincing when her hair falls into her eyes. "Yeah, I mean—" She stops herself in the middle of the lie, pushing her hair back behind her ears. "... Sorry."

The other girl makes an annoyed noise in the back of her throat, head turning to check her reflection in a passing shop window. The closer they get to the beach the more people seem to appear around them, and for a moment she loses sight of the other girl as a passing group of boys their age shoulders between them, sniggering at them in passing before continuing their walk towards the beach. "— this is supposed to be fun." Zatanna says stiffly when they come back together, one of her arms slinking through hers in order to avoid separation again. "I know this was my idea, but if you don't want to go—"

"I do." She tries to say as convincingly as she can, ignoring the whistling as they pass another group of teens and pretending not to notice the way several heads turn and stare at them as they continue down the boardwalk. "I just... I don't know."

Despite herself she glances down to her wrist, the mark Connor left there hours ago now fading into a sickly yellow bruising; wincing, she shoves her free hand into her back pocket.

When she looks at her again something in the other girl's expression shifts, azure eyes watching her carefully. "... You could at least pretend to be excited." She says after a moment, nudging her and smirking. "I showed Owen your picture and he's been texting me constantly, asking me all about you."

"I am excited." She tries to grin back— perhaps there's a something a little too convincing in the look she sends the other girl because at once she finds she can't look at her, her gaze returning back to her sandals. "About everything: the fireworks, this beach, Owen..."

She trails off, not sure where the lie is taking her; for some reason she doesn't want to tell Zatanna about the phone call from M'gann, as if it's some sort of betrayal to the Martian, or to Wally or Connor— it just feels as if voicing what happened aloud would make it more than just her problem, something that the Team as a whole has to deal with... Regardless, the ends of her words seem to hang in the air for a second before Zatanna picks them up, looking at her sympathetically. "... It's just that this is your first date since Wally."

Wally. His name alone seems to strike through her, a spike of warmth in the never ending frost bite inside her... She doesn't understand him— perfect, too-nice, Wally West. Even more, she doesn't understand why this keeps... Happening, between them, why they keep coming back to each other in odd moments of comfort. What's the point of him even being nice to her? He didn't have to be earlier; he could have walked past her, ignored her— neither of them owe each other a damn thing anymore. Isn't that what the elastic means? His contempt for her, all the bad things between them? If he's supposed to hate her...

Why is he always there?

And why does she always trust it?

She forces herself to stop going over the never ending questions in her mind and instead shrugs, the movement jostling the two of them and sending the vodka bottle in Zatanna's beach bag clinking; ever since returning home she's been sidestepping her feelings about the boy in question, and the last thing in the world she can stand to do is talk about them.

Again Zatanna seems to take her silence for what it is. "I know it's weird." She says kindly. "But this is good for you— I mean, you've been so down lately. And Owen's such a fun guy, and he's not on the Team so you can... You know. Have fun and not be worried about... Stuff."

This is oddly unspecific. "Fun?"

"You can get laid without feeling guilty."

She lets out a loud snort of disbelief; the noise is apparently so offensive that two bikini clad girls in front of them feel the need to glance back over their shoulders, looking scandalized. "Zatanna!" She hisses in an undertone, an exasperated smile crossing her features.

"What?" She other girl counters, looking amused at her horrified expression. "What other kind of fun are boys good for?"

Shaking her head she pushes her hair back behind her ears, deciding not to answer that question. "... Did Dick say what time him and Wally were coming out?" She tries to ask as innocently as possible.

"You mean what time him, Wally, and Barbara Something are coming? No."

She doesn't say anything to this, and she thinks the other girl knows why; ignoring the look Zatanna sends her she drops her gaze back to her feet.

---

It's noon by the time they make it to the block across from the main beach, which is so full of bustling crowds bursting through the shops and restaurants that they hardly have room to move down the boardwalk. It looks as if all of Happy Harbor has migrated to the beach for the occasion, the people passing them all laughing and talking animatedly. "This is ridiculous." She says through her teeth after being knocked into for the umpteenth time. "How are we supposed to find anyone in this mess?"

Zatanna ignores her, instead unclasping her arm from hers and pulling her hair off her neck; it's impossibly hot, and looking on with the slightest jealousy she watches the other girl pull her overlong hair into a pony tail. "We're supposed to be meeting them in front of this burger place." She says, reaching out to grab her hand. "At the end of the block. Come on."

It seems to take forever to make their way through the crowds, being hindered constantly by scantily clad girls and teenage boys gawking and hollering as they pass; between the people and the heat she can feel her temper shortening, annoyance flaring up in the back of her throat.

Finally after over half a block Zatanna stops her short, hand tightening on hers as she turns on her heel; she nearly steps on the other girls toes as she whirs around to face her, both her hands clasping hers as her face breaks into an excited grin. "There they are!" She squeals in an undertone, the both of them ignoring the annoyed clucks they get from the people struggling to move around them. "Look! Under the restaurant sign."

It takes several seconds of standing on her toes to see over the crowds but she finally spots them— the two boys from the photographs, looking bored and over heated. Without a doubt Kaleb is the better looking of the two; once again his hair is arranged in that perfectly tousled way, shoulders broad and jaw tilted as he leans against the outside of the building. For some reason he seems older from a distance, or maybe it's just the fact that he's no longer pulling ridiculous faces; there's a strange, almost Roy-ish air to him as he tilts his head towards the sunshine, saying something she can't hear.

There's a half second where Kaleb's words seem to settle before her eyes are drawn to the unknown Owen beside him; although slightly less remarkable she's sure he's still good looking, a glint of pearly white teeth flashing at her as he bursts into laughter. Even from here she can tell he has a nice laugh, the kind that unwillingly reminds her of Wally— it's a burst of raw joy, happiness firing out of him in short chuckles as he rakes his hands through his blonde curls and forces them to stick out at odd angles.

There's more laughter between the two, another joke, and she watches as Owen polishes off a water bottle and tosses it carelessly towards a nearby trash can, missing but making no move to correct the mistake as they both continue their leaning. They're both tall, even slouching like that. Tall is good.

She can tell Zatanna's watching her face very carefully, looking excited when she lowers herself down from the ends of her toes. "Well?" The other girl grins, eyes glinting wickedly.

"... They're cute." She says, for the first time believing it.

She gets a single excited squeal, her fingers throbbing as Zatanna squeezes them. "Come on!" There's enough time to register her hands being released before the other girl is gone, darting in a gap in the crowd before she can follow. "Kaleb! Owen!"

She's left standing awkwardly several yards behind, her shoulders being buffeted as people try to push their way past her and onto the beach— it takes her two attempts before she can part the crowd, feeling herself blush as she's forced to burst awkwardly through the solid lines of people, stumbling to a stop as her hair flops into her eyes.

When she emerges Zatanna sends her a look that seems to tell her that she's hopeless, and privately she agrees.

The unknown Kaleb seems to take pity on her, releasing Zatanna from the hug he's pulled her into and instead grinning at her a little sheepishly. "Rough water out there?" He says slightly in a half teasing voice; there's something odd about the way he's putting his words together, as if he's faking halfway to an Australian accent. "Happy Harbor can get a little crazy on the 4th of July. We thought you'd gotten lost in the riptide."

She can't quite place his accent, or his fake one, and without thinking her eyes narrow, untrusting; it takes the prodding of one of Zatanna's fingers in her side for her to realize that it's her turn to say something. "... Well." She says dumbly after a moment, cheeks heating again. "I'm here now."

It's meant to be subtle but she can sense his eyes scanning her up and down, one of his elbows shifting unnoticeably to prod his friend; before she decides if she likes being looked at like this the curly haired Owen is jutting out a hand, his smile so wide she can count each one of his teeth. "Hey." He says politely, taking her hand and shaking it before she can offer it. "You're Artemis, huh?"

She doesn't really know what to make of this, instead turning to look at Zatanna. "Uh, yeah." She says slowly, feeling annoyed when he doesn't release her hand for several seconds. "And you're Owen... And Kaleb."

There's several moments of awkward silence in which they both look at her again, as if waiting for her to talk more; she has the distinct impression that they know far too much about her, as if Zatanna's been saying things that aren't quite true behind her back. "So," Owen says after a long moment; he tilts his head too much when he talks, although she supposes it does make his blond curls bounce in an almost cute way. "Wow. I mean, hi."

Now he's not saying anything; for a long moment the two of them just look at each other, sizing each other up. She can feel her eyes narrowing at his curls, the sandiness of his skin, the well toned biceps sticking out of the sleeves of his tee shirt. And she knows she should feel it— the sudden whirl inside her, the nervousness jumping in her stomach, the heating of pleasure at being looked at this way...

But she can't. Her stomach is empty and her heart is cold, and the longer this strange and handsome boy looks at her the more she wishes he would stop.

"... So." She says after a while, feeling slightly helpless as she catches Zatanna's eye begging for help.

"We have vodka!" The other girl bursts out badly, the tip of her nose blushing.

It's neither elegant or graceful, but it does make the two boys laugh; she's on the receiving end of a flash of teeth from Owen, her stomach taking the moment to turn over uncomfortably before Kaleb speaks. "Sounds like we have the beginning of a party."

---

"... So."

She glances up from where she's been picking at her almost empty plate, immediately locking eyes with Owen across the booth. He has the strange practice of putting the word out there, probably a nervous habit designed to fill the silence like the awkward one Kaleb and Zatanna have plunged them into since disappearing towards the bar with Kaleb's fake I.D.

The restaurant around them is busy, people talking loudly and drinking enthusiastically, waitresses weaving in between overcrowded tables. She supposes she ought to try to smile a little more, or pretend to be more interested— after all, he's buying her meal. And it's not like the two guys have been that awful to hang out with so far.

Kaleb, for some reason, had reminded her startlingly of Roy even more so after the first few minutes— an opinion on everything and something to say on every subject, no matter how trivial. Strangely, this isn't entirely a bad thing; between him and Zatanna the conversation moves easily, flowing around her with such ease that she doesn't really have to listen.

... Owen is a different story. He's confident, maybe too much so, and every few minutes he blurts out a joke or a comment that's only halfway funny to her yet seems to crack Zatanna and Kaleb up with ease; for some reason it feels so much like an act, a façade he's wearing for her benefit that she can't quite figure out.

It occurs to her that he's waiting for her to say something. "... So?" She shrugs dryly.

Her response, or lack there of, makes him grin; once again she greeted with a flash of glinting teeth, too-white next to his tanned skin. "... So, you're kind of bad at this, aren't you?"

She can feel her spine straightening instantly, eyes narrowing to glare at him across the booth. "Excuse me?"

Rather than be intimidated he grins again, leaning back with apparent ease, one hand combing through his curls and making them frizz. "You haven't dated much, I mean." He tells her, dropping his fist back to the table. "Either that or you're just shy."

She can feel her nose wrinkling, looking away in hopes of somehow finding Zatanna in the crowd. When she doesn't say anything back Owen leans forward, elbows bracing on the table. "Not that there's anything wrong with that." He tells her, and when she turns her head back towards him she feels a stab of annoyance run through her as he seizes his fork, reaching out to pick at her leftovers. "I'm cool with either one."

She wants to strangle him as he pierces a lettuce leaf from her plate, popping it into his mouth. "Great." She says between her teeth. "How reassuring."

"It's also cool if you don't like me." He shrugs, looking amused when she keeps glaring daggers at him. "You will eventually."

"Really."

"Sure." He grins again. "... Zatanna's told me a lot about you. You're pretty much how I thought you'd be."

She blinks, watching as he takes a glug of water. "And how am I?" She counters.

Owen clangs the glass on the table, hesitating for a moment as if to survey her. "A little cold. Pretending to be tougher than you are." He says calmly, the corners of his mouth quirking into a cocky grin when she forces her face to remain impassive. "A challenge."

"A challenge?"

She watches through narrowed eyes as he raises his little finger, nail scratching food out of his teeth before he smiles again. "You know what I mean. You're not easy, like Zatanna."

"You," she starts, feeling her cheeks heat as she leans back against the booth, "are an asshole."

"I'm actually being pretty nice." He tells her frankly. "I've been trying to make conversation for almost ten minutes. You're the one whose been sitting there like you're getting your teeth pulled."

It takes a second for this to register in her mind; crossing her arms she presses herself further into the plushness of the booth. "... Whatever."

Owen shrugs, looking amused when she blushes again. "You don't have to apologize." He says teasingly, guessing correctly that she wasn't about to. "I'm not phased or anything. My mom was married four times when I was growing up— I've known my fair share of cold and distant step fathers. I can bond easily enough with someone who's just shy."

She hesitates, caught between correcting him and the strange comfort his words have just given her; swallowing, she presses her hair back more firmly behind her ears. "... Your mom was married four times?"

"Sure." He says vaguely, and somehow she can sense that he doesn't want to go into detail. "Makes you a lot more mellow. You get used to people coming and going, and you learn to just enjoy them while they're there."

She hears herself make an indistinct noise in the back of her throat, thinking over his words carefully and not remembering to be annoyed when he leans forward again, spearing more of her salad on his fork. "That must have been hard." She says after a moment. "... People leaving."

He shrugs again, and she's not surprised when he changes the subject. "You're not having that great of a time, are you?"

"No." She says quickly, pausing at once to think the answer over. "I mean— I don't know. I haven't decided."

Feeling sheepish she glances down to her now empty plate, ignoring the look he sends her. "Anything I can do to make it more fun?" Once again she feels her stomach turn over, as if it's strange that someone is being kind to her; she can't even decide what to say when she hears Owen chuckle. "At least smile for me. You're too pretty to be scowling all the time."

It's a bit of a line and she can't help but roll her eyes; still, despite herself the corners of her mouth quirk up, a not quite smile that sends Owen grinning.

Before either of them can say anything else there's a loud bark of laughter as Kaleb and Zatanna slide their way back into the booth, passing them tiny glasses of a strange amber liquid. "Shots!" Kaleb whispers, handing her and Owen a glass before they can even greet them. "Come on, let's take them quick before the waitress comes and starts asking questions."

Across from her Owen raises his brows, and without wanting to she hears his words again— she's a challenge. Another girl to charm, another girl to play a game with.

Ignoring him when he raises the tiny glass to her she shoots the amber liquid down, the harshness of the alcohol burning angrily for a moment before the numbness consumes it, just like everything else.

---

The afternoon reaches a boiling point shortly after they leave the restaurant; she's sure even the tip of her nose is sunburnt, her Vietnamese skin not saving her from the intensity of the heat.

She's in the middle of wishing she had remembered to bring sunscreen when Zatanna flops down on the bench she's currently occupying, smirking at her. "I just talked to Owen." She says after a moment, eyes glinting. "What do you think?"

Without saying anything the two of them automatically glance back towards the line for ice cream, surveying the two boys as they talk animatedly while waiting to pay. "I don't know." She says carefully, taking the cone Zatanna hands her. "Why? What did he say?"

"That you're cute." The other girl pauses, taking a lick of her own cone, a strange orange thing piled several scoops too high. "Really cute. He says he likes shy girls."

She snorts. "God." She mutters, carefully twisting her cone so as to catch a dribble of chocolate before it melts down to her hand. "He's a piece of work."

"And what does that mean?"

She scoffs at the other girl's tone, half amused and half offended. "Come on, Zee." She huffs. "He's full of himself. And a bit of an ass."

Zatanna lets out a bark of laughter that nearly topples the top scoop of her cone. "So what? You're a bit of an ass too." She teases, ignoring her when she pretends to glare. "You know what I mean. You guys have a lot in common—"

"—Gee, thanks—"

"—Besides, you've only spent, what, ten minutes alone with him?" The other girl finishes, not looking phased by her interruptions. "You can't really get a good grip on someone that quick."

She hesitates but can't think of a good argument for this, her head beginning to feel clogged by the heat and the alcohol they've been taking turns sipping from the bottle in the other girl's bag; for a long moment she remains quiet, taking a few licks of her ice cream. "... Things are going well with Kaleb, huh?"

"Yeah." Zatanna grins, sounding slightly relieved that she's caught on. "Really well. So if you could just... Keep Owen busy? For just a little longer?"

She sighs. "Fine."

---

Keeping Owen busy, it turns out, is more difficult than she's expecting; despite Zatanna's insistence that they have so much in common she finds him incredibly difficult to talk to, his repeated cracks at conversation often leaving her attempting to laugh weakly at his lame jokes, or nodding along and trying not to be annoyed when their conversation sputters out and she's forced to endure more teasing about her apparent shyness. By the time the sun starts drifting towards the horizon she can't wait for the evening to be over, already dreaming of the Cave and its air conditioning.

As time passes the main part of the beach grows mercilessly packed, people no longer lounging on the sand and instead weaving through each other, simply trying to find a place to stand. All around them people seem to tither with excitement, drinks sloshing over the rims of their cups and girlish squeals sounding as the party begins to bloom around them. Distantly she can hear the thrum of boats spinning across the water, music blasting from speakers every few feet all repeating the same few choruses of boppy pop songs and raging beats.

"You have a cigarette?" Owen asks her quite suddenly as they're walking down the boardwalk, Zatanna and Kaleb tottering several yards ahead and having a noticeably better time than either of them.

She feels her nose wrinkle, one hand shoving in her shorts pocket and the other tilting her drink towards her mouth, sipping through her straw and feeling to burn of alcohol on her tongue. "No. Don't smoke."

For some reason this makes Owen laugh, when she glances up at him she's unsurprised by another glance at his pearly teeth— vaguely she wonders if he practices smiling this way, determined to show off the too-white and too-straight teeth his parents no doubt paid good money at an orthodontist for. "No way." He chuckles, grinning down at her. "I thought that was a thing with you mysterious types. To prove you're all deep or whatever."

She doesn't know what to say to this and instead watches as he fumbles in the back pocket of his shorts, extracting a cigarette carton. "I smoke." He tells her confidently, as if this is supposed to be impressive. "But my mother would kill me if she knew. Kill me."

The way he says the last words is ridiculous, as if this defiance is supposed to impress her; she can't stop herself from snorting. "You sound too young to smoke." She tells him frankly, glancing towards the ocean and wishing she were literally anywhere else.

Owen makes a big show of placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it, puffing on it shakily and blowing a half breath of smoke into the air in front of them; she can tell right away it's a new habit, something stupid he's taken up to impress girls. "You're not doing it right." She tells him after a moment, watching the last of the vapor fade away into the heat of the early evening. "You're inhaling around the cigarette, not through it."

"I thought you said you didn't smoke?"

"I don't." She mutters. She doesn't mention her father or her sister— instead she takes another sip of her drink, tasting the spike of alcohol under the sweetness of the pop, and silently wishes the vodka would burn some feeling back inside her.

"What's with the wrist?" He asks, watching as she lowers her cup from her mouth.

It takes her a second or two to register what he's talking about; when she glances at her hand holding her drink she's surprised again by the painful looking yellow bruising, now becoming flecked by strange blotches of purple. "I fell." She says automatically, firing out the old response she used to use when her father's beatings got a bit too savage. "I'm clumsy."

It's a bit of an obvious lie, but before he can say anything teasing to this to there's a shout and a flurry of movement as the crowd opens up; she has enough time to glance at Owen in a slightly confused manner before she feels a hand slapping her hard on the shoulder. "There you are." Dick grins, shoving forward through the crowd and yanking on the hand of a red haired girl she thinks she recongizes. "We've been looking for you for like an hour."

There's an annoyed noise to her left and Wally appears at her elbow. "It's been twenty minutes, Dude." He huffs, turning to her and speaking in an undertone. "He's been driving me crazy, looking for Zatanna. Hi, by the way." He adds, voice trailing off with a bit of a chuckle.

"Hey." She mutters, the corners of her mouth quirking.

(It's his laughter that does it— the small inflection of humor, of exasperation. It sparks something inside her, something so fragile and vulnerable that she's afraid to touch it, to think on it too much. She's not even sure if there's a name for it— this feeling of "more," that consumes her, filling in her hollows...)

There's a moment of silence in which she can sense Owen glancing between them. "Uh." He says gruffly, shifting himself into the conversation and seizing her drink from her hand. "Who's this?" He asks, puffing once on his cigarette before taking a sip directly from her straw.

She feels her nose wrinkle, annoyance flashing through her as quickly at the strange look that crosses Wally's face as he blinks smoke out of his eyes. "Friends of mine." She says between her teeth, grabbing her drink back. "Wally, Dick, and— She hesitates, the unknown red haired girl merely smirking and raising a brow at her. She's not sure if she's supposed to know the other girl's name.

"Barbara." She finishes for her, voice haughtier than she expected as she surveys her through heavily lidded eyes. "I know who you are. You're Artemis Crock, you go to Gotham Academy too."

All this is said with a slightly suspicious tone, but before she can do much more than frown in surprise Dick interrupts. "Barbara likes to play detective too." He offers as an explanation, and she doesn't need to guess what he means by it— she needs to be careful with what she says around her. As if to ward off the sticky moment Dick extends a hand, looking Owen once over quickly before standing on his toes, attempting to see around him. "You must be Owen. Seen Zatanna?"

In response Owen frowns. "Uh, over there—"

He's not even finished speaking before Dick's dodging past him, spitting out a thanks that they only half hear; trying her best not to snort at the expression on the other boy's face she's instead is forced to confront Barbara as she surveys her again, eyes narrowed. "You know, Gotham City is pretty far from Happy Harbor."

She blinks. "Yeah?" She says vaguely, taking a sip of her drink without thinking and wincing at the stale taste of cigarette smoke.

Barbara keeps looking at her, brows raising. "I just mean— Dick's father flew us out here." She says, a note of pride in her voice. "It was very romantic, but it cost a fortune."

"Okay." She says vaguely, wondering where this is going.

The other girl's nose wrinkles, as if debating something, before charging ahead determinedly. "I know you only go to Gotham Academy on a scholarship. I'm just wondering how you managed to afford the trip down here."

Her brows raise, feeling mildly offended; Barbara, like Zatanna, seems to be a fan of cutting to the chase, however brutally so. Thinking off the top of her head she forces herself to shrug nonchalantly, ignoring the empty slot in her stomach where she knows embarrassment and shame should sit. "I'm just in town for the summer." She says vaguely. "My, uh, sister lives down here. I visit sometimes. I met Zatanna through her."

The other girl's eyes narrow before they turn accusingly to Wally, who meets the unasked question with the air of someone who's already faced it a thousand times. "I told you. I'm just here for the week to visit my Aunt Iris."

"I thought you were from Central City?"

"And I can't have an Aunt in Happy Harbor?"

Although she's only just met her she has to give Barbara some credit; the girl has an uncanny ability to read people, and she's almost certain she knows that something is off. As if giving the two of them up for a bad job she swings her head back to where Owen's standing, looking nonplussed. "And you?"

"Happy Harbor, born and raised." He says stiffly.

The other girl glares and instead rounds on the two of them, hands resting on her hips. "It's just strange." She says defensively. "People from all over the country... And you two know each other how?"

Wally lets out a fake sounding sigh. "We've met once or twice over the years." As if he's already explained this to her before, continuing before she can ask any more questions. "And Dick and I know each other from when we were kids. And," He says in that annoying over exaggerated way of his. "Dick and Zatanna are cousins."

She can't help from chucking at this, and immediately had to stifle the noise by taking a swig of her drink; rather than look fooled Barbara glares at her, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder. "Please. Kissing Cousins, maybe." She huffs, looking a mixture of annoyed and amused. "Speaking of which, I'd better figure out where Dick ran off to."

Looking slightly moody Owen jerks a thumb over his shoulder, directing her and exhaling another puff of cigarette smoke; feeling annoyed she's seized by a stroke of inspiration as she watches the back of Barbara's head disappear into the crowd. "Actually, can you run and get the vodka from Zatanna?" She asks him, trying her best to smile weakly. "I need another drink."

Judging by her only half empty cup this excuse is pretty lame, but Owen seems to take the hint; puffing more smoke out he shrugs, following Barbara into the crowd.

Almost the second he's gone Wally snorts, smirking down at her. "Nice." He rolls his eyes, waving a hand to clear the smoke. "He seems great. The date's going well?"

"Shut up." She says back, trying to glare and instead feeling her lips quirk up in the slightest, the smallest of movements that feels more real than anything else that's crossed her features all day.

There's a pause, the kind that's just a heart beat too long to be simple, and before she can dissect what the grin on his face is supposed to mean he's crossing his arms, shaking his head. "Seriously. How's the guy?"

It's a bit too casual, and she's sure the way his eyes suddenly drop to the sand isn't coincidental. "Wally." She sighs.

"It's just a question." He says quickly, glancing up at her.

Something inside her quails at the earnest expression on his face, her stomach twisting as she watches him shrug his too broad shoulders; suddenly it's her who can't quite look at him. "... I don't know." She mutters, feeling her burnt cheeks heat. "He's a bit of an idiot, to be honest."

For some reason Wally lets out a short chuckle— and she feels it again, that fragile wholeness that terrifies her— and when she finally gets the courage to look at him he's scrubbing nervously at his neck. "Ah, well. That doesn't mean much." He says, his voice sounding strangely un-Wallyish, smile a little too forced. "You thought I was an idiot at first too, didn't you?"

It's so strange; talking about the past in such sterile terms, as if there aren't still feelings stirring just out of sight inside her; once against her stomach twists, her fingers clenching nervously around her drink. "... That's different." She says after a moment.

Wally's hand falls back to his side, and for some reason her eyes are drawn to it; her elastic is still sitting there, its presence around his wrist so dependable that the sun has darkened the skin around it, new freckles bursting out on either side and giving the appearance of a tan line. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She says sincerely, and without warning the alcohol in her stomach seems to flood into her blood stream, forcing words out of her before she can think them over. "You're your own special kind of idiot. At least to me."

She doesn't know why she says it, or what it means, but there it is again— that too-long silence, the kind that might have once felt like home and now feels forced. She watches as Wally's hand curls into a fist, her elastic—which seems to scream now more than ever about all the awfulness between them— straining against his tendons; she can tell he's looking at her, smiling maybe, but like the coward she is she can't bring herself to do anything other than take another sip of her smoke stained drink, not stopping until her straw slurps against the last few drops along the bottom.

"... So you drink vodka, huh?" He says after a moment, voice sounding oddly measured but otherwise giving no indication that she's just said anything out of the ordinary.

Taking her cue from him she shrugs, deciding it's finally safe to look at him; he's got his eyes fixed somewhere in the crowd, so tall he can no doubt see Dick's progress in finding Zatanna. "Sometimes." She says vaguely. "Are you, uh... Drinking something too?"

Wally glances down at her. "No point, remember? Fast—"

"Metabolism." She finishes for him, nodding. "I know. Just wondering."

She can sense the uncomfortable silence approaching again and is thankful when he starts talking, voice hushed and expression growing a little more serious. "... I caught up with Connor."

"... And?"

In answer Wally makes a jerking motion with his head, shoulders rolling underneath his splayed open button down. "What do you think? Not like I could stop him."

She swallows, nodding her head; at once she can feel a strange throbbing in her wrist from where the Kryptonian grabbed her, as if it's been waiting all this time to finally start hurting. "I should thank you." She says awkwardly, not managing to utter the actual words. "For helping me with... I mean, I didn't have a clue what to do."

The corners of Wally's mouth twitch up. "Not to mention you'd have been dragged to Quarac against your will."

Although it's meant to be teasing she can't quite manage to smile, instead feeling a sinking somewhere around her heart. "... Yeah. Right." She mutters somewhat blankly, thoughts of Garfield and the dead Marie billowing through the numbness inside her and seeming to make it more enveloping.

Her thoughts must show on her face because at once Wally's teasing smile is turning into a frown, watching as she takes another distracted sip from her empty drink. "Artemis—"

Before he can finish there's a loud squeal behind them, Zatanna's hand appearing out of nowhere and winding around her shoulders. "There you are!" The other girl grins, dragging a bewildered looking Barbara along with her. "It's still boiling out and Barbara and I want to go swimming. Come on!"

Judging by the look on the other girl's face she doesn't want to go swimming at all, but before she can interject with an excuse to save them both Zatanna's releasing her, dragging a confused looking Barbara towards the water and calling back over her shoulder. "Kaleb! Come on! We're facing Dick and Barbara at chicken fights!"

Wally lets out a snort, the two of them turning to watch Zatanna babbling in the other girl's ear, pretending as if they've known each other for years. "Looks like you better go." He says knowingly, trying to hide the half frown he's still wearing. "You might have to play life guard out there— I'm pretty sure this is just an excuse for Zee to drown Barbara."

She rolls her eyes, glancing out when Zatanna calls her name. "God." She sighs, unthinkingly yanking her shirt over her head and fiddling with the bikini tie at her neck. "Those two are pathetic, aren't they?"

She misses the way Wally's ears redden, eyes quickly leaving her and focusing on a far off point in the crowd as she starts fiddling with the button on her shorts. "Sure."

---

"So, you're telling me—" Zatanna starts, cutting herself off with a loud hiccup. At the sound of the noise there's a lot of tittering and sniggering around the fire. "—that you've never once thought about it. At all."

The wind rolling off the water blows a little stronger than expected; there's a moment where the fire in the middle of their group flares suddenly, stacked so staggeringly tall with logs that for several seconds all their eyes are drawn to the flames. Diagonally from them Dick and Wally exchange an uncomfortable look. "No, Zatanna. Stop asking."

She snorts at the way Dick says it, slopping some of her drink on herself; despite the expression on his face she suspects this argument is being kept up for Wally's benefit more than anyone else's—while Dick looks level headed as always Wally's ears are rapidly turning crimson, blush leaking down his features.

Shifting more firmly into the sand she props an elbow up on the log her and Zatanna are slouching against with Owen and Kaleb. "It's a valid question." She hears herself say into her drink, eyes glinting when Wally glares at her.

Zatanna leans across her a little unsteadily, one arm looping around her shoulders for balance and nearly strangling her; when the other girl speaks she's hit across the face with the bitter scent of vodka. "I don't believe you. You're telling me that you've never—"

"Never." Wally cuts across her, looking annoyed.

"—been attracted to each other." She finishes, looking disbelieving. "But you're both… Hot."

A few people over Barbara lets out a snigger; Wally practically jumps at the sound, shifting as far away as he can from Dick without leaving their edge of the fire. As if sensing trouble Owen leans across her and detaches Zatanna from around her neck. "Zee—" She starts, immediately cutting herself off when she feels Owen's hand lingering against the slice shaped scar along the back of her neck.

Any attention she catches is lost when Zatanna keeps talking, her slurring words pulling all the notice around the fire except Wally's, who eyes narrow as she flinches away from the touch. "You guys are like best friends! You spend so much time together—"

Somewhere to her right Kaleb lets out a single note of laughter, quickly muffling it at the look on Wally's face and disappearing behind his beer bottle. "I think that's a key word, Zatanna." He says, pausing to take a sip. "They're friends."

"That doesn't mean anything." Zatanna scoffs, rounding instead on him. "Wally and Artemis were friends before they got together."

The second the other girl says it the awkwardness in the air increases a tenfold; rather than face any of the swiveling eyes now turning in her direction she raises her cup to her lips, gulping as quickly as she can, ignoring Owen's gaze as it fixes on her. "You never said he was your ex."

She's sputters awkwardly into her cup and is saved when Wally speaks, looking distinctly more embarrassed than he was a few moments ago. "Yeah. But that was because she's, you know…"

"Hot?" Dick guesses, eyes glinting mischievously.

She feels herself blush, ignoring the annoyed look Owen sends her; Wally slouches lower, hand absently foraging a chip bag he emptied a while ago. "Well. Yeah. And a girl."

There's an awkward pause where Zatanna grins at Dick, apparently enjoying the embarrassment of their two friends; as if to ease the tension Kaleb stretches out, taking another swig from his bottle. "I've been friends with all the girls I've ever slept with." He muses, sipping again.

"Yes, thank you!" Zatanna says a little too loudly, pointing accusingly with her drink and slopping some over the edge. "My point exactly."

Dick make an annoyed noise. "That you two are sleeping together?" He asks dryly.

"Shut up, Dick." Barbara says jerkily, beginning to look impatient with the lull in their game of Truth or Dare. "Zatanna, you're missing the bigger picture here."

As if gearing up for a battle the girl in question straightens, expression set. "Which is what?"

"That I'm straight!" Wally bursts out.

There's more sniggering and tittering at his expense, Zatanna's bark like laugh the loudest; before she can stop the other girl is reaching for her empty cup, refilling it with more vodka and too-sweet soda. "Like that matters."

As if hoping to divert more attention back onto him Owen leans forward again, looking ill-tempered. "I think that bottle's empty." He says moodily.

He's ignored; Wally's ears have now passed maroon, a bad sign— he looks beyond annoyed when he crosses his arms, scowling. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh please." Zatanna rolls her eyes, tossing the empty vodka bottle into a growing pile a few feet to the right. "I know I've thought about being with everyone here at least once." There's a pause, where she's so embarrassed she finds she has to focus on the last few rays of pink cloud along the horizon to keep from burying her face in her hands. "Except you, Barbara. We just met."

This comment sends a new wave of interest though the circle, a few backs straightening and eyebrows disappearing into fringe; Dick for his part smirks, leaning back onto his elbows. "Oh really?" The two share a flirtatious look that makes Barbara go an angry red. "Do we get to hear details about these fantasies?"

Instead of looking frazzled Zatanna merely tosses her hair, looking haughty and unruffled as always, the pink high in her cheeks bones blushing slightly darker. "I wouldn't call them fantasies." She says demurely. "But we all know these things happen—close quarters, summer heat. Artemis—" The other girls looks expectant, turning to her and ignoring the surprise on her face. "Back me up."

She's fully aware of her mouth falling open like a trout, her cheeks prompty blushing and an annoyed retort ready on her lips; then suddenly all she can remember is her own initial attraction to Connor, the encounter with Roy in an alley way that she had half enjoyed… And then of course, Wally…

As if knowing what she's thinking Dick speaks for her. "Well, we all know about Wally. And you liked Connor for a bit too."

"Who's Connor?" Owen interrupts, head snapping towards her so quickly she hears his neck crack.

She feels herself glaring and instead goes in for a drink again; on Dick's other side Wally looks annoyed too. "Take it easy, guys, it's not like that mattered. Connor liked Megan."

"So did you." Zatanna reminds him, grinning when he only looks more frustrated. "What's to say you couldn't like Dick too?"

"But that's the difference, Zee." Wally huffs, grimacing. "I'm not—"

Instead of letting him finish Dick cuts him off, grinning wickedly. "What's the matter? I'm not cute enough for you?"

Wally's ears bypass maroon when a few people they're sharing the fire with start to chuckle. "Dick—"

"Then what's the problem?" Zatanna cackles. "It's not that big of a deal, look—"

She's halfway out of her drink when too soft hands seize her jaw, expertly turning her head away from the fire; before she can process what's happening she's ambushed by a flowery perfume and too-sweet lips pressed against hers.

It can't last longer than a second, Zatanna's hands on either side of her face and her glossy lips working against hers; she has enough time to hear the blaring sound of stunned silence before it registers what's happening in her mind.

"Zatanna!" She yelps out, pushing the other girl back by her shoulders and slopping her newly refilled drink down her front, the liquid dribbling over her breasts and soaking her swim suit; she can feel her cheeks heating when Kaleb's jeering hits her ears, her eyes roaming wildly to watch as people she doesn't know start whistling, cat calls sounding out loudly in the night. "What was—"

"What?" Zatanna interrupts drunkenly, looking nonplussed when she gets clumsily to her feet. "Where are you going? Artemis—"

"Fuck off, Zee."

There's more jeering and some disappointed groans as she leaves the fire; the laughter is still so loud she can hardly hear the other girl when she calls after her. "Don't be such a baby!"

---

She marches down the boardwalk, bare feet slamming against the pavement— she's forgotten her sandals by the water. It takes an annoyed breath before she realizes she's left all her clothes back by the water too, or... Maybe the fire? She can't quite remember...

The air which had felt so warm near the flames now feel almost chilled, her skin prickling as she picks up the pace of her walking, front still wet from her spilt drink. "Move." She barks out to a passing group of boys, ignoring their tittering as she takes a wobbly side step around them.

"Where you going, baby?" One of the drunker ones yells, eyeing the strappy seams of her swimsuit with a little too much interest. "The fireworks are just about to start. Hey!"

He's still yelling after her long after she cusses, spitting the swear at him so violently that she can practically taste the liquor boiling inside her; feeling increasingly angry with each clumsy step she listens as he keeps shouting after her, his words growing more vulgar but somehow more blurred, no longer making sense to her... She pauses in her walking, leaning forward until her hands are braced on her knees.

Breathe.

Calm down.

She spits the taste of Zatanna from her mouth, saliva dribbling clumsily down her chin. She can't believe her, can't believe she would embarrass her like that in front of everyone—why did she have to tease Dick and Wally like that, anyway? And make her look like an idiot, all part of the show…

Several choice swears burst from her lips before she spits again; the taste of cherry lip gloss seems permanently imprinted on her tongue, Zatanna's floral perfume clinging to the ends of her hair. Pushing her fringe off her forehead she sighs, anger still pounding at the front of her mind.

She registers the change of the temperature, the wind blowing a bit stronger as she straightens; she's near the water now, the day's tide beginning to roll off the ocean and along the boardwalk, sending her hair ruffling and her skin prickling less out of cold and more out of something, some other feeling she can't identify... It had been a joke, she knows that. Zatanna was teasing Dick and Wally, enjoying the discomfort she had been causing…

It's strangely quiet here; like a ghost she walks through the empty street, head turning automatically to look out towards the horizon where the night is beginning to burst out in a beautiful crimson and navy. There's nobody on this beach, nobody to watch her as she grows more consumed in her thoughts; the quiet seems almost overwhelming, as if the numbness inside her has escaped, slithered out her openings...

... Still, she thinks savagely, wrapping her arms around herself and glancing about a little aimlessly, not quite remembering where she's going; still, the other girl didn't have to drag her along for the ride. She had no right to kiss her, turn her into something to laugh at too—

"Hey!"

She blinks once at last few rays of bloody red sunset unfolding in the sky, a strange wave of dread washing over her; feeling a scowl crossing her face she gears herself up for another round of lewd comments from the same drunken boy, no doubt searching for her in the darkness. "Will you fuck off already?" She snarls, turning to glare over her shoulder.

At once she feels her expression fall, quailing slightly when Wally stops a clean ten feet behind her, looking more than a little taken aback by her tone; even in the lingering half-light she can see his brows raise, looking off put by the anger in her voice. "Whoa." He says, one annoyed chuckle firing out that tells her she's caught him off guard. "Geez. Just wanted to see if—"

"—I'm okay?" She finishes, sneering a little more than she should. She knows he doesn't deserve her anger but she can't help it; turning her back on him she goes back to glaring out over the water, fingers reaching up absently to brush her saliva from her chin. "I'm fine, Wally. Go back to the party."

She knows she's acting a bit childish but she can't help it; she doesn't want him here, watching as she braces her elbows on the rail around the boardwalk and looks out towards the ocean, waiting for her familiarity and predictability to reveal more than she wants him to see. Who does he think he is, anyway? She doesn't need him here, taking care of her... She didn't need his help this morning either, whatever she might have told him out of guilt after.

(Why does he keep doing this— following her, comforting her. What's that supposed to mean?

... Why doesn't it bother him, being around her, the way it does her?

... She can hardly stand to look at him, just in case she stares too long and notices all the differences between him and the boy she used to love.)

As usual Wally doesn't take the hint, no matter how obvious; even above the loudness of the waves she can hear his heavy footed approach, as if his limbs are clumsy and not used to the amount of man they have to work with. In a few long strides he's beside her, elbows bracing against the wooden planks only inches from hers, ignoring the evening billowing out in front of them and focusing only on her face. "Come on." He prompts, and she flinches when an unfamiliar elbow knocks out into her shoulder, trying to get her to look at him. "You know Zatanna didn't mean to embarrass you."

"I'm not embarrassed." She says too quickly, aware suddenly of her blotchy cheeks.

"Course you're not." Wally amends, and she hates that she can see the knowing smile he's wearing out of the corner of her eye. "She was just—"

"Being a cow?"

Wally snorts. "You said it, not me."

The laugh is so familiar that she can't help but glance at him, as if expecting to find her Wally standing there, boyish and wonderful; rather than hide all the differences the half-light only exaggerates them, illuminating all the contours and the bulkiness of new muscles and angles she's never seen before.

He smiles, and for a moment she almost does the same back.

(She wishes there was a name for what there was between them. This strange and fragile thing that feels like everything wonderful and awful at once.)

Instead she looks away before she can do something stupid, going back to scowling at the night; the light is disappearing fast, the wind ruffling the shirt sitting lopsidedly on his shoulders, the front flapping open and revealing panels of his bare chest as he sighs. "Come on, Artemis. It's not the end of the world." He says kindly, being perfectly reasonable and only vexing her further. "Don't leave now and—"

This time she expects his nudging elbow when it comes, managing to step away before it can find her again; for some reason being touched by this stranger, even being looked at, feels like a betrayal on behalf of someone he used to be. "What do you want, Wally?" She says stiffly, forcing herself to be more gritty rather than delicate, like she feels. "Are you here for any reason? You know, other than to be annoying?"

The words are more cutting than they're meant to be, and something in the way they fire out of her mouth makes the smile drop from his face. For a long moment he looks at her, studying everything from the redness high in her cheeks to the ends of her platinum hair that barely brush her chin.

Something shifts in his face and he turns back to the water. "... No."

For some reason it's not the answer she's expecting; it takes her several seconds of flexing her fingers into the boardwalk railing before she can figure out what to say next. "Well... Okay then." She says moodily, biting the inside of her cheek as she takes a step back, arms folding over her chest. "Goodnight."

She gets about as far as stepping around him towards the stairs leading down to the beach before he makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, eyes finally leaving the horizon to glance at her. "God." He says irritably, looking down at her when she reaches the sand. "If you're going to walk all the way back—"

The waves must get louder, or maybe he doesn't even finish the sentence— either way she glances up at the cutting off of his words, looking back just in time to watch as the he rips his own shirt from his shoulders and throws it down towards her, the blue fabric landing in a crumpled heap mere feet from her.

She narrows her eyes at the cotton as if it's bomb half buried in the sand, feet automatically stilling. "What the hell is that?" She says automatically.

Wally makes the same annoyed click, leaving his spot on the railing to round down the steps towards her. "My shirt, genius." He scoffs, picking it up from where she's failed to retrieve it. "I know you're cold. Put it on."

She blinks, watching as he shakes the sand loose from the collar, extending it out towards her. She doesn't know why it takes several seconds for the words to penetrate her skull, or why her stomach suddenly feels as if it's twisting up and occupying the space between her lungs. She's not sure if it's another joke or not, if he's teasing or trying to manipulate her vulnerability, but something— maybe the vodka— spurs her on, sending a wave of anger flooding through her.

"... Fuck you." She hears herself spit at him, turning on her heel.

Wally allows himself exactly half a second to be shocked by her reaction before he calls after her, sputtering slightly as she continues to march down the beach. "Artemis, what the—"

She doesn't want to hear what he has to say to her, doesn't want to be comforted; he has no business following her, pretending to be nice and half convincing her that things between them are simple... More than ever she can feel the urge to run building inside her, her clumsy feet ripping through the sand as she picks up her pace towards the water— she can't do this, she can't be around him, she can't, she can't—

(She can't breathe; she can feel the familiar ache in her lungs, like the first rush of inhaling warm air after being out in the cold. He's here and she can't do this, can't be warmed by him—)

(And she hates herself, for feeling too much or nothing at all. She hates that when it comes to him she can't be half way...)

She's not expecting him to leave her alone and he doesn't, the new version of Wally charging after her and catching up after only a few steps. "What the hell is your—"

She flinches when too-warm fingers attempt to grab her frozen arm, trying as always to slow her down; even though he barely touches her she can feel the heat of his skin on hers as she tries to pull her arm away from him, feet stumbling through the sand— the waves on the water are too loud and the numbness inside her too deafening and she can't be around him, not when he's the only thing stopping her from drowning—

"What are you doing?" She hisses, voice low, accusing. It takes her a second to realize what she's really asking. "Why are you here? Why are you being so nice to me?"

("Why are you still trying to come back to me?")

Wally's brows shoot up, looking surprised and hurt at the fierce, untrusting expression on her face; still, she can't help herself from staring at him, eyes narrowed and breath stuttering in her chest. She can't explain it, can't put her own feelings into words—all she knows is that the man in front of her now is not the boy she left, no longer resembles her best friend, and even though she might want to she's not sure if she can trust him even though she half did this morning; she feels as if a stranger is trying to invade her thoughts, sabotage her, manipulate her feelings…

(... She's had too much to drink, she can't think straight...)

Her face remains stony as the hand holding his balled up shirt falls back to his side, his expression quickly closing off the longer he looks at her. Perhaps it's occurring to him that the girl who came back from Quarac is no longer the same one who left him in the first place. "... So I can't be nice now?" He says back after a moment, voice getting the hardened edge to it that once used to both excite and terrify her. "What the hell is your problem? Just take the damn shirt, Artemis—"

He makes to shove it at her again, and this time she's faster than either of them are expecting; at once she's jerking him forward by the opposite wrist, twisting his tendons until his forearm is fixed between the both of them, her elastic still branded there and impossible to miss. "And why," she snarls, "are you still wearing this?"

She makes the point of twisting his arm until he gasps out in pain, taking care to gouge her nails as she rips the elastic from his skin, tossing it in the sand as if it means nothing to the two of them before she releases him, not wanting to feel the reassuring warmth of his skin any longer than she has to. "Why?" She repeats, practically yelling as she watches him clutch at his wrist.

"You're crazy." He snarls at her. "You're—"

"Answer the question!" She cuts him off, seething.

"I…" He snarls, trailing off and apparently lost for words; she can see his ears, glowing as brightly as her own furious cheeks must be as he shakes his head, glaring out at the water and shrugging. "... I don't know." He admits after a moment, no longer yelling but somehow speaking with a deadly amount of restraint. "I don't know why. I just thought… I mean, you had a lot to drink, Artemis.

He's deliberately not answering the more important of her questions; even though she knows he has a point she still feels herself blush an angry crimson, her hands balling into fists. "So?" She snarls, hating that her hair flops in her eyes and she's forced to pause to push it out of her face. "I don't need your help, Kid." She sneers, over emphasizing his alias in a way that's meant to be insulting.

"Artemis—"

"Go back to the fire." She says as cuttingly as she can, turning her back on him again.

This time when she stomps through the sand she listens hard for the sound of him following; they're more than halfway back to the Cave now, the tide curving around the shore and bringing the water closer to her feet the further she walks. The waves seem to grow louder and the wind stronger, and Wally stays resolutely still.

"... It's a reminder, okay?"

The words seem to echo off the water before they reach her, a thousand Wally's calling after her in the night; for a half moment she's sure she's imagining them, a whispered explanation of something she so desperately wants to understand, and before she's even sure if it's really him or not she stops moving, listening hard.

There are no words for a moment, and she can feel her skin prickle as her hair rustles around her chin. Then he speaks again. "... A reminder of what it costs to play the hero. I... I screwed up that night, and you got hurt because of it. I don't ever want to make a mistake like that again."

He pauses, long enough for her to turn back to him; for some reason she won't believe the words until she sees them slip past his lips. "... I won't wear it anymore, if it bothers you. Just—" He starts, cutting himself off. Even in the half-light his face seems to set, brows furrowing, and before she can properly register the reddening of his ears he's shaking his head, looking away. "I don't know. Never mind."

It's her turn to feel a bit hurt when he turns away, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he walks the few paces back towards the shoreline. Perhaps it's the familiarity of the gesture or the way his newly blossomed muscles look, framed against the darkness rising on the water; either way her stomach suddenly clenches, not sure what's about to happen. "… Wally?" She hears herself say, voice scratching and too rough.

"Never mind." Wally repeats, hand dropping. Without looking at her he plunks himself down moodily in the sand, the water barely reaching his toes as he settles. "Goodnight."

He always does this; always manages to make her feel properly ashamed of herself with just a few words. Suddenly she feels embarrassed by her coldness, the way she yelled...

(She makes everything worse.)

... She's no good at this. At navigating this new territory, this new Wally. Everything between them feels so simultaneously familiar and unknown, like an old path in the woods that's grown in after years of absence…

He doesn't look back when she approaches him—but, she supposes, she's always had the lighter tread between the two of them. It's getting properly dark now, but the sand is still warm as she drags her feet through it, searching.

He doesn't glance at her when comes up behind him, announcing herself by clearing her throat. She doesn't ask permission before she makes to sit beside him, leaving a clean foot between them as she settles in the sand. It feels comical, almost forced, the way she extends an arm across the distance between them that might as well be thousands of miles.

"Here." She says gruffly, pinching the elastic between her fingers and offering it to him.

"No—"

"God." She cuts him off before he can say anything else. "Just... Shut up, okay?"

And she's determined not to watch the expression on his face when her fingers curl around his forearm, pulling it towards her much more gently this time; out of the corner of her eye she can see him glance at her as she loops the elastic back around his wrist, pressing tenderly against his tendons for a second, just long enough to feel his pulse.

Wally watches, jaw tilting up after a moment to look at her as she curls her fingers back into the safety of her lap. "Shut up." She repeats, willing him not to say anything before he even starts.

She's always thought it was so strange, this thing between them; how quickly they can go from screaming and fighting to sweetness, how suddenly laughter fades into snarling. They were never good at doing things in measures.

And she understands now, or at least she thinks she does; seeing the thin stretch of nylon there no longer hurts as badly as it once did. At once the memory pulls itself from her depths, her heart aching as it seems to bolt through her like lightning—

("... I wasn't fast enough." He had choked out, heels of his palms pressing into his eyes. "You got hurt, and I wasn't fast enough—")

... No, she understands now. There are some mistakes you make that brand you, scar you, change your life from the moment they happen. She thinks of her mother, with shot gun shells digging into her skin as she'd been dragged down the street. She thinks of Wally, trying to say her name as his blood melted the Metropolis snow. She thinks of little Garfield, who she couldn't save from his mother's dead body.

... She thinks of Wally. Of how it must have felt when he awoke on the roof top, how she must have looked there beside him, scalped and bloody and half-dead. She understands, she understand too well.

She carries similar scars inside her, hidden and too painful to examine... And maybe that's enough for her, feeling their reminder underneath her bones. If there are people who are scarred like her then there are people who are scarred like Wally... The kind of people who must see the reminder of that kind of pain to heal from it.

She gets it now. It's not a souvenir of what she did, or how she hurt him. It's a reminder, a painful one, of the mistake he made and what is cost.

No, she understands. She hates it, but she does.

They blink at the same time, two sets of eyes flickering hesitantly away before rejoining. And there's a moment, as their irises find each other again; that same half-second they shared earlier that day, where things might be different. She can feel it, she thinks, rolling off the shore and into the possibility of her mind. For a few seconds she can imagine him wrapping his arms around her, can imagine how the new broad muscles might feel under her cheek, her skin... For a moment her heart, which lately has been thrumming at nearly a flat line, picks up.

In that moment she knows he's feeling it too; that pull, that attraction, that longing that neither time nor distance can seem to break between the two of them. She knows she might never forgive him, and she realizes now that he knows that too— and maybe that means things will never work out quite right between the two of them.

But you can love someone without wanting to be with them.

Wally smiles— a crooked grin that houses straight teeth, freckles she's never seen before stretching across his nose. She has the impression she's being examined by his scientist eyes again, and this time she's brave enough to stare back.

---

"...Sorry." She says after a while, more grunting than actually talking. She watches as the smile on Wally's face fades into something more muted before she drops her eyes back to the sand. "I don't know why I... I shouldn't have yelled." She mutters awkwardly. "... Just forget it, okay? I'm drunk, or whatever."

Wally shakes his head, smiling in a knowing kind of way. "No you're not. If you were you wouldn't say so."

For some reason the corners of her mouth perk up for a second before she smooths them back into place. "Maybe." She says vaguely, not looking at him when he glances at her again; instead she looks at his toes, watching as the water washes over them.

Both of them jump when there's a squealing noise further down the shore; the banging of fireworks is unmistakable as red, white, and blue sparkles erupt high over Happy Harbor.

Neither of them say anything, simply watching as the colors fade out along the horizon, sparkles seeming to hang amongst the stars for a moment before glimmering into faintness. And she can't help it; the way her gaze drags down from the sky to examine his jawline, his eyes too preoccupied with the fireworks to notice. It seems impossible for someone to grow so handsome in only a matter of weeks, and yet here he sits beside her; a wreck of angles and muscles and manhood.

Her heart is still going; not pounding, like it used to, but still thrumming as if it's only recently be restarted. The breeze is ruffling her hair with his walnut scent, with the temptation of a comfort she can't allow... She can feel the alcohol buzzing in her system; and although she suspects if she drinks enough maybe one day she will forget pieces of the boy beside her, like his apple eyes or his freckled shoulders or the smile that always bursts through the numbness inside her, she will never be able to forget how he loved her. And she will never be able to forget how she couldn't do the same.

Wally remains absorbed in the fireworks, angular jaw tilted back and exposing the thick column of his neck. She watches, unaware of her baited breath as he blinks, long ginger eyelashes fanning out and green irises reflecting the lights above him.

"... It was the only piece I had of you when you left."

She pulls her eyes back into focus and realizes he's talking about the elastic again, his fingers unconsciously thumbing it between them. He keeps talking, not even checking to see if she's listening. "... I missed you. I didn't know I could miss someone like that."

She can feel herself retracting, the familiar coldness sweeping through her and forcing any emotions his words might inspire to curl deeper insider her, hidden. "... Don't, okay?" She whispers.

"Why not?" He counters, turning towards her more surely; behind him the fireworks keep lighting up the sky, the cheers coming further down the beach seeming more distant than ever. "... It doesn't have to be like that, you know." He tells her frankly, looking away and staring off towards the water. "... You were my best friend, Artemis."

She swallows, shifting uncomfortably in the sand; she can still feel it, underneath her layers of numbness: she still wants him. It's the first real feeling that's hit her since… Since Marie died. Since she abandoned Garfield and M'gann. Since she returned home, scarred and bruised and broken by things there aren't names for.

(And somehow she's still breathing, after all the mayhem has slowed. She is surviving through it, but she isn't really alive—)

Maybe that's why the wanting hits her so strong, why as she inhales at the unfamiliar emotion the walnut scent seems to fill the deserted hollows inside her. Perhaps that's why she suddenly can't stop her eyes from raking down the sloping of his shoulders, the jutting of his clavicle; why she can't stop memorizing the unfamiliar thickness of his biceps, the way his hands clutch so surely around his balled up shirt... The panels of muscles on his chest, the hardness of his ribs, the way the fractured light illuminates the bumpiness of his abdomen, the cutting v-shaped lines that disappear underneath the waist band of his swim trunks…

She can't. She knows she can't.

But she wants to. She so badly wants to…

Wally looks back at her and she tactfully returns her gaze to his toes, trying not to examine the thick lines of his thighs or the tautness of his calves. "... We don't talk anymore." He says softly, one finger rubbing at his nose. "It doesn't feel like you're even back."

She can't think of anything to say, her limbs coiling in on themselves and the numbness fighting against the emotion Wally's sent roaring inside her. "... I don't really feel like I'm back." She mutters after nearly a half minute of silence, palms attempting to scrub warmth back into her arms. "If that makes you feel better."

Wally sighs, the kind that lets her know that she's just said the wrong thing; he glances over, as if to say something, catching her shivering. "Here." He mutters, sounding defeated as he passes her his shirt. "I forgot you were cold."

She doesn't want to take it but leaving it bunched in her lap feels impolite; pulling the walnut scented fabric over her shoulders she allows her hair to blow in front of her face, wanting to hide from him.

When she emerges from her hair she's a bit taken aback to find his gaze sitting on her, a little more critically than she's expecting; for not the first time she feels as if she's being x-rayed, as if she's more naked now, wearing his shirt, than she was a few seconds ago in just her swim suit. "… Something's bothering you." He says simply, studying the curves of her brows and the hollows underneath her eyes.

She blinks, debating for a half-second how much to tell him; in an instant she makes up her mind. "Am I that easy to read?"

Wally's not charmed; instead his brows only seem to furrow more when she says it, something about his jaw setting. "Not always." He says honestly, continuing to look at her. "Some things are easier—like I can tell you hate your hair right now." She feels her cheeks reddening, one hand freezing halfway through pushing her platinum locks off her face. "Somethings don't change. But others…"

He trails off, not finishing, and suddenly more than ever she feels inadequate next to him; she's been fighting at these old feelings since she came back, too afraid to acknowledge them or admit that she's still not over him—Wally, on the other hand, seems more whole, more accepting, more healed than she ever will be.

She swallows but doesn't answer, letting the distant banging of the end of the fireworks fill the quiet between them; Wally, however, doesn't indulge her. "You don't have to tell me everything." He says softly, barely audible over the finale of the 4th of July. "And I know I asked this morning but… Are you sure you're okay?" He sighs, looking at her through furrowed brows, one hand seeking his neck. "Not just with the M'gann thing but... I don't know. In general?"

The last firework goes off, sending a spray of red that reflects off the water at the two of them; as darkness engulfs both of them she can hear the distant cheering from Happy Harbor, so quiet yet so loud she can practically feel it thrumming inside her skull.

The water licks up to her ankles and something inside her breaks.

"No." She whispers.

"No." Wally repeats, the side of his face hardly visible in the dim light. "… No. Of course you're not."

And before she can stop it the numbness is consuming her from the inside out, swallowing parts of her whole, filling up the places she usually hides her feelings and forcing them to float to the surface; at once she can feel her lips trembling, sealing tight together in an effort to stop whatever she's about to say from leaking out.

... But she can't conceal the way her shoulders quake, and despite the darkness she knows she's not hiding anything from him; she can sense the way his head tilts towards her, can feel the way he's staring at her just a little too hard, knows that he can sense the storm brewing inside her but isn't sure how to quail it. "... Artemis?" He whispers, silently asking her to tell him what to do.

"It's stupid." She says thickly, forcing her voice into a fake sounding chuckle. She can feel the tears beginning to sting at the backs of her eyes, a weakness she refuses to let him see. "I know it is. She wasn't my mother."

She blinks, so quickly that Wally's turning towards her seems to happen in snap shots, fragments in her memory as he watches her start to fall apart. "Who?"

"Marie." The name comes out broken, only half uttered before she's forced to stop, the taste burning on her tongue. "But—when I saw her—I-it was like I was ten all over again. Watching them drag Mom away. And I just—I couldn't protect them. Garfield and M'gann, I couldn't protect them—"

She's saying things to him that she's never been brave enough to say aloud, and before she can even finish saying what she wants to her own need for oxygen cuts her off; she's forced to drag in a gasp of air, the imaginary hands of the Metropolis Girl choking her into silence. Wally seems to stare at her too long, not moving to touch her even when she curls in on herself, forehead pressing against her knees. "... It wasn't your fault, Artemis." He whispers, voice so soft she might be lured into believing him. "Why would you—"

She lets out a bitter laugh, something that sounds too-high pitched and maniacal to belong to her. "How do you know?" She spits bitterly, shaking her head until her forehead clangs against her knee caps painfully. "You weren't there. And even if it wasn't, I just— I ran away. I ran away like I always do." She bursts out, feeling frustrated as she raises her head, hands scrubbing savagely along her cheeks.

(Artemis is a born runner.)

For the first time since she's known him Wally doesn't seem to have any words of comfort, instead sitting next to her in a hopeless sort of silence. "I ran away from home, and I ran away from Quarac." She sighs bitterly, pushing her hair angrily out of her eyes. "... I'm that little girl stuck in that apartment all over again. I'm trapped."

"No, you're not." Wally says firmly, apparently not up for indulging her pity party.

She lets out another spiteful chuckle. "Yeah, I am, Wallman." She sneers, and for a moment the maliciousness of her tone settles between them, as unforgiving as the evening tide. "... I don't know what happening to me there. I— I didn't think it was possible for me to get more screwed up than I already am. But ever since I got back it's like... Like I can't feel anything anymore. I'm numb, or disappearing, or... I don't even know how to say it."

And she wants so badly to cry, to scream, to let all this emotion out; as ever it swirls inside her, unable to be tamed and or grasped onto. "I thought going there would help me forget how I felt about you." She mutters, more to the sand than to him. "... I feel like I've forgotten how to feel anything at all."

There's a long silence, the only sound between them the rolling of the waves; she doesn't know why she's telling him all this, as if he deserves to know. She doesn't owe him anything. A minute passes, and then another, and she can feel the crushing emptiness inside her billowing, catching all her feelings and placing them in compartments where they belong.

When he finally speaks it's more to the water than her, lips quirking in a sad sort of way as he stares at the horizon. "... Can I be honest?"

"... Okay."

He seems to take his time with answering, weighing his words too carefully; she watches as his thumb migrates unconsciously to her elastic, stretching the nylon tightly and releasing it against his skin with a snap. "... I don't think what's between us can... I don't know." He mutters, ears going off. "I get why you left. If things were different I might have been the one to go, but..." He hesitates. "... You've been running away from things since I met you." He tells her honestly, glancing at her as if trying to catch any stray emotion she's let cross her face. "I guess I'm just wondering when you're going to realize that you can't outrun yourself."

It's not meant to be mean, but the honesty still hurts; she catches herself shrugging, arms folding around her knees defensively. "... Maybe I'm stupid." She offers dryly.

"No, you're not." He says firmly, finally looking at her fully; for some reason he's looking oddly serious, jaw tight. "You're not stupid, Artemis. I—" There's a pause in which she can practically see his brain working behind his eyes, one of his hands scrubbing once through his hair. "You never just let yourself... Be. You don't let yourself feel things, because you think you don't deserve to. And you bail whenever things start getting too real, because it scares you. And I just..."

He makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and trails off, glaring out towards the water. "What?" She asks, and edge to her voice that she can't place. "If you have something to say then say it, Wally."

She can hear the annoyed breath that fires out of his nose, hand working hard against the back of his neck before he lets it collapse into the sand. "... I used to think about that last night at our window." He says softly. "I used to think about it constantly; wishing I'd followed you, or said something, done anything that would have made you stay. But there wasn't anything I could do was there?"

He pauses, glancing at her. "No." She says honestly, curling in on herself more tightly. The chance of pace is scaring her.

"I figured." He sighs, and for a long moment he doesn't say anything, instead leaning back onto his elbows in the sand. "... I know it wouldn't have changed anything, whatever I did. But I just wish... I still wish I'd said what I was thinking."

"... Which was?"

She keeps her eyes fixed on the water, but it doesn't matter; he's leaning too far back for her to see the truth on his face. She can only sit and wait, listening to his breathing, soft exhales that seem to flow out of him in time with the movements of the water. "... That it was real." He says quietly. "I know that kind of thing wasn't easy for you, but... That was it. You were it for me. And I know it scared you, and that's why you left when you did... But I think you're wasting your time, trying to get away from it. Because that's your problem— you don't let yourself feel things, and then they bottle up and hurt you."

He pauses, long enough for her to feel ashamed of herself. "... I don't think what we had was the kind of thing you can outrun, Artemis. Take it from someone who's still trying."

The words slither away quietly into the air, disappearing and blending with oxygen until she breathes them in; she can feel them, warm and alive inside her, awakening something that feels as if it's been sleeping for months. "... What's that supposed to mean?" She whispers, as if afraid speaking too loud will scare him.

He doesn't answer, and her heart starts kicking to life inside her ribs; as if afraid of her own heartbeat she ducks her head down, hiding behind her forearms and the swell of her knees as shock starts rolling through her, mind racing as she struggles to figure out what he's saying. "... Do you still love me?" She doesn't mean to let the words slip out, and instantly she hates herself for needing to know...

There's silence. "Wally?" She breathes; he doesn't say anything back, and at once she's scared to turn and look at him, as if frightened that she'll find the bloody streets of Metropolis instead. "... Do you still love me?"

She needs to know, before she does something stupid. She needs to know, because he has seen her naked flesh and her rotten mind and all the flaws branded into her skin— but he has never seen her raw. He has never seen her raw and broken like this.

It takes all the courage she has to lift her head, blinking out towards the water. The moon is rising, yellow and peering at its own reflection off the ocean. She swallows. "Do you still love me?" She says as loudly as she can, voice wavering.

There's no noise, no ghost of a breath. Then—

"... Yes."

The word sounds so fragile, so broken coming from his mouth; she hears the sound of skin dragging through the sand, and when she glances over her shoulder at him he's laying fully back against the beach, arms splaying across his bare stomach, face set and eyes screwed up, not wanting to look at her. She's being cruel, and she knows it, and she can't stop watching.

And that's all it takes; the one word he utters seems to cut through her, ease under her skin and rip her open along the seams. And something happens when he says it, those three letters that shred her open— she can feel it again, her heart working, the nothingness inside her suddenly becoming something—

(Wally isn't the person who's always made her the happiest, but he's the one who's made her feel the most. Time and time again he's sent the loudest clanging in her chest, the most violent emotion through her veins; he's the only person who has ever drawn her out of her herself, the first one to make her laugh in years. When the rest of the world was quiet and the lights were out he was once the person she would reach for in the darkness— her and Wally. Her and Wally. That has to mean something.)

She feels herself release a breath, and with it something else; Wally loves her. He loves her still, in spite of everything, in spite of herself. He's saved her life a thousand ways before— through desert and galaxies and rubble and now maybe from the numbness too; he is here, he is pulling her out of her own head, and like a hundred times before that special, unfailing love of his is making her pain more muted. The world is dark and so is she but he is here, he is here, and maybe that's what she needs.

She needs to feel something. And nobody has ever made her feel as much as Wally.

She shifts, twisting and brushing over the sand until she's as close to him as she can stand; he doesn't open his eyes, not even when she leans over him.

(Please.)

Her hair slips out from behind her ear, a tangle of blonde dipping down and just barely brushing his cheek; at once his apple eyes crack open, a brilliant shade of confusion bursting out behind them as she splays a hand over his bare chest, fingers tracing his clavicle.

"Artemis—?" He whispers, trying to sit up and wincing when she pressing her nails into him warningly.

"Don't." She breathes, nose grazing his. "Don't."

It happens slowly, then all at once; she leans in and he exhales and the walnut smell seems to spring up between them. "Don't." She whispers one more time, her hair swooping down and hiding them from the night.

She breathes in his scent, whole and unbroken in a way neither of them are anymore. He keeps staring at her, unblinking.

(Please.)

She kisses him, soft and fragile and not like herself; she can feel his eyelashes as they flutter shut, can taste the sweetness on his lips as she tilts her jaw more surely against his. Stubble grazes her chin as she kisses this stranger, this new Wally, the one who tastes like the boy she loves and makes the same low and guttural noise in the back of his throat...

(Just one more time, please...)

She feels warm hands, too large to be Wally's as they find her wrist; there's sand gritting against her tendons as he traces the notch of her bones, fingers pausing once on her pulse point to feel the way her heart is beginning to pick up, beginning to charge so quickly inside her chest that she's sure he can feel it in her breasts as she presses herself more surely into him, the buttons on his shirt flattening between their skin almost painfully. She can feel warmth beginning to flood through her, blossoming out from her lips and the hot point between her legs and from his fingers as they trace up her arm, swooping over her shoulder, her neck, her—

She whimpers at the tugging on her too short hair, her breath rushing out between their mouths as Wally pulls back; he looks as if he's recently been hit around the head, hair mused and eyes out of focus as he struggles to push her off him and maneuver onto his elbows. "You, uh." He starts, blinking stupidly before his ears go off. "I changed my mind. You're definitely drunk."

She ignores this and instead leans in again, the hand on his chest splaying wider and attempting to push him back into the sand. "Shut up—"

"—Hey." He says firmly, yanking his head back when her lips brush against his again; before she can react he's sitting up, the speed of the movement sending her jostling back onto her backside in the sand. "Artemis, come on. It's—it's not right, okay?"

She can feel the warmth inside her beginning to fade, the coldness consuming her sending her skin prickling. "... What?"

Wally delicately removes her hand from his chest, looking pained. "I mean—You're drunk, okay? And I'm not." He says firmly, as if trying to convince the two of them. "It's— Just forget it. Let's go back to the Cave and… And get you a cup of tea or something."

He says this with such an air of finality that she can practically feel her heart sinking, getting to his feet as if he can't stand to be close to her; for some reason watching him leave sends a wave of anger through her. "Forget it?" She repeats, heart beginning to pound feverishly inside her ears. "After all that? How am I supposed to—"

"I shouldn't have said anything!" He cuts her off before she can finish, sounding embarrassed and angry; his hand is back to working against his neck, furiously scrubbing at the skin. "I— I didn't say it because I wanted to... I just— I know you don't feel the same, so—"

"So what?"

"So forget it!" He yells at her, waving his hands through the air and beginning to stomp down the beach, ignoring her when she gets to her feet and charges after him. "So— So don't kiss me, and make this harder than it has to be, okay?"

"Wally!" She snarls, finally catching up and rounding in front of him, hands raised as if ready to forcibly shove him back. "Wally, I didn't kiss you because I was trying to— be mean, or— I kissed you because I had to."

It's a strange thing to say, not worded well; something in the desperate sort of way she says it sends him still, jaw clenching as he glares out at the water. "Because you had to." He repeats, voice hard. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I just—" She hesitates, biting hard on her tongue, hoping the pain will help her focus as she flails her arms a little desperately. "I had to." She says weakly.

It's not the right answer; at once Wally's eyes are rounding on her, the pale green seeming almost stormy in the darkness. "I don't need you to." He says, voice hard and too measured. "I don't need you doing anything, okay? I know it doesn't mean a thing to you but it does to—"

"Doesn't mean anything?" She snarls, offended. "Wally... Just now was the first time since..." She's fumbling with her words, quailing under his gaze and unstable under all the emotion right at her surface, terrified of saying the wrong thing. "... It's you." She whispers, not sure how to make it more clear. "You're... It's you. I did it because I need you."

She can hardly see his face in the darkness, can't tell what he's thinking; without being aware of it her eyes are automatically drawn the outline of the old scar from Metropolis, raised and too-white along the freckled skin of his chest. And maybe it's a low blow, but she doesn't care—she needs Wally, needs him like she did all the other times before.

"Please?" She whispers, not able to look at him and instead screwing her eyes shut, ashamed at her begging. She's not sure how to say the words, how to tell him how badly she needs this one comfort from him, just for tonight. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't... Please, Wally." Her voice breaks, and suddenly she can't stop the tears that start stinging more fiercely at her eyelids, one hand scrubbing impatiently at her lashes. "I just need you. I just need to feel something. I can't— I feeling like I'll die if I don't feel something soon."

Wally must be able to hear the desperation in her voice; she can sense his head turning back to her from where he's been staring, red eared, into the distance. "… What am I supposed to make you feel?" He asks, voice almost gruff.

"Better." She whispers.

There's a silence again, a long one; she can feel the chill in the evening air, arms wrapping around herself and clinging to his shirt, waiting. "... Please." She says one more time, fists coiling around the seams of the fabric.

The waves crash against the shore and distantly she can hear a beat; a drum, music, or maybe it's just the too-loud sound of her pulse in her ears.

The tides comes in and the stars come out. The world turns on, not looking when Wally reaches for her.

---

AN: Hopefully this chapter made up for such a long delay in between updates- midterms will be the death of me. Feel free to scream your displeasure about the ending in the reviews; enough squawking and I'll try to update quicker :)

A quick Q&A:

Q: Does Artemis ever meet Wally's Aunt Iris?

A: Although it crossed Wally's mind once or twice to introduce the two while they were dating, the idea stopped short after the disaster that was Artemis meeting his parents. But yes, she will eventually meet Barry and Iris.

Q: Does Wally suffer health problems because of the speed force, a la comic canon?

A: In the interest of not spoiling this story (and the sequels I have planned) I will give you the simplified answer... Yes.