AN: Wow, the 30th chapter... I have a few things to say but I'll save those for the end. Enjoy the update!

(People always ask how long forever is. And maybe she knows the answer better than most; she's had moments, like this one, that seem to contain the whole universe inside of them.

((She's standing in the back of the Bioship, telling him to leave; even though she means it the sound of the door shutting behind him stabs through her like a knife.))

((She calls his name and it hangs there in the night, dribbling over her like the blood running down her leg. He doesn't say anything back, and the second after she realizes something is wrong she swears her heart seems to implode inside her.))

((He swears into her neck as she settles into his lap, bodies naked and wanting. Her skin is sweat slicked and she can't stop repeating his name, their hips rocking and his fingers finding the slippery point between her legs—))

... That's the thing about forever. In the infinity of time the sheer volume of it ceases to exists, be important or worth thinking of. Forever can encompass thousands of lives, of heart beats— of moments, just like this. If forever is endless, is it really anything at all? Is it even worth thinking about?

She bites her lip.

((The lightning sounds and Wally shakes. She makes the mistake of touching him.))

((Her fingers are bleeding and the bathroom is too small, and the walnut smell that still tastes toxic on her tongue is making her dizzy. He smiles at her and fumbles with the cabinet.))

((Books are knocked off of shelves and the hot point between her legs is aching for him. Her moans echo around the emptiness of the library.))

People always ask how long forever is supposed to be, how to define the endless. People much smarter than her will come up with mathematics and equations and theories to explain these things to others. But she knows. She knows now.

Forever is the seven seconds it takes for Wally West to kiss her.

It starts with a touch, as it did before; the feeling of warm fingers sliding up her frozen arms, tracing heat into the seams of her skin. Elbow and bicep and shoulder and collar bone, all seeming to thrum to life underneath his palm. She inhales the smell of walnuts, shivering when she feels his thumb tilt her jaw upwards.

She doesn't open her eyes; she knows what she will see. She'll see all those strange and beautiful pieces, the almost not-human qualities that compose the man in front of her, weaved together in the Wally-ish way of his. She knows that if she opens her eyes she will be afraid of him, of his goodness, of the thousands of reasons not to do this sitting freckled across the skin on his cheeks. She exhales, throat catching in nervousness.

Wally pulls her mouth to his, and forever both ends and starts again.

He kisses her, and like fireworks sounding inside her she can feel it again— air in her lungs and a pulse beneath her skin and electricity sparking through her and it's all because of him, all because of him... His lips are too hot against her, pleading and demanding and pulling the moans out of her mouth almost instantly. She can feel herself fumbling, caught on the tips of her toes and fingers gripping his biceps to stay upright, back arching when she feels a too-big hand splay along the narrow of her spine, one familiar thumb catching and pressing against the jutting of her hip bone...

((She wants him. With every piece of everything that has ever consumed her. And she will forever want him and forever look for him in the darkness, like she is now. She will need him near her, inside her. Forever, please. Forever.))

Wally grunts when she digs her nails into his shoulders, his weight rocking back onto his heels and nearly lifting her from the ground altogether; she can hear the anxious pants that are beginning to fire out of her nose, his free hand still cupping her jaw and forcing her too-short hair back from both their cheeks. And in a matter of seconds it's no longer kissing, it's panting and clawing and fighting to be closer, fighting to feel something, anything—

He gasps into her mouth when she bites his lower lip, one of her hands pulling a little too hard at the hair on the back of his head; she almost unbalances when he slouches forward in surprise, placing her back more surely on her feet— but she can't stop, won't stop, not now—

((She can't do this alone anymore.))

"Artemis." He whispers hoarsely into her mouth, her name coming out thickly and only half pronounced in between the kisses she forces on him. "Artemis—" He moans when she licks his bottom lip but seems to be pulled back to his senses; at once his palm presses a little too insistently against her cheek and she's forced to pull back.

He exhales against her mouth before he straightens, arms still tight around her as if he has no intention of letting go, but... But he's looking at her, in that too close way of his. Analyzing her, reading her too much. And she knows, or at least can guess what's supposed to happen— what he's waiting for as his apple eyes flicker between both of hers. And for a moment, maybe, she almost says what she knows he wants to hear.

(("... I love you, Wally."))

The words swirl inside her but make no attempt at escape— instead other ones come, more weak explanations. About how she's spent her whole life building walls around her heart to protect it from the worst parts of the world and that she's not sure how to dismantle them. How she's so used to having her feelings manipulated and played with and exploited that she still almost doesn't believe a kind word anyone says.

... How there was something about the little things he did— like rubbing warmth into her shoulders, or looking her over with those green eyes, or getting so close to her that her walls felt less like protection and more like imprisonment— but she's still doesn't think it's enough; how even now, she's not sure if a girl like her is supposed to be feeling these things, if anything like this will ever be real to her...

((Because sometimes it does feel like a dream, something she just made up... And sometimes she is convinced that one day she'll jerk out of a half sleep and find herself slouching against her bedroom window with a partly-finished book, and she'll realize that she's still newly 15 and never joined the Team and the name Wally West means nothing to her at all...))

The seconds pass and she swallows, the words slipping away and disappearing.; she can feel them churning inside her stomach, poisoning her. This time, she's the one to reach for him.

(("Please."))

It isn't enough, as she knew it wouldn't be. As if knowing what she's almost said Wally sighs, releasing her and ignoring her fingers when they brush pathetically against his neck.

"... I can't." He whispers, voice breaking. "I can't."

He pulls away, and her forever shatters.)

Unconsciousness lifts mercilessly, bringing with it a dry tongue and an aching head.

She hears herself exhale, can feel the way her own breath ruffles the too-short hair mused over her eyes with sleep; childishly she rolls more determinedly onto her stomach, trying to will herself back to dreaming. She doesn't want to wake up; wakefulness only means loneliness and emptiness and apparently a hangover. Forcing her aching throat to swallow she runs a palm over her face, feeling the previous day's make-up caked inside her pores.

And— ouch. Without looking she groans, clenching her hand into a fist; Connor's bruise feels worse now than it did yesterday.

... But it's not just that. Every part of her seems to ache, as if all the alcohol from the day before is lingering in her joints, making them pop every time she moves; refusing to indulge in wakefulness she shifts again, registering for the first time that she's managed to find her way into bed.

She smells of fire and salt, the creases in the folds of her joints filled with a strange cold sweat. The skin on her face feels too tight along her skull.

(She watches as one of his hands reaches up to his neck, scrubbing in that familiar fashion. She can feel the beginnings of embarrassment, of hurt, of the weight of rejection starting to submerge her into coldness again. She's thankful when he turns towards the water, not noticing the silent tears dribbling down her cheeks, hot and fast in her drunkenness.

"... I know." She says, and even though she manages to wipe the wetness from her eyes she can't erase the warbling in the back of her throat. "I— I shouldn't have even... Sorry."

Wally's hand falls from his neck. "... Artemis."

"It's okay." She says quickly, barely managing to choke out the words. "I get it. I didn't even... I'm drunk. I didn't mean it."

She sounds like a coward, trying to back track from her begging a few minutes ago with gruff words and indifference; Wally finally turns back to her when she wipes her nose loudly on his sleeve. "Hey." He says in that low tone of his, the kind that would make her stomach twist in other circumstances. "Don't... Don't cry, okay? I hate it when you cry."

((And she hates this. She hates that she either cares too much or not at all, hates that she can't tell which one is worse. And most of all she hates all these feelings, all these emotions she can't control, hates the way she's crying in front of him right now—))

"Sorry." The word flies out of her mouth but she makes no effort to stop, instead disappearing behind his overlong sleeves.

She hears him say her name, hears the tenderness in his voice, but she doesn't want to see the apology hidden in his eyes— he's done with her, he doesn't want her anymore. She doesn't know why it hurts as badly as it does now; she's stepped on his heart a thousand times. But it hadn't mattered a minute ago— he had said that he loved her, right? Or had she imagined that? Or is it just that he loves her out of habit, but wanting her, wanting her like she wants him, isn't possible...?

((She doesn't know what to think.))

She sobs, growing confused; her head feels too heavy for her shoulders and her heart feels vacant once more. Her words won't work the way she wants them to and she wishes, so badly wishes, that she were suffering this humiliation alone...

"Artemis." He says again, this time taking a step closer. "Babe, come on..."

And this time when he reaches for her it's with too much tenderness, too much pity; even though she can't stand to be touched by him again she still allows it, still escapes into the warmth of his arms with eagerness, her head ducking automatically to fit into the hollow of his chest and tears sticking to his bare skin. "Don't cry." He repeats, saying the words again and again as if hoping to convince the both of them; she can feel his whole body tighten underneath her cheek, as if his ribs are trying to contain his heart as he wraps his arms around her. She registers lips pressing more words into the top of her head. "Don't cry, don't cry...")

She groans as the memory comes back to her, face turning towards her pillow as if wishing to suffocate. God, she had been such an idiot... Begging for him, crying when he had said no, and—

("Artemis." He says her name with more urgency the longer she keeps crying, palms pressing insistently at her cheeks as her sobbing grows ragged, trying to coax her into looking at him. "Artemis, breathe with me, okay? You're starting to panic and— it's okay, hey, Artemis—"

And she can feel her legs beginning to give out and too-strong arms crumbling with her, and there's sand slipping into the tenders points behind her knees as he arranges her in his lap; the ocean is too loud but her breathing is louder, ragged and muggy against his nakedness—

((And he had been right— she still has feelings for him and no matter how many times she tries to tell herself that she's better off... She can't let him go. And even though she knows that she can't— because she is dangerous, because she is worthless, because she will never, ever be good enough— she can't stop clinging to him, leaving claw marks. And she misses the way things used to be so badly but she can't bring them back again— can't make that mistake again— but she can't live the rest of her life being haunted by ginger hair and old memories...))

((And she can't breathe—))

Wally's arms cradle her against him, tightening when she shivers; she can feel his jaw grinding as he presses his lips against her forehead again, hardly registering when his hand wraps around her wrist, dragging her fingers to the rapid pounding of the pulse point against his neck. "Breathe." He reminds her, pressing her fingers against his neck, an old trick he once used to calm her down during her panics. "In and out with me. Okay? Artemis?"

She ignores him, fingers escaping his neck and curling down his shoulders, clawing into him in ways she knows she shouldn't...)

... And breaking down in front of him. Oh, god.

She curls more tightly into the ball of sheets she's tangled herself in; her memories of the previous evening seem oddly scrambled, the timeline of events warbled and filled with strange empty patches. She can remember the whole day— lunch with Owen, licking ice cream, Barbara, a stray conversation with Wally... Swimming, and Zatanna and Kaleb losing spectacularly at chicken fights... Kissing Zatanna around the fire, and of course, kissing Wally... She winces, wishing those memories were the ones that were forgotten.

God, she had been such an idiot. Her head gives an insistent pound, a reminder that after all her crying and sweating and drinking yesterday she's desperately dehydrated; rolling onto her back she looks up at the familiarity of her own ceiling, the pale looking grey of her walls. Her bedroom smells of sweat and something sour that she can't place...

... Why did she have to get so upset anyway? She was doing fine. Well, not fine— but managing. For all she knows all that numbness had been a defense mechanism against her own grief. Maybe she screwed herself up even worse, trying to feel things... Or maybe this is good? Being able to process what happened? Ugh, she can't even think straight.

Why did she have to drag Wally into this?

She exhales as another dull ache runs through her head, her palm lifting to push her hair out of her face; when she can see again she's thankful that she at least had the foresight to place a glass of water at her bedside table before she went to bed. Propping herself onto her elbows she escapes her sheets, reaching for it. She manages about half the glass of water before she realizes she's no longer wearing her swimsuit; when she pulls the drink back to look at herself she dribbles some water down her chin, looking a little suspiciously at the oversized Central City High crest splayed across her breasts.

It's Wally's old tee shirt. A tee shirt that she's sure was shoved unceremoniously to the back of her drawer.

She can sense embarrassment in the air, the scent stale with regret; she'd been drunk, she's sure. Wanted something comforting to wear but... Oh god, had he seen her wearing it? ... No. It's not like her and Wally spent the night together, how would he... Eyes narrowing, she places the half empty glass back on her bedside table and sits up a little higher, stomach beginning to twist uncomfortably as she peels back the rest of her sheets. She's wearing her usual sleeping shorts, no underwear.

She's not exactly sure what that means.

... No underwear? Had she been so drunk when she changed that she forgot her underwear?

Well... it's possible, she supposes. The headache she has right now is indication enough.

The water is doing her some good, or perhaps it's simply the fact that she's becoming more alert as she looks around her bedroom, searching for more signs that could somehow tell her what happened the previous evening. The empty space in the bed beside her looks as undisturbed as ever. She can see the swimsuit she borrowed from Zatanna discarded on top of her desk, strings tangled as if she flung it there wildly. Wally's button down is hung along the back of her chair. And—

And it's stronger now, the strange sourness in the air that makes her stomach churn; the garbage usually tucked out of sight beneath her desk is pulled out, forcing her chair to sit crooked as opposed to straight. Sitting up fully she makes to get out of bed, wondering if she perhaps vomited—

Her bare feet hit a strange plushness and at once she glances down; she's greeted by the vivid red of Wally's blankets, arranged carefully along the carpet.

... Wally's blankets, but no Wally.

Her eyes narrow at the slept-in appearance of the comforter, the arrangement of his pillow. Wally slept in her room last night. Her stomach starts churning again and she feels her knees warbling as she settles back onto the edge of her bed, mind racing. Then at once—

(The world is quiet; even the water seems to have slowed, the evening tide whispering at them in the darkness. Wally continues to hold her, long after her panic has subsided. She can feel his fingers gently strumming across her skin, one hand pressing music into her knee while the other muses comforting circles into her shoulder.

((She wants to love him with her whole heart but something keeps holding her back... Fear, maybe. Of what saying those words would mean.))

They breathe at the same time, heart beats aligned; she can feel the fingers along her shoulders still for a moment, breaking the predictable and soothing pattern to flatten along her muscles, tightening around her and holding her too close for a moment. For a half second the moonlight hits his chest, and even though she wishes it would stay hidden the scar above his heart flashes at her.

(("You did this." It seems to say, glaring.))

Rather than look back she closes her eyes, lashes brushing against his neck. "... I missed you too." She whispers, voice hoarse and throat dry from her crying.

Wally doesn't ask her to clarify about when, or how badly; instead he presses his cheek more firmly to the top of her head, fingers leaving her bicep to brush her hair back behind her ear. "... Do you want to go home?" He breathes.

"Where?"

"The Cave? Or Gotham?"

She's hardly awake anymore, lips brushing against his collar bone as she presses her face into his shoulder, hiding from the scars she's left on his skin. "Take me where you're going.")

So that's it. Wally must have taken her here.

She can feel her whole face heat with embarrassment, bile beginning to rise so rapidly in her throat that it takes several swallows to send it back to churning in her stomach. Oh, god. She must have had to be put to bed like a child and... Her forehead pounds again, her hangover beginning to hit her harder now. She hates not knowing what really happened, not knowing what to apologize for or be embarrassed about. What if she had clung to him like she did before, crying and sniveling and having to be carried to bed like the mess of a person she is... What if she had said too much?

What if she told him that her father killed Maire?

... But she did, didn't she? She had told him it was her fault.

Oh, god.

Ignoring the dizziness suddenly overwhelming her she gets to her feet, fighting against the nausea that's forcing her to salivate; she needs to get out of here, to run away from this room and last night and herself— Wally may be gone now but she's sure he'll be back soon, and if there's one thing she can't stand to do right now it's having to look Wally West in the eye. Stumbling, she crosses the room, determined to go home and hide from him and everyone else who had to see what a mess she was last night—

Her hand shakes as it turns the knob and she flings the door open too quickly, the stray edge snagging along the tops of her toes; biting back a loud gasp she's forced to hop ridiculously from foot to foot, catching a glimpse of her own blood seeping out of the scrape and onto the carpet. "Fuck." She curses.

Before the word is even fully out of her mouth she's met with a wicked laugh. "Language." Dick drawls, looking amused as he pauses several paces past her bedroom, turning back to grin at her. "If you're not careful Red Tornado will make you put a dollar in the swear jar."

Instantly she glares, leaning against her door frame and bending to examine her foot. "Shut up." She mutters, not in the mood for him or his usual games.

Rather than be discouraged by the annoyed expression on her face Dick grins again, looking infuriatingly impish as he shoves his hands in his pockets. "Good morning to you too." He muses, retracing his last few steps until he's in front of her, watching as she licks her thumb and leans clumsily against her door frame, scrubbing her finger once over her scrape. "You look especially cheerful. Have too-good of a time last night?"

She scowls, becoming suddenly aware of her matted hair and the fact that she has an unknown dried substance— probably vomit— cracking along her chin. "Sure." She says between her teeth, releasing her foot and instead passing a hand once over her face. "What, uh, about you?"

"Good. Barbara had fun." He says this with a shrug, as if he whether the other girl enjoyed herself or not wasn't really a concern of his; for some reason he looks down at her a little too long, as if her appearance is telling him more about the previous evening than she ever could.

Feeling her brows furrow she clears her throat; whether intentionally or not it's just occurred to her that Dick's essentially boxed her in, trapping her into conversation or sentencing her to a retreat back into her bedroom. "Well, uh—"

"Is Zatanna in there?" He asks abruptly.

At once she understands his lingering, and feeling a strange sense of relief she exhales, pressing her hair back behind her ears for a moment before reaching to close her door behind her. "No."

"I haven't seen her since last night." He clarifies, and to her annoyance he reaches out a hand to try and press her door open again, standing on his toes to see better around her. "Her and that Kaleb guy left not long after you did—"

"So? Why would she be in my room?"

"Well, I figured after that big show at the fire—"

"Shut up—"

She's not up to her usual fight, and after a few moments of dodging and shoving her hands out of the way Dick manages to duck around her; there's a loud bang as he rams it open, the wood clattering against the wall. "Dick!" She snarls, not sure if she's insulting him or calling him by his name.

In response he snorts over his shoulder, grin glinting mischievously as he makes to move into her room; she can tell he's thoroughly enjoying teasing her, especially when she's so exhausted and drained she can hardly argue back. "What? You have something to hide? Should I go tell RT that you had a guy in your room last—"

She can feels herself going maroon, wincing; he cuts his teasing off when he finally faces forward, feet abruptly stopping before he's really even crossed the threshold inside her bedroom. Even in as dull a mood as she's in now she knows exactly why he's stunned into silence, is sure he knows Wally's bedspread as well as she does. She grimaces as the increasingly awkward seconds tick by in which he stands there, hand still on her door knob, registering the jarring red comforter spread out in a make shift bed on the floor.

"What—uh." He says dumbly; in the uncomfortable moment that follows her head starts throbbing again, and feeling impatient she yanks him by the arm back into the hallway, slamming her door shut behind her.

For some reason Dick continues to stare at the closed door for a moment before his eyes find hers; even though she can't see them through the shade of his glasses she's sure there's something almost accusing in the baby blue of his eyes. "It's nothing." She says grittily, blushing.

"Wally spent the night." He says, suddenly a ten fold more serious than a minute before. "... For you two, that isn't nothing."

She feels her eyes narrow as she looks up at him. "What—" She cuts herself off with an annoyed noise in the back of her throat when he shakes his head. "Look, I'm exhausted. If you're going to be all judge-y at least let me have a cup of tea first."

"Are you guys back together?"

She snorts. "No."

Dick nods, then hesitates. "Did, uh… Did you guys—"

"No." She says quickly. "No we—" She pauses, thinking of the lapses in her memory and then immediately changing course. "It wasn't anything, okay?"

"Good."

He says this with such a firmness that it immediately strikes her as strange, almost rude. "Good?' She asks vaguely, brows raising.

Dicks seems to take a moment to gather his courage, as if speaking his mind is a skill he's not quite yet mastered. "Yeah. Because—because he was a wreck when things ended, Artemis. And even worse when you left."

"And you think I wasn't?" She scowls, trying to hide the guilt rapidly filling up her stomach. "... We can't be together, okay? And Wally knows that. Last night was just—"

For some reason Dick lets out a loud scoff that stings her more than anything else he's just said. "What? A fluke? A screw up? A moment of weakness? God, you could give Batman a run for his money." He says sarcastically.

She can't think of anything to say back, her head aching far more insistently than it has thus far this morning; something must show on her face because at once Dick sighs, shoulders slacking. "I didn't mean that." He says quietly. "I just... Wally's my best pal. And I can't—I'm not sure how many times I can throw him together again, okay? You just need to let him get over—"

"And you even listening to me?" She cuts him off, cheeks reddening. "I said we didn't, and we didn't, okay? What more do you—"

"Hey."

Their conversation is abruptly cut short when Wally turns down the hallway, brows raised at the company outside her door; instantly Dick takes a step back, expression turning from serious to amused. "Morning." He says warmly, smirking again.

"Uh, morning dude." Wally says, looking slightly confused at the expression on his best friend's face; at once he gestures to the cup of tea in his arms, carefully avoiding her eyes. "Brought you some tea. You know, for the hangover."

This makes her blush but Dick seems to be pleased again, as if the conversation between them just now never happened. "Oh, well, sure." He says cheekily, stretching out his words just enough for her to find it annoying. "You two going to spend the morning together?"

"Uh—"

"No." She says quickly.

Dick smirks at the discomfort between them, apparently ignoring the rude gesture Wally sends him that she manages to catch out of the corner of her eye. "Why not? Head down the beach again, relive last night. It's supposed to be another hot day today."

She can't think of anything to say and apparently neither can Wally; when she glances at him again he raises his brows at her a little weakly. "Wanna go for a walk?" Wally asks, grimacing.

Truthfully the last thing she feels like doing is spending more time with Wally, although between him and the ever changing personalities of Dick Grayson she supposes he's the lesser of two evils this morning. "... Sure." She says between her teeth, begrudgingly accepting the cup of tea.

Without saying anything they find their way to the beach; it seems more obvious now than ever that this place, like their window, is a sanctuary of sorts where the weight of their thoughts seems lighter, easier to bear.

Some of her tea slops over her fingers as she follows him, the heat of the liquid scalding her hands before it's immediately soothed by the air rolling off the water; it's a bright morning, almost painful to her exhausted eyes, but the wind seems much cooler than the day before. Without thinking her head turns automatically towards the old grove of trees she used to hide in.

"Probably not the best way to wake up." Wally says suddenly, voice oddly muted; with a jolt she realizes she's slowed to a stop several paces behind him. "Dick can be a bit of a jerk first thing."

She makes to catch up, continuing to follow him wherever he's leading. "It could have been worse." She says honestly. "Just wanted to know where Zatanna was."

"Hm." Wally grins, nodding towards a cove of jagged looking rocks that she knows are concealing the more manufactured edges bordering the Cave. "Seems to be a common theme lately."

"Yeah." She watches him take a seat on one of the flatter boulders before she follows, deliberately not sitting next to him like she wants to; rather then be closer to him than she has to be she carefully chooses a slab of rock a few feet away from him.

He looks at her for a long moment, squinting the sun out of his eyes and leaning back to put his weight on the heels of his palms; for some reason the nature of the look sends her cheeks blushing. "Thanks, by the way." She says weakly, dropping her eyes to her cup. "For the tea."

The corners of Wally's mouth twitch upwards, and as if understanding that his staring is making her nervous he looks away when she takes a sip; the liquid is still scalding hot when it rolls over her tongue, crisp and prepared the way she likes it. She's surprised he remembered. "... Sure." He says vaguely.

For a long while they sit in silence, looking out at the horizon and watching as the middle of the day rolls in; despite the cool breeze she's sure it's going to be another hot one as Dick predicted, the only clouds in the sky a few scant whisps that will disappear as the warmth builds. She has the distinct impression that Wally's waiting, or at least gathering the courage to say something; trying not to grow impatient she does her best to maintain the somewhat awkward silence, sipping her tea long after the liquid inside has started going cold.

After nearly ten minutes she can't take it anymore, her hips growing sore from sitting on the uneven rock and eyes beginning to ache the longer she stares at the sun's reflection off the water; resting her mug on her thigh she clears her throat. "… You look tired." She tells him.

Wally glances at her before shrugging, muscles rolling under his tee shirt as he raises a hand to scrub at his face. "A little, I guess. How are you feeling?"

"Fine." She says automatically, immediately back-tracking when he sends her a knowing smirk. "Well— Okay, a little tired too."

There's another pause, this time an awkward one, in which she sips her tea and Wally goes back to the water; finally she lowers her cup, trying again. "Um." She starts, feeling stupid when his head swings back towards her and her stomach instantly squirms. "Were we... Up late? Last night?"

At this his eyes narrow at her, as if trying to figure out what she's really asking. "Uh, yeah."

"How late?" She presses.

"I don't know." He shrugs, brows furrowing.

"Well..." She can feel herself starting to lose her nerve and almost returns to the safety of her cup before she remembers that she's emptied it. "Can you try to remember? Please? ... Because I can't."

Wally blinks exactly once before he looks away. "… You don't remember?" His mouth twists into a frown when she shakes her head. "Anything? At all?"

She can't read his expression; once again she's confronted with the new angles of his face, the morning's stubble hiding things she used to be able to decipher without problem. "Well—I mean, I remember some things." She says awkwardly, dropping her eyes to her cup— she's got her fingers clenched so tightly around the handle that her knuckles are going white, and it takes her a moment to figure out what she wants to say. "Like— kissing. I remember some kissing."

She hears him let out an exhale that might be the beginnings of a forced chuckle; when she glances up he's still staring out at the water, the tips of his ears starting to go a vibrant pink. "Uh, yeah. Lots of that." He says sheepishly. "That part would be pretty hard to forget."

Again he slips into an unhelpful silence, the twisting in her stomach now growing unbearable; for a long moment her insides seem to gnaw at her before she forces the words out, stuttering in her haste. "A-and? Was there anything else?"

"Kissing wise?"

"Kissing wise."

She watches his throat bob, his hip shifting as he tries to coax his overlong limbs into a comfortable position. "No." He says after a moment, and instantly she can feel a whole part of her relax, seeming to melt into the rock with relief. "… Not that both of us didn't want to."

The last part is said strangely— a hint of a laugh, a bit of embarrassment; when he finally looks back at her with a sheepish smile she can't help but feel her mouth twitch back in response. "… Right." She says dumbly.

"Yeah."

Her cup is still half warm despite its emptiness, her fingers splaying along the ceramic as if hoping to absorb some of it; even though the heat is beginning to build along the beach she feels cold, like always. Once again he seems to be avoiding her eyes, not looking at her as she leans forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. "... I— I do remember a few things actually." She blurts out. "I just... I don't know if they're entirely real."

When she glances at him he's back to scrubbing his neck. It had been so much easier to talk in the darkness, where everything seemed so hidden. Now she feels as if everything between them, all these feelings, are written in the sand for everyone to see. "What— uh. What do you remember?"

She swallows, debating how much to tell him and where to start. "Wanting to cry." She starts vaguely, tightening her hands around her cup. "I was drunk, and mad at Zatanna and... A lot of things." She mutters, carefully avoiding any mention of Marie or Garfield. "And I remember... Just wanting to be held. To be with someone... Warm."

She can sense Wally's gaze back on her and she deliberately keeps staring at her mug, thinking hard; the hairs on her arms are rapidly prickling, as if actually chilled. "And I think I remember asking you to... Be that person." She mumbles, blushing. "And I... I cried? Didn't I?"

Wally shifts on his rock, taking so long to answer that she nearly interrupts him with more babbling. "Well… Yeah. There was some crying, for a bit." He says gruffly. "And when I tried to—you just didn't want to be by yourself." The words come out rushed, as if saying them quickly will save her any embarrassment. "... And I was kind of scared to leave you alone, if I'm being honest."

She makes a vague noise in the back of her throat, and at once the memory comes back—

(The shoulder beneath her cheek tenses, the warm arms curled under her releasing. The mattress seems to blossom around her, enveloping her limbs and threatening to strangle her.

"Wally?" She whispers, voice half frantic in the darkness.

For a second there's no answer, just the sound of her breath growing more desperate as unknown sheets are pulled over her legs— her tongue tastes like stale tea and she's no longer wearing his shirt—

Her hands are clumsy when they find his, looping through too-large and too-warm palms. "Right here, Beautiful." He whispers back, shifting his weight on the edge of the bed. "You fell asleep on the couch. Didn't even finish your tea—"

Inside. They're inside and... And she had changed out of her swimsuit. And they had talked and put on a movie and... She can't remember. The tea in question is currently churning in her stomach but she doesn't care, not when he's leaning over her like this, his free hand reaching up to press her hair off her clammy forehead. "Go back to sleep." He tells her, pulling back.

"Wait." She blurts out, fingers curling between his in a way she's sure must hurt; for a half second she hesitates. "... Stay? Please?"

"Artemis—"

"Please?"

She can hardly see his face in the darkness, can't tell if he frowns or smiles; all she hears is a rush of breath, indicating he's still inches from her, exhaling. "... Okay." He whispers. "Just... I'll be back in a minute, alright?"

And perhaps she's already dreaming, her eyes fluttering closed as he leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek; the world is quiet and in the darkness it's very hard to remember for a moment why she's keeping herself from this boy. His lips press against her skin and she closes her eyes and the world shuts down and for the first time in a while she lets her mind wander.

And this time her dreams are not mauled by blood or dingy green skin or children screaming for their mothers. This time her mind takes her to a place she doesn't talk about or acknowledge exists anymore. It takes her to an old place, a warm place. And Wally is there, and that's all that matters.)

She misses what Wally says, only catching him when he finishes. "I—I slept on the floor, if that helps."

She swallows, trying her best to find her voice; she can tell by the warble in his tone that he half expects her to be mad. "... Thank you." She mutters, blushing again. She's not entirely sure where to go from here. "Not just for… You know. Thanks for making sure I was okay."

Wally's hand scrubs once through his hair before it falls; she suspects that her embarrassment is showing on her face. "Yeah, well." He hesitates. "… You've kind of done the same for me."

She blinks, finally looking away from her cup. She doesn't know why the comment catches her off guard; all she knows is that he's talking about one of the few things they've silently considered off limits between the two of them: the night she found him, alone and shaking at their window. But it's more than that— it's the fact that something about how he mentions it— this huge, unspoken thing— seems almost cold, oddly dismissive for the type of conversation they're having.

"... What?" She asks after a moment, eyes narrowing. Wally doesn't answer, and she can feel another wave of discomfort washing over her. "I can tell you aren't telling me something." She says gruffly.

He hesitates, one hand reaching up to scratch peevishly at his arm; unwillingly her eyes fall to his wrist, stomach twisting when she sees her elastic still there. The silence seems to stretch between them for nearly a minute before words start spilling out of him, following the same rhythm of his foot tapping against the sand. "I just kind of hate this." He gets out before abruptly stopping.

The words aren't what she's expecting and she can tell her surprise shows on her face; when Wally glances at her again she can see the vibration of one bitter chuckle in his chest before his smile fades, gaze going back out to the water. "… What's this?" She asks after a moment, not entirely sure she wants to hear the answer.

In response he shrugs, finally turning away from the water and shifting towards her; almost tortuously the breeze blows some of the tantalizing walnut scent towards her. "… This. Us, right now. I hate that we don't talk unless one of us is drunk, falling apart, or... Both." He says gruffly, any trace of humor beginning to disappear from his features. "... I can't do it anymore. It's just too... Hard. I can't be everything to you one night and then nothing the next morning. I can't be in the middle, okay? And I know that if you wanted to be with me, you'd be with me, and there's a reason that we aren't but— But I can't keep up with what we're doing right now."

"Wally—"

"I'm serious, Artemis." He says firmly, cutting off whatever exasperation she's about to come up with. "It's not... And it's not me making it like this. You're the one making this so hard."

The words sting, so hard that for a moment all she can do is sit there, blinking the hurt out of her eyes. She can't figure out what he's asking her to do, what he wants her to say; biting the inside of her cheek for a moment she tries to mull her way around what he's just said, only coming up with the words that she's been thinking for weeks now. "I'm sorry." She whispers. "For how I... For how we ended things. And for leaving."

Wally exhales, breath loud and ragged in the way that always tells her she's not saying what he needs her to. She doesn't know what he wants from her, what sort of script she's supposed to follow to make things less broken between them. She's not even sure if that's possible.

She watches as he glares down the beach— and she knows, as well as anyone, that not letting herself love him is a mistake. This boy, who is sweet and kind; so stupidly loving and caring. This boy who's now a man, but still smiles at her as if always trying to make up for the day they met. This boy, who smells of warm spices and walnuts and autumn; this boy, who is good— too good for her in all the right places.

He was her shot. Her one perfect thing.

And she can't trust herself not to ruin it.

(Although, if she's being honest, she knows that she already did.)

She doesn't understand what's stopping her from kissing him. She knows what he'll taste of: walnuts and warmth and maybe fresh toothpaste. She knows that if she kisses him she'll feel better, and he will to... But she's so tired. She can't think of anything else in this world she'd rather do than return to her bed, return to the worn in pages of the book she's reading. The real world feels suddenly so stunted, so far from everything.

... These past few weeks have aged them both more rapidly than she thought was possible; she feels more grown up now than she's sure most girls her age do. And maybe part of growing up means recognizing what you want. What you need. Who you are.

And that was the problem, with Wally— she was never really herself with him. She was always trying to be better for him, trying to be worthy; like everything else in her life she set herself up to fail, to not reach her own expectations. She's read enough books to know that love, the real thing, is supposed to be adaptive. It must be smart and strong enough to survive the constant change that two people live their lives through.

... Her father raised her to be all those things. She's a warrior; she's a survivor. Time and time again she's proved herself to be cunning, her body taught and capable in battle.

... But her heart. Her heart is too rigid.

Now isn't the right time for her and Wally. And if she were a fool she'd cling to some kind of hope; that maybe they'd meet again, years from now when her mind was less hectic, and then it would be perfect— the two of them, together, the way she's always wanted. But she knows herself. She is chaos. And she won't wreak havoc on Wally again.

She tastes blood in her mouth, and suddenly she can't stop herself from asking the one question she can't stand to have answered. "... Do you regret it?"

He keeps staring out over the water, eyes narrowed. "... What?"

He sounds so gruff, too old to be her Wally; in response she hesitates again, licking her lips. "Being with me." She says as clearly as she can. The wind is beginning to pick up. "Do you regret being with me?"

She lets her too short hair slip out from behind her ear, conveniently hiding her from him when his head loops round to stare at her; although he's no longer the boy she could read with just a look she's still afraid of what she might see there, written in the honestly of his apple eyes. "... We didn't work out, okay?" He says quietly after a moment, his voice with an odd roughness to it. "... That doesn't change the fact that you were one of the best things that happened to me."

It shouldn't make her heart tighten, but it does— for several long seconds neither of them say anything, just two people who used to love each other sitting apart like strangers.

"Look." Wally says after a while, sound embarrassed and like this conversation has gone off the course he's spent all night planning. "I just... Can you either tell me to fuck off or— or be just my friend again? That's all I want from you."

The last part is rushed, and although it's not meant to be mean or anything close to it the words still send a dull aching inside her chest; automatically her head ducks, hiding. "... I don't know if we can." She says after a moment, finally looking up; instantly she feels a pang when she finds his eyes on her, already staring.

Wally's throat bobs as he swallows. "No?"

"No." She confirms.

For some reason he nods, as if really processing the information; his foot taps three times against the rock he's sitting on before he stops it, eyes dropping to the sand. "… Is it stupid if I said that I still wanted to try?" He asks her, voice oddly forced into lightness. "To be friends, I mean?"

She hesitates, really mulling over the question as his apple eyes bore into her; like the night before she can sense that she's in dangerous territory but for some reason she isn't smart enough to stray from it. Her throat feels dry as she swallows, her eyes leaving his and instead staring at the empty tea dregs in her cup. "… You always sound stupid." She gets out, voice hardly above a whisper. "But... I don't know. I think I'd like that, actually."

There's a beat of silence. "… Okay." Wally finally says. "Well then let's… Be friends, then."

"Okay." She croaks.

He smiles, a mess of freckles and straight teeth. For once she doesn't hesitate to smile back.

It's quiet again, the same way it always is; rather than indulge it the both of them exhale at the same time, lips immediately quirking into matching smiles. "... You gonna go out with that Owen guy again?" Wally asks after a moment.

She can tell he's deliberately keeping his face blank, the question too casual to be entirely innocent; in the interest of being friends she ignores all this, instead leaning back onto the heels of her palms and sighing. "Definitely not. He was an ass."

"Good looking though." Wally shrugs, watching her carefully; when she glances at him he quickly averts his gaze, eyes dropping to watch his foot as it starts tapping a beat into a nearby rock.

"His hair was too curly."

"You're going to let someone's hair stop you from dating them?"

"No." She says defensively. "He was an idiot. The hair just didn't help."

Wally snorts. "You're picky."

"Am not—"

"Whatever." Wally cuts her off, rolling his eyes. "Here, I just remembered..." She watches as he digs in the pocket of his shorts for a moment before extracting what she immediately recognizes as her cell phone. "In case you do want to call him. You left it in Zatanna's bag last night, she told me to give it back to you."

He tosses it to her and she catches it clumsily in her palm; with a quick glance at it she can see the familiar flashing green light of a missed message— probably just Paula, checking up on her in the same annoying way she's been doing since she returned home from Quarac. "Thanks." She mutters, fingers fumbling as she flips it open.

Wally watches her for a half second before relaxing onto his elbows, looking content to lounge in the sunshine currently warming the rocks they're sitting on. "What're you doing tonight? Rob and I were thinking of maybe renting a movie from that place in town and getting the Team to—"

She presses her phone to her ear. "Hm?" She says vaguely.

"You have 17 missed messages."

"— Tula's been majorly lacking in her pop culture films. While you were gone we were working out way through the 80's— You know, Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller's Day Off—"

"Hi, Darling. Just checking in... You haven't been home in a few days. Call when you can, okay?"

She skips over Paula, smirking at Wally as her voicemail announces the message's deletion. "Oh god. You can't show her Pretty Woman."

"Why not? It's a classic."

"Why not?'" She repeats, wrinkling her nose; as if intrigued he sits up straighter, looking like he's half preparing himself for one of their old bickering sessions. "Wally, I know we've watched it about twenty times together but... Come on. It's garbage. I thought we only liked it in, like, an ironic way."

"An ironic way?" Wally blanches, looking offended. "My love for Julia Roberts is anything but ironic—"

"Hey, it's Zee. Call me back."

"—You know what? This is, like, a betrayal of some sort of trust—"

"Artemis, stop being mad at me, okay? Call me."

"It's Zatanna. I'm not kidding around, Artemis."

"Look, Owen's all pissed off and Kaleb—"

"It's me again. Please call me back."

"... Artemis? What's up?"

She blinks, unaware that the grin on her face has dropped entirely, her muscles going rigid. She can still hear Zatanna's messages playing, the unease and anxiousness in the other girl's voice sending her stomach churning— something's wrong. "I—I don't know." She says, getting to her feet. "I have all these messages from Zatanna. Did she ever come home last night?"

She can sense that Wally's struggling to keep up with what's happening— no doubt all thoughts of Julia Roberts are rapidly fading from his mind, the sudden change in her demeanor flushing his face into seriousness as he reads the worried expression quickly coating her features. "... I don't know. I didn't see her around when we went to bed."

"Look, I don't know where you are or what's happening and I just really need you to pick up your phone right now—"

Her stomach drops. Zatanna's crying.

Her voicemail squeals, signalling the end of her messages; before she can decide if she wants to hear them again she flips her phone shut, thinking hard. "I have to go." She mutters distractedly, getting to her feet. "Thanks for the tea."

"Hey—" She hears Wally call after her, and with a flurry of movement and wind he's right behind her, jogging to keep her pace. "Artemis, hey, what's going on? Is Zee okay?"

She jerks her head, slipping out of his grasp easily when he attempts to slow her with a tug on her arm. "I don't know." She says flatly, mind already whirring and trying decide where to go first.

Wally continues to follow her, brows furrowed as he struggles to keep up with what's happening. "Well— like, ball park? Scale of 1 to 10? Because you're freaking me out. Should I get Kaldur? Dick?"

"No, just—" She hesitates, ignoring the wave of panic beginning to build inside her as she rounds on him, trying to remain calm. "I don't know. Zatanna's a big girl, she can..." She trails off, biting her lip. "I'll call you when I know, okay? Just... It's something with Kaleb, I think."

Wally's brows contract, apple eyes flickering between both of hers. "That guy from the party last night?" He frowns, and at once she can see a flash of something she doesn't want to see behind his irises, the unease in the back of her own mind clearly present in his. "... Do you think he did he do something to her? Like... I mean. She was really drunk too."

She hates the implications of the way he says it, her stomach squirming. "I— I have to go. I can't even— just don't get everyone freaked out until I know what's happening, okay? Especially Dick—"

Wally nods but before he can say anything they're both cut off by the ringing of her cellphone; exchanging a look with him she flips it open, saying the name of the person she most wants to hear through the line. "Zatanna?" She blurts out, brows contracting when she hears the voice through the line. "... Mom?"

The stairs leading up to the Gotham apartment have never seemed more steep, never more daunting; ignoring the throbbing in her head and the vomit churning hot and fast inside her stomach she forces herself to keep climbing, not even stopping to indulge the swear that comes to her lips as she jabs her scraped toes against the top few steps, their unevenness catching her off guard as always.

"Hello?" She calls out before her front door is even open, peeling into the apartment so quickly she trips over the pile of shoes accumulating in the entrance. "Mom?"

She glances sideways into the kitchen as she charges forward, taking in her surroundings in flashes: newspaper open on the table, part way read. Tea cup half drained but not empty. The same predicable chords of her mother's Vietnamese music sounding from the radio on the counter, but no Paula—

"Artemis?" Her head snaps towards the sound of her mother calling her, and without question she follows it; down the hallway into the back bedroom, her bedroom—

She doesn't know what she's expecting when she opens the door— the ancient wood smashes open as she clatters against it, more stumbling into the room than actually making an entrance. "What the hell—"

She gets as far as inhaling and the words die in her throat. Her bedroom smells like blood.

For a moment, a long one, she feels weightless; the whole of her body seems to slam into her door, the impact almost vibrating the wall. Instinctively her eyes fly to Paula seated beside her bed, scanning and looking for something she isn't even sure of and eyes freezing on a pile of blood sodden tissues on her lap—

Then Zatanna sniffs.

"Oh my god." She hears herself say, fingers releasing the door knob she's still clutching. "Zee— oh my god. What happened?"

Zatanna opens her mouth to speak, trying to arrange her features, which are swollen from crying, into a smile. "You're really bad at picking up your phone, did you know that?" She says thickly, and she's forced to watch as blood dribbles down from Zatanna's split lip and onto her bed sheets.

The longer she looks at the other girl the worse it seems to get; eye make-up smeared down her cheeks, hair matted. Despite the fact that Zatanna's currently half hidden under her blankets she can see scratch marks and finger shaped bruises on her shoulders.

She swallows, doing her best not to breathe. "... Mom?" She says after a moment, looking at the older woman a little helplessly.

As if understand Paula nods, passing Zatanna a final tissue before she braces her hands on her wheels. "I'll go get some more ice, Darling." She says quietly, one hand brushing the other girls tangled hair over her shoulder in a comforting gesture before she makes to leave.

She can hardly even wait until her mother's out of the room, the few seconds it takes for the older woman to shut the door behind her feeling like half a century. "What happened?" She repeats, finally getting the courage to approach the bed. "Zatanna?"

In response the other girl sniffs again, reaching for the tissue box Paula's just deposited on her night table. "... Sorry." She mutters after a moment, blotting at her eyes and tucking her knees up to her chest. Her lip is so swollen the words sound oddly thick. "I was such an asshole last night."

"Zee—"

"And I know you're mad at me." The other girl continues, pressing the tissue to her mouth for a second and staining it crimson. "And that I shouldn't have come here—"

"Zatanna." She says firmly, cutting the other girl off and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I don't care about that right now, okay? Tell me what happened."

For a long moment the younger girl seems to hide behind her tissue, a wreck of tear stained skin and matted onyx hair; when she finally emerges she shakes her head, pressing a hand to her clammy forehead. "I was stupid, okay?" She says finally, sniffing again. "Kaleb wanted to go to an after party and I said yes, even though I knew you were mad. So we ditched everyone and Owen drove us to this weird party off of 7th street—"

"Owen drove?" She exhales, feeling her brows furrow. "Zatanna he was—"

"Drinking, I know. Skip the lecture." The other girl sighs, shaking her head. "I said I was stupid, okay?"

She doesn't get the sense that saying anything else is going to help things, and rather than upset the other girl anymore she bites the inside of her cheek, shifting her weight until she's slouching against her wall. "Okay."

"Okay." Zatanna huffs, and it seems to take her a moment to find her thread in the story. "And this party was—Everyone there was older, and rich, and... I don't know. It was fun for a while, I guess. But then... Well, Kaleb and I were fooling around in a bedroom and... Well, you saw him. Owen's an idiot. And I guess he was upset that things didn't really go well between you two, and that Kaleb still had a date and he didn't and... A couple people told me that he was doing lines in the bathroom."

She can't stop herself from scoffing. "He was snorting cocaine? God."

The other girl nods. "Right. So Kaleb and I came down stairs and... I don't even know how it happened, I had drank so much. But before I even knew what was going on Kaleb and Owen were out on the lawn brawling and— and I couldn't think of h-how to stop them, so I tried to pull them off each other. And Owen—"

She can feel her blood chilling, an unspeakable amount of anger flooding through her; she can picture it now. Kaleb and Owen fighting, duking out punches on the lawn. And Zatanna, drunk, probably panicked and not sure how to speak frontwards let along backwards... Zatanna, whose hand to hand skills have always been okay, at best...

She can picture it. The younger girl screaming, lunging forward, trying to get them both off each other— the two nice boys she met at the country club cursing at her, cursing at each other. She can see her, pulling them apart but then getting caught in the thick of things. And Owen... That asshole, Owen, so hopped up on drugs that he doesn't have a clue what he's doing, decking her...

Zatanna makes a choking sound, as if she's trying to chuckle. "... He was wearing his graduation ring. It cut my lip."

Her stomach seems to have migrated to somewhere around her ankles; despite not wanting to she can't stop her eyes from scanning the cut on Zatanna's lip, the bruises along her shoulders. Now that she's looking she can see the impression of too strong fingers inches from her clavicle, yellow bruises staining her milky skin and making it obvious where she was pinned and beaten in the dirt.

She can feel a well practiced coldness beginning to run through her veins; closing her eyes she deliberately keeps her expression blank, voice measured. "... Did Kaleb get him off you?"

"... No." Zatanna admits, seeming to shrink down further behind her knees. "He was out cold. But... I don't know. Owen knocked some sense into me and I just... I don't even know what spell I said. I just got out of there."

There's a pause in which all she can think to do is nod, feeling so furious that she can hardly feel her fingers as they clench onto her knees; as if taking this for a bad sign the younger girl makes a strange choking noise. "... I'm sorry." Zatanna repeats again. "You were right— those guys were such jerks, you and Dick were both... I know you're still mad at me, but— I just needed someone, okay? I needed somewhere safe, with people who wouldn't... Here was the only place I could think of. Paula let me in."

She feels herself inhale and exhale mechanically, oblivious to the anxious look on the other girl's face. "I'm not mad." She says, surprised that she means it. Unconsciously she slouches forward, pressing her hair behind her ears out of habit, thinking hard. "I mean— maybe at myself, a little. When did you get here?"

"Couple hours ago. Took me forever to find my way back to the Cave and get to the zeta tubes."

Finally she opens her eyes again. "... Have you slept at all?" She asks, watching as the other girl shakes her head. "Crash here. I'll go see how Paula's doing with that ice." She tries to say as warmly as possible, reaching forward to prod the other girl in the shoulder when she doesn't lie down. "I'm serious, go to sleep. You look awful."

Zatanna snorts when she stands, the half smile making her lip start bleeding again. "You're sweet."

"Sure." She says vaguely, reaching for her door to close it; before she's fully out of the room she pauses, sending the other girl one last look. "For future reference... I mean, I've had a few shitty nights myself." She says dumbly. "... If you ever need someone else to call... Well, Dick's a lot better at answering his phone."

The other girl blinks, but doesn't answer; deciding she doesn't want to look at her anymore she closes the door.

"Zatanna's sleeping." She tells Paula as she passes through the kitchen, not stopping. "I told her you would bring her some more ice. If we don't bring down all that swelling soon she might need stitches."

She can hear her mother's wheelchair squeaking across the kitchen tiles but she doesn't stop moving beyond kicking her sandals off her feet, bending to grab her sturdy combat boots from their usual place beside the door. Rather than argue she hears the older woman sigh. "Poor girl. Split lips are no fun."

Rather than say anything back she slips her bare feet into her shoes, crouching and tying the laces deliberately too tight. "You're going out?" Her mother asks.

She shrugs, not looking at the older woman as she reaches for her hoodie, removing it from a nearby hook. "I'll be back in a few hours. Something I have to do."

She makes it as far as opening the door when Paula surprises her by chuckling. "Give him hell, Darling." She says, already wheeling away from her. "It's what all Crock women do."

Her hand clenches inside her hoodie pocket, fingers framing the outline of her cellphone as if to test the vibrations; she counts four rings before the caller gives up, once again not leaving a voicemail.

She's hungry now; her hangover has faded into all around weakness, her stomach begging her for water and food. She doesn't know how long she's been here, waiting. All she knows is the early evening light is growing soft and she has never been more hungry and thirsty and exhausted in her own life. Tea with Wally seems like days ago.

Her phone vibrates again, signaling a text message; pulling it out of her pocket she ignores the clicking tongue of a passing woman, no doubt another club regular scandalized by her outfit.

(SMS) Text Message: Received at 9:02 pm

From: Baywatch

Everything OK

She shifts against the fine brick wall she's leaning against, the movement ruffling the ends of her sleeping shorts; when she glances up she catches a disapproving looking from the driver of a rather shiny looking convertible, attempting to disguise his fascination with her bare legs under the pretense of the turning of his car towards the gate of the country club. She slouches.

(SMS) Text Message: Sent at 9:04 pm

To: Baywatch

yeah. have fun at movie night

She means to say more, but somehow the words aren't coming to her; after nearly minute of wanting to write something, anything, substantial she hits send, giving the whole thing up as a bad job. Shoving her phone in her pocket again she straightens from her position near the gate, boots smacking against the sidewalk as she takes a few paces closer to the entrance of the club parking lot.

She's sure she's been here for a few hours now, loitering and habitually rounding the corner to double check the amount of Mercedes and Corvettes still parked there— in the past hour the number of car has dwindled down completely, only a few stragglers tying up their golf games beginning to now.

She bites the inside of her cheek, reopening the wound she's been making worse all day. She's not even sure if Owen's in there, what she wants to say to him. All she knows is that—

Is that she sees him. Coming from the club, walking into the parking lot— even from a half block away she recognizes the distinctive curly blonde hair, places his pacing as he walks towards his car, a golf bag slung on his shoulder. He doesn't even look like he's hurting from the last night, like anything out of the ordinary even happened.

She watches as he raises his hand the way all obnoxious pretty boys do, fingers clicking a car starter that sends something silver and too-fast looking flashing. He calls something back over his shoulder, teeth glinting into an obnoxious smile.

"Tonight then." He shouts out to his friend; by now they're the only two people left in the parking lot, everyone else either leaving or still inside celebrating with a scotch. "At Derek's place. Bring some girls too— Kaleb set me up with this fucking bitch last night, remind me to—"

The wrinkle pops up over her nose, and before she knows what she's going to do she yanks her hood up and starts moving.

He's not paying attention, still laughing and talking, not realizing what's about to happen; she watches as he clicks the trunk of his car open, swinging his golf bag off his shoulders; distantly she can hear his friend give a shout of surprise, of warning, but it's too late—

He makes a stupid sort of yelping noise when she lunges at him, his clubs swinging off his shoulders and clattering against the ground; she can hear the panicked noises in the background, his friend shouting and no doubt running to help as she slams him into the dirt, ramming Owen on his back and not letting him even feel the air as it leaves his lungs with impact. Without thinking she punches him as hard as she can, her knuckles cracking as she feels his bones yielding under her fists.

"What the fuck!" He swears, the cuss not even fully out of his mouth before she slams another blow into his skull, then another.

She must clock him in the jaw six times before it happens; she catches him at a good angle and suddenly his lip bursts open, a mess of blood and phlegm that splatters across his face so thickly that he nearly chokes on it—

She gasps out when someone else knocks into her, the impact of an awkwardly shot punch knocking her in the side of the head; it's enough to unseat her for a moment but in an instant she's on her feet again, already snarling as her own expertly honed upper cut finds its mark on another opponent's chin. With a certain amount of satisfaction she watches as Owen's unknown friend's head tosses back, the whole of his weight knocking backwards as she kicks him in a stomach, his feet tripping over each other before he sprawls on the pavement.

It's too easy to be satisfying. Figures two pretty boys wouldn't be much of a challenge.

Owen's being unbelievably pathetic about it, whimpering and clutching his face at her feet and not even trying to fight back; for a long moment she stands there, breathing raggedly, waiting for one of them to get up and try her again. But the rebuttal doesn't come, not really. "What the fuck?" She hears Owen repeat to himself.

It's not enough, standing there and watching as his words grow muddled, whining turning water-logged with tears; before she thinks twice on it she starts scanning the ground, looking through the mess of golf clubs and balls Owen's spilled there. Picking the sturdiest one she covers her hands with her sleeves, seizing it.

She hardly registers the sound of Owen's groaning as she starts swinging, doesn't even hear his pleads for her to stop above the sound of his car alarm beginning to go off, the ringing of shattering glass and denting metal filling the otherwise peaceful silence of dusk; she needs to move quickly, she knows that the police are probably going to be called in a matter of seconds. Again and again she swings, feeling her muscles popping and shoulders aching, slamming the golf club into his rear view mirrors, along his windows, the middle of his hood.

Finally, only after she's out of breath and his airbags have popped open from the force of her beating, does she walk a lap around the car, admiring the damage from every angle. "What the fuck?" Owen repeats, blood oozing down his chin and she stops mere feet from him.

She doesn't say anything back; she knows her voice will give her away. Instead she takes care drop the dented club beside him.

Then, like a real Crock woman, she runs.

AN: I have about a hundred of you shouting at me in my inbox and in the reviews, so let me share the good news with those of you who don't know it— YOUNG JUSTICE IS RETURNING. For a third season and hopefully many more!

Wow, I just... I don't even know what to say to express how happy this makes me. We did it guys! We really did it!

Onto more pressing things, however... I've gotten this question over a dozen times in the last few days, and I figured I'd post an general reply here. Part of the reason this update has been so delayed is because of finding an answer has proved a little more difficult than I thought it would.

Q: What's going to happen with this story now that we're getting a season 3?

A: That's... complicated. And to be honest, still very much up in the air. Season 3 doesn't premiere until 2017 sometime, and I have no idea what sort of content they're going to give us. A continuation after Wally's ceasing? Something to fill the gap between the two seasons? No clue.

Because I have no idea what kind of content is canon or not, and I'm aiming to be as close to canon as possible... Well, you see the dilemma. I have a notebook full of planning and a whole subplot that suddenly feels like it might be less accurate to the series and more me grasping at straws.

To be honest guys, I have no idea what's going to happen with this story. But I will tell you this— as long as you guys are still reading, then I'm going to try to keep writing Parenthesis as long as I can, and if it so happens that I need to end it prematurely I promise to tie up all my loose ends. And regardless of where the writers choose to take it, I promise I'll be there to tell Artemis' side of the story. No matter what, new stories will spring forward because of this.

... Finally, I want to thank everyone who filled my inbox with the good news, especially those of you who immediately got scared that I would quit this story cold turkey. I don't know how I generated a following like you guys, but I thank my lucky stars that you're all so supportive and into what I'm putting out.

You're the best! Please Read and Review!