AN: This piece is a direct sequel to my other Young Justice story, "Artemisia." I recommend reading that before you start this.

For those of you who are returning readers, I would like to thank you for prompting me to write a sequel that covers the space between season 1 and 2 instead of following my instincts and recreating my original story from Wally's point of view. I have to admit that I had way more fun diving into this than I initially thought, and for that I thank you.

I would also like to thank my wonderful boyfriend Cory who helped me with a special "recommended listening" section that will be placed at the beginning of each chapter. I always listen to music when I write and we both thought it would be cool if you all caught a glimpse into my process (although let's face it, Cory gets immense satisfaction in turning people on to new music and we had a lot of fun picking the songs together. Please inflate our egos and tell us which songs you loved and hated.)

Picks from the playlist this week: Regina Spektor- Field Below. Noah and the Whale- Peaceful The World Lays Me Down. Future Islands- Balance.

Parenthesis: 1) An amplifying or explanatory word, phrase, or sentence inserted in a passage from which it is usually set off by punctuation. 2) A remark or passage that departs from the theme of a discourse. A digress, interlude, or interval that provides an explanation not otherwise given in the text.

Artemis' heart beats twice before she feels the ground beneath her feet again. The air in the Cave is cold and she catches herself shivering before she forces her muscles into stillness.

She chances a half step beyond where her molecules reconstructed, the bottom of her shoe squeaking on the tile. There's no sound of her teammates, no whisper of uneven breathing or lowered voices. Her home is empty and she is, mercifully, alone.

Then the disembodied voice speaks behind her and before she can do more than glance over her shoulder Wally materializes.

... She needs to clear her head.

This time she counts almost twelve heart beats; twelve heart beats where they look at each other. Twelve times her heart pounds against her chest, and each time it's a reminder: they're alive. They're alive and they shouldn't be; they're alive and they've been through so much and have so much to talk about she can hardly stand it.

His hair is mused and sticking up at odd angles, his cheeks wind bitten and ears red. The look he's sending her is paralyzing in the way that it makes her stop and feel every atom in her body the way she wants him to. She wants their fingers to be entwined and she wants to feel how hot his skin can be beneath hers; she also wants to turn from him and run and never look back because she knows it will be easier than admitting anything to herself or to him, easier than letting down the walls she's fought to keep up. So much, too much, is in the air between them, too many feelings both hurt and otherwise, and she doesn't know where to start. It's terrifying for some unknown reason that she can feel her stomach sounding, can feel some small part of her pushing her forward—go on, it says, kiss him, it's okay—but before she's stupid enough to act on the impulse she turns to face forward again, her feet striking hard against the tile.

The kiss in the Watchtower had been a promise—no more running, not from each other—but old habits die hard…

This is where they are now: the world is saved and the only thing left undone is saying what they need to say, returning to that moment they lost in a supply closet when she thought they would both be dead by morning. It had been easy, before, to be brave. Now it isn't.

Because they've been through so much together and now it's like they're starting over all over again; it's like that moment after the Bialyan desert when they were alone in the Bioship and she had wanted so badly to say something, anything, to make things not terrible and scary and strange. But now more than ever she can't pretend she's not broken, can't pretend that she almost betrayed him whether he knows it or not. But she also can't pretend that she doesn't care for him, can't pretend that he isn't the one thing she'll do everything to protect, even if it means keeping him at an arm's length…

... She doesn't deserve to be happy, and he doesn't deserve the pain she inflicts on everyone who gets too close...

She makes it seven paces alone. Then Wally follows.

She feels dizzy, blinded by all the emotions whirring inside her; she still hasn't come down from the adrenaline rush of the battle, the taste of Wally is still on her tongue and now that they're alone and there's time, time to talk of all the damn things, she can't figure out what she wants to say—and how can she? She's not equipped for this kind of fight, the fight against what she wants and what she knows she has to do; she can't sit him down and break his heart, she can't let him walk away but she also can't force herself to leave either… It nearly killed her once and she can't do it again… And she's exhausted, her muscles ache and there's dry blood on her back and her eyes can't stay open and Oh God, she doesn't know where to start.

Wally catches up to her as she knew he would, his little finger brushing against the back of her hand. She can sense he wants to hold it again, wants to start talking and dissecting and analyzing and all the things she doesn't have a clue how to do. She curls her fingers into a fist at her side and ignores the way his nails run across her knuckles.

She keeps her eyes fixed on the cupboard door when they enter the kitchen, pretending not to notice the way his brows tense and follow the stiffness of her muscles as she stalks towards the cabinet where she keeps her tea. She gets about as far as putting the leaves in her cup before she allows herself to glance back at him over her shoulder again; he's seated at the island, fingers flexing against the counter and looking at her with too-kind eyes. "What?"

Wally shrugs, the Kevlar on his shoulders straining as muscle pops beneath it. "… You okay?"

She scowls, as if his concern really bothers her. "I'm fine." She tells her teacup instead of him.

There's a few seconds of silence in which he watches her fill the kettle with water and place it on the burner, a few droplets spilling over the edges and hissing against the heat. "… You can relax, you know. I'm not going to, like, pull a knife on you."

For some reason this makes her laugh; she's a bit of a mess right now, nothing more than a furl of emotions sitting too close to her surface. The noise that comes out of her throat sounds raw and broken, more of a hint of her coming undone than anything else, and she forces herself to quiet it too quickly. "… You're right. And even if you did, let's face it, you wouldn't be much of a threat."

"Hey, give me some credit." His voice is still teasing but his jaw is growing tighter, his eyes bright as she struggles to keep her lips from quirking upwards. "If I recall I held my own in Bialya."

She actually snorts, the kettle whistling and forcing her to turn away from him. "Oh yeah. You held your own until I was holding you down in the sand, about to stick an arrow in your eye."

She says it without thinking and there's a moment of sticky silence, the both of them mulling over what she's just said. She hates it—hates that just when she thinks that part of herself (the part that sees with Huntress' eyes and smokes her father's cigarettes) is finally tamed it lunges at the cage she keeps it in, fighting to break free. That part of her isn't used to being caged and she has a feeling it never will be, no matter how much time goes on. She's still barely keeping it together. She's still damaged, broken, how can she trust herself not to break him too-?

As usual he's the one to break the silence, his voice having lost some it's teasing edge. "Whatever." He dismisses, nodding at the mug she's just grabbed herself from the cabinet. He's trying a bit too hard not to remember, his eyes too focused on the movements of her hands. "… Pour me a cup too."

He's a bit better at skirting past her slip-ups than she is but she forces herself to roll her eyes at him, pretending that what she said and the easiness of how she said it doesn't bother her. With a little too much ease she forgoes the leaves plops a tea bag into his cup, forcing herself to make a face when she adds the milk and sugar for him.

For a while they don't talk, just sit beside each other at the island with their warm drinks clutched in their hands. She has the impression that Wally's forcing himself to be quiet, forcing whatever words are at the front of his mind to settle in favor of humming quietly, lips licking the rim of his cup every few minutes to catch a stray drops of tea. Maybe he knows that he can't force her to come down from the high she's operating under, can't force her to let go of the anxiety of the battle. It's something that she has to do alone and it amazes her that, maybe, he recognizes that and can simply be beside her until she does.

The scent of oranges and cinnamon hits her face and she inhales its scent welcomingly, letting it fill her lungs and unwind her. She's noticed before that Wally has a hard time staying still; even now he's begun to twitch slightly, his fingers tapping at the counter and his foot flexing around the bar of the stool. She's never asked him about it, never wondered before if years of going so fast has made it impossible to be immobile.

Wally catches her eye just as he's running his tongue over the rim again, his ears reddening and hand in too much of a rush to pull the mug away from his mouth in his embarrassment; at once there's a spill and what's left of his tea drips to the counter. She watches his lips form a swear he won't utter and at once her hair is whipped abruptly backwards and forwards, a paper towel already wiping up the mess before she can get the strands out of her mouth.

She has it bad for this boy, and that's exactly why she should leave him alone.

Wally crumples the paper towel in his hand and looks at her somewhat sheepishly as she pushes her hair off her face. "Sorry." He mutters. He makes a funny half movement with his hand, as if he's about to reach out and push a lock of her hair back into place, at once seeming to think better of it before he's back to gripping his empty mug. "So." He says, stretching out the word but not continuing.

She can sense that this is it—they're about to start talking—and this time she's the one who can't sit still; before he can string his words together she's off the stool and stalking towards the sink. "So." She says back, turning on the tap and beginning the process of unnecessarily and loudly rinsing out her empty cup.

She can feel Wally's eyes on her back, can see in her mind the way his teeth bite the inside of his cheek, his brows pursing at her. But even in her imagination Wally doesn't remain silent. "… So that was really something back there, wasn't it?"

She shrugs, trying to be nonchalant despite the fact that her cheeks are reddening as she places her cup on the drying rack. "Defeating Witch Boy, Savage and his cronies, and saving the planet? Yeah. I'd say so."

"Yeah, yeah, spectacular." Wally waves his hand dismissively when she turns around, then immediately leans forward slightly, one brow raising and ears scarlet. "But, uh. You know. We kissed again."

The corner of his mouth quirks up when she blushes, her eyes darting around room and looking everywhere but him. "Uh huh." She confirms, hunching slightly as she crosses her arms.

For some reason her lack of reaction annoys him; he leans back on his stool until he's barely balanced on the back two legs, kept upright only by his iron grip on the counter. "So… Wouldn't you say that was pretty spectacular too?"

The honest answer is Yes, it was, let's please do it again right now but she can't bring herself to say it; instead she shrugs slightly, trying not to enjoy the grin on his face. "It was alright."

She's not surprised by the fact that he immediately frowns and rocks forward on the stool, the sound of the legs against the tile makes an ear splitting noise that they both ignore. "Alright?" He repeats, looking genuinely offended. "Just alright? You are aware that you've been kissed by the Wallman, right? Do you know how many babes would kill for that honor?"

She snorts in his face because it's easier to have this conversation if she forces herself to be a little mean, hoping he can't see the way her finger nails are digging painfully into her forearms. "I think the real question is how many babes have actually had the honor? Not many, I think."

The blood from Wally's ears is beginning to flood down into his cheeks, his shoulders hunching as he presses his elbows into the table, looking sour. "I—there's been a few. Not that it's any of your business." He sighs, looking annoyed and embarrassed, and she knows at once that she's dodged a bullet; he won't try to talk to her again. There's a few seconds of huffy silence. "You're impossible." He finally mutters, running his head through his hands. She has the decency to lower her eyes to her boots.

So that's it. He's made his attempt, it's failed; if she's lucky she's been mean enough that his pride will keep the scientist in him at bay and stop him from trying again.

A small part of her is disappointed. But the better part of her knows it's for the best.

She smells the usual enticing scent of walnuts and can't stop herself from looking up at him, surveying him through her lashes. His hair is properly messy now, his forefinger catching on the bottom edge of his Kevlar mask as if to remove it; he's being too rough, too rushed in his frustration, and at once the material snaps back against his forehead, leaving a red mark to bruise against his freckles.

Freckles.

She had mapped them in the closet, so careful in the few moments she had with him that even when she blinks now she can see the imprints on her lids; the two darker ones beneath his left eye, the warped triangles on his cheeks. It had been so important to her, having the memory.

He's important to her too. Hadn't that been what she wanted to tell him? Hadn't that been her dying wish, for Wally to know that he's her best friend, that she cares about him, that she's so thankful for him, for the fact that he came back to her even if everything between them ended up being such a mess…

And hadn't it been worse when he wouldn't let her say it?

And wouldn't it be worse, now, if she never said it at all?

She goes back to staring at her boots just as he looks up; she can feel her cheeks reddening under his gaze, can sense the way his mouth seems to open and close, one finger tapping against the counter. She bites her lip, peeling dead skin off with her teeth until her eyes water.

Wally makes a movement to rise from the stool and leave just as she turns back to face the sink, any sounds behind her stilling as she reaches out to fiddle absently with the tap. "… Wally?" She says his name just to buy herself some time, the edge of her nail digging into a groove on the faucet.

She hears the stool being scooted in tighter to the island, hears the three steps he paces out before stopping, looking at her over the dead man's land between them. "Yeah?" His voice cracks.

She turns the faucet on and off a few times, feeling the heat of the warm water rising as it hits the metal of the sink. "I… " She hesitates, losing her nerve last minute. "... The kiss was fine. Good, actually." It's not what she wants to say but it's a bone, a small one, that she can throw him.

There's a beat of silence before she can practically hear Wally's brain explode into thought, something between a laugh and an exhale escaping his mouth. "I knew it!" At once he's beside her, his speed whipping her pony tail off her shoulder and clutching her by the arms, ears red and face flushed with excitement.

She ignores her own blush and decides to glare the refrigerator, as if it's its fault for her being stupid. "Don't be an idiot."

"Say it again!" He's grinning from ear to ear, shaking her slightly.

"No."

"Say it, Blondie!"

"God, Wally!" She bursts out, slipping out of his grasp easily and already stomping around him. "The kiss was whatever. It was fine."

He keeps an easy pace with her, still grinning wickedly and ignoring the way she's trekking furiously towards the zeta tubes. "No, it was better than that. You said it was good—"

She can't stop the annoyed noise that escapes her throat, her face flaming and eyes rolling out of her head. "Fine, it's was good!" She bursts out, rounding on him and cutting off the teasing stride he's been keeping with her. "It doesn't matter, it's not like it counted!" She spits out childishly.

There's a half second where what she says doesn't quite register; then all at once his grin falters. "What? How did that not count?"

It takes her a moment to justify herself, her hands moving of their own accord to gesture wildly through the air before returning to being clenched at her side. "I—you know. It was New Years Eve! We had just saved the world. I—we should have died Wally! It was a celebration. God, Red Tornado could have come on to me and I would have kissed him."

She nearly bites her tongue; she's said the wrong thing again and suddenly the grin is completely gone from his face. "Okay, ouch. I'm pretty sure I can kiss better than a hunk of metal with no lips."

She has to stop herself from snarling something rude at him ("I wouldn't be so sure of that, Wallman—") and instead shrug, placing her hands on her hips. "Whatever. The point is, New Years Eve kisses, in any form, don't count. Everyone knows that." Wally continues to look confused and the annoyed noise escapes her throat again, her hands flying up in frustration. "God, you're so—"

"What about the time in my room?"

He's got that look on his face, the one he gets when he's doing his homework or struggling to solve a problem: his lower lip is jutting out slightly, his eyes focused raptly on her, hands flexing and un-flexing as they wave frustratingly through the air. He's looking at her, studying her reaction, his brow quirking when her cheeks flood red and analyzing the way her hands replace themselves into fists at her side.

She swallows thickly, addressing the floor. "We were fighting. I just did it to—I don't know. It doesn't count."

"What?!"

She doesn't like his short answers and doesn't like his exasperated tone, doesn't like that when she gets the nerve to glare at him again he's already looking at her, scowling. "What?" She hisses between her teeth, nails digging into her palm.

Wally's running a hand through his hair and she has to force her eyes not to follow the stretching of the muscles on his chest. "You're telling me that I spent weeks obsessing over something that didn't even count? And then when I finally work up the nerve to do it again, it STILL doesn't count?"

She wants to hit him. "Yes."

Wally huffs, looking just as annoyed as she is. "You're crazy." He tells her, looking stunned. "You're honestly telling me that technically, technically we haven't kissed at all?"

She feels like an idiot when she nods. "Yes."

Wally makes the same annoyed noise she's just made. "Can you at least tell me what counts as a real kiss?" He sighs, still looking frustrated. "Is there, like, a list of prerequisites I can see? For future reference?"

She nearly chokes on her own saliva, her cheeks now passing red and turning borderline maroon. "For future reference? Are you kidding me?" She coughs out. For a moment she's entered a state of embarrassment and frustration so intense that she's temporarily speechless—this conversation has gone on for way too long, it's gotten far too stupid, she needs to leave, now, before she does something truly embarrassing—

"What?" Wally calls after her as she turns on her heel, her pony tail whipping the air in front of him and nearly catching him about the throat.

"What do you mean, 'what'? It's not like it's going to happen again!" She hisses meanly through her teeth, hand reaching out to program her digits into the zeta tube.

It's too fast for her to see, as it always is. But she still feels the wind behind her and can sense the air shifting, can smell his scent and feel his fingers binding around the joints of her wrist, squeezing so tightly that it shocks her muscles into slacking. Her little finger half-heartedly brushes against a key, her chest suddenly tight. In less than a heartbeat, he's in front of her.

"Hey!" She manages to get out, her voice oddly raspy. They're only a few inches apart and her first instinct is to immediately step back.

Wally won't have it though; before she can even transfer her weight from one foot to another he's jerked her towards him, eyes looking rough and hurt in a way that almost makes her want to drop this stupid charade. It would be easy. Just lean in and kiss him.

No.

"Are you serious?" He asks her, voice no longer teasing. It's that low tone he always put on, the one that's both enticing and a little terrifying to her; the one that warms the deepest parts of her that only wake around him.

It takes her a half second to catch up to him, eyes darting and trying to figure out his sudden shift in demeanor."W-what?" She gets out.

Wally lets go of her; she can feel the places where his fingers pressed against her, can feel the way all her blood seems to be rushing to her hand. He won't stop looking at her, his gaze hard and bright in the dim light of the Cave. "Were you serious?" He repeats, ears darkening but doing very little to quail his speech. "About not wanting to do it again?"

For some reason her throat goes dry; suddenly he's the one who won't look at her, hand rubbing twice at the back of his neck and looking disappointed. "I..." She starts, faltering slightly and stretching the word out too long. She doesn't know what to say. "... I'm too messed up, Wally."

It's a lame way to put it but he seems to get the point—his hand drops from his neck and she has to fold her arms over each other again to stop herself from reaching out to comfort him. "I don't think you're messed up." He says quietly.

"That's because you're an idiot." She says meanly, trying to force her mouth into a nasty smile. It doesn't cooperate. She hears him inhale and exhale sharply through his nose and more to help him save face than anything she turns back to the zeta tubes, fingers sliding over the keys until she hears the machine buzz to life. "I'm going home."

She isn't too surprised when he reaches out for her, one hand catching her bicep and turning her back to face him- it would be unlike Wally to let her go without a proper fight. "Artemis." He says her name quietly, something in his face shifting as he speaks; some of the softness is fading around the edges, jaw tightening as he swallows.

"What?" Her tone is borderline accusatory, her nose wrinkling slightly when he moves closer. "W-what, Wally?"

There's something predatory in his gaze; she feels as if she's being hunted, being cornered and about to be killed. She can't stop her muscles from automatically tensing, fingers itching against her will to reach up and arm herself. But it's Wally, Wally of all the damn people, she's safe with him, don't be stupid, she tells herself, nails digging into her forearms.

"Say it." He prompts her, voice low. "Tell me you don't want to."

She doesn't quite understand what he means, trying to keep her face as hostile as possible as he steps closer. "W-what are you—" She snarls out.

"Tell me," He stretches out his words, over pronouncing and teasing her as he glares. "that you don't want to kiss me."

Immediately she feels her expression sour, eyes dropping to scowl for a moment at the floor. She doesn't want to lie anymore, especially not to him- She wants him. She wants him to kiss her, she wants to do a whole lot more but she's not supposed to, she can't trust herself- She can feel Wally's eyes on her, reading her silence correctly, and the second she glances up she feels his fingers skimming up her side, free hand mirror the position of its brother on her other arm.

"Say no and I'll stop." He says thickly.

She glares at him when his thumbs start to move, pressing and tracing the lines of muscles on her shoulders. "What are you doing?" She snarls out instead of what he wants, not quite managing to sound properly angry despite the fact that her teeth are bared. "Wally—"

"Artemis." He says, now so close that she can feel the heat coming off his cheeks. Suddenly she's hot everywhere, from the edges of her suit to the sensitive point between her legs. She can feel his too-hot temperature, can hear his breath as it pushes through his throat and escapes his lips. His hands are still moving torturously slow, hands roaming past her shoulders and thumbs dipping slightly lower and teasing the jutting of her collar bone. The touch is so soft, so gentle that she can't suppress the rush of air that escapes her mouth, her lips barely moving to pronounce a tiny "Oh."

She wants him.

She can see the quirk of interest that settles between his brows, irises flickering between her eyes and her lips, thumbs repeating the movement to try to entice the same reaction. Her stomach is twisting and the pulsing that's been absent for so long is suddenly back between her legs, hot and wanting.

She glares at him harder but still can't bring herself to tell him off properly, her lower lip aching as she digs her teeth into it. The corner of his mouth tugs upwards as one of his hands strays upwards, thumb trailing along the jugular of her throat and the line of her jaw, the jagged edge of a nail catching on her chin. It's all so raw; he feels so hot on her skin despite the protection of her mask. He hesitates slightly (when she thinks about this later she chalks this up to good breeding, manners taught to him by his mother always reminding him to ask nicely, be a good boy) and before she can stop the movement one of her fingers has come unhooked from her arms, her forefinger reaching out to graze his chest.

He glances down, looking curious at her nail at it skim his muscles, jagged edges tracing the tips of the lighting bolt that sits there. She's aware suddenly that he's stopped breathing, lungs halting under her touch.

Then all at once he exhales, shaking slightly, his thumb pushing onward and tracing the dip of her chin and getting as far as her lower lip. "Wally." She croaks out warningly, her tongue brushing against him. At once the thumb is removed and his hand slides back down to her shoulder, his other hand leaving her collar bone and trailing up the column of her throat.

"Tell me no and I'll stop." His voice is ragged, lower and more throaty than she's even heard before; for a long second she seals her lips shut, glaring at him full on the face. She could break away from him, turn on her heel and stalk off to hide in her room and it would be easy.

She could leave him behind like she's always wanted to.

She's not strong enough to run. She's not strong enough to do much of anything other than scowl at him for a few more seconds. It's as if they're both made of stone, statues in the moment, unmoving in their stubbornness.

She doesn't say yes but she does close her eyes, and before she can do much more than exhale sharply she feels his fingers at the top of her throat, tilting her face towards him.

At first it's soft, the way their first kiss (whether or not it counted) should have been; his lips are barely moving on hers, tilting only the slightest so as to allow his tongue to trace her, feeling her uneven edges and weather beaten skin. For a long time she's still, mind buzzing with the most ridiculous of thoughts (her skin is so chapped, she's going to hurt him) all of which suddenly go silent when he prods her mouth open with his tongue, walnut scented oxygen leaving his lungs and flooding into hers.

She can't stop the noise she makes in response- it's a feral moan that spikes up at the back of her throat, so unlike any noise she's even made before- and before she can do more than stiffen in shock he's grabbing at her; she can feel his glove sealed hands shifting up the back of her neck, raking down her back- thumbs skimming the edges of her breasts, pulling at the muscles in her back until she's flush against him, all lines of muscles and sweat and the unfamiliar hardness that's pressing against her thigh-

She can't help the fear that strikes through her. It's too much too fast and she's not even supposed to be doing this… She'll hurt him, she knows she will, she ruins everything….

She can't help it, can't help the startled noise she makes or the way she shoves him backwards, her hands unfolding and striking directly in his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. "Wally!" She gasps, and it's like now that he's far enough away and the scent of walnuts isn't clouding her head she can think logically again—This isn't supposed to be happening, they're supposed to be friends, just friends—

"S-sorry." Wally wheezes out, doubled over and clutching at the place where she hit him, ears a bright red. "Okay, that was too much, I get it—"

She feels like an idiot now, her cheeks red and her body still responding to him—her heart is racing and the warmth between her legs is aching for him now—and she can't stop herself from ripping her mask off her face and running her hands angrily through her hair, tugging at the smaller pieces around her face and hoping the pain shocks her out of whatever delusions she's suffering from. "God, Baywatch." She hisses, trying not to feel bad for the way he winces when the words pour out of her mouth in such an angry tone. "Like hell, it was too much."

Wally finally straightens, looking nervous and just as excited as she is, uniform doing little to hide any part of him from her. She has enough hate in her body to send him one last disdainful look before she turns towards the zeta tubes, disappearing.

The light in the kitchen is on when she gets home.

She can see it from where she is now, her back still pressing against the front door and unmoving since she clicked the lock shut behind her. It's occurring to her now that she hasn't properly talked to her mother in weeks.

She manages to stay hidden for nearly four minutes, her sore muscles aching with the effort of remaining upright, her mind racked with guilt and her breasts rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then she decides it's time.

Paula glances up at her when she enters, her eyes looking tired when they survey her appearance: ripped costume, covered in blood and bruises, hair mused and lips swollen. She sighs and looks like a mother who has lost control of her daughter.

"Happy New Year, Mom." She says, her throat raw and cracking.

Paula blinks at her slowly, her lashes grazing the bags under her eyes. "It's the Western New Year. It isn't Vietnamese New Year."

"Oh. Right." There's a sticky silence, and even though her mouth is still warm from her last cup (and, she catches herself thinking, from Wally) she decides to fill it with what they both like best: a cup of tea.

She can feel Paula's eyes on her back, hard and unyielding and critical, watching as she fills the kettle with water and places it on the burner. It's the same burner that suffered from over boiled rice the one time, the incident never truly scrubbed clean from the metal and leaving an odd smell; at once the kitchen is filled with the acidic odor and the two of them turn to each other, matching wrinkles over their noses.

"You aren't going to bed?" Her mother asks, and as if knowing what is about to come she slips a book mark in the pages of her book, hands reaching to rotate her chair so as to face her better.

Huntress' eyes are peering out of Paula's sockets, and Artemis wonders how many people have looked at them the way she is now: pleading, hoping to get out alive. She knows, logically, that her mother won't kill her. At least not in a way that constitutes as homicide.

"… Listen." She mutters, turning back to the kettle as the whistle blows, the steam burning her fingers as she pours water over carefully measured leaves.

Paula sighs. "Am I about to find out why you've been acting so odd the past few weeks?"

She hesitates. Her room is exactly eleven paces away… She could shove a dresser in front of the door, block out Paula and never have to explain her own failures, her own discretions, never acknowledge the fact that the dark part of her that her parents placed there is still awake…

She opens her mouth just as she slips with the water; her little finger screams out as the nerves are fried, but instead of a curse different words fall from her lips. And once they emerge she finds she can hardly stop.

She doesn't seem to pause for breath, can hardly allow her lungs the very thing they need to keep going. For a few minutes she finds herself retracing the path of a twisted timeline: she remembers Red Arrow and his suspicions, remembers constantly hiding her past and trying to avoid the burden of her family; she tells her mother of Lawrence and the fact that they'll never escape him (not ever, not ever) and Jade who she loves but hates; she tells her of her father's offer and how she took it without hesitating after everyone had made it so clear she'd never fit in (it's just not in her genetics) and how everything had been the same as it always was, except now Paula was on the line too…

She tells her mother of how Jade hadn't helped but she also hadn't hindered (and maybe, maybe, one day she'll come back;) she tells her mother of the Light and of how she fired her arrows straight and how they had saved the world but not really, because now there's so much left to do and she still doesn't know if she's cut out for this hero thing because she destroys everything she touches, she does—

By the time she finishes she's crying like a small child, both their cups of tea cold and forgotten on the counter as Paula places her head on her lap, fingers working through tangled hair. She hasn't let her mother touch her like this in a long time, and it's a mark of how undone she is that she's allowing it.

Paula doesn't offer words of comfort, the way a mother ought to. She's quiet and her brows are tense but she does tell her one thing, before she's too exhausted and the kitchen floor is too comfortable for her to rise and walk the eleven paces to her bedroom.

"Don't you ever try to protect me again, darling." Her mother whispers. Her voice is hard and threatening but her eyes are kind. "In this family it's every girl for herself."

And vividly she remembers something she thought she had forgotten: her mother and Jade sitting around the kitchen table, Paula wrapping bandages on a still bloody wound on a too small arm.

"A child should never protect its mother," She's saying, quietly so as not to wake Lawrence who is asleep on the couch. "How many times do I have to tell you, when we're out there, it's every person—every girl—for herself."

Except their whole lives are a battle field, and this is what she's known all along—in life nobody can protect you, not from anything…

"… So…"

She doesn't like the way Zatanna stretches out the word, the sound the only noise in the small stretch of hallway other than their muted footsteps on the carpet. She had awoken than morning to a flurry of text messages from various members of the Team, all dead set on passing the same message along between teammates: it's time to debrief from the previous day's mission.

She'd only been at the Cave a few minutes, just enough time to extract a few pieces of scattered homework from her bedroom and place them in her backpack before Zatanna had appeared in her doorframe, one brow raised and cheek still bruised from the night before. As usual Zatanna skips the usual courtesies of small talk, her mouth stretched wide in a mischievous grin. "… You kissed Wally." She says teasingly.

She ignores the way her cheeks redden and forces herself to scowl, her eyes fixed firmly on the door way at the end of the hall. "No. Wally kissed me."

"Detail, details." Zatanna dismisses, hand waving and hips swaying. "How was it?"

"I thought we were ignoring the details?"

"Not the important ones!"

She sighs, shrugging slightly. "It was fine." Not as good as the one after, she thinks before immediately stopping the thought.

In answer Zatanna inflates slightly, a slight flush beginning to color her neck. "God, Artemis! You're killing me!"

There's a small part of her that does want to analyze what it was like: how it had felt when he had swept her off her feet, how much more neatly his lips had fit against hers this time compared to the last. How that sound he had made, the low one in the back of his throat, had sent heat through her veins blood and to her cheeks… But she's never been good at wording these things, doesn't know how to say it without sounding too pathetic or too strange. So she settles for slowing her pace slightly, her fists balling and her eyes creasing as she glares. "Excuse me, if I remember correctly I'm not the only one who kissed a teammate yesterday."

Zatanna doesn't even look up, her eyes focused on the chipping nail polish on her right hand. "Connor and M'gann kissing is old news, they do it practically every second—"

"Nice try." She scoffs, cutting the other girl off. "What about you and Boy Wonder?"

To her surprise Zatanna doesn't get embarrassed like she thought she would; instead she drops her hand back to her side, looking almost bored. "That? That was nothing." Without thinking she lets out a disbelieving noise from the back of her throat, prompting the raising of two onyx brows. "What? I'm serious. I kissed him, I told him I have every intention of kissing him again, and I will kiss him again. But no. That's it."

She feels her brows purse, squinting slightly as if to catch Zatanna in a lie; she's disappointed, however, when she's greeted with nothing other than the illusion of honesty. "That's it?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

She hesitates, having trouble as always with finding the right words. "I don't know. I kind of thought you guys might have a… thing. Or... You know."

Zatanna lets out that same laugh that threw her so many months ago; it seems too loud for her throat, a bark of a laugh that bounces off even the too plush carpet. "Please. Yes, he's cute. And yes, I have sexual chemistry with practically everyone I meet. But no. No dating, no thanks. Not worth it."

The way she says this is odd, her words fading quickly from teasing to almost a warning shudder, and she can't help but wonder the reasoning behind it. "What do you mean?"

All the snark from her tone is gone; suddenly it's as if Zatanna's speaking words she's spoken a thousand times, both out loud and inside her head, sounding too well rehearsed. "Please. Dating a teammate is pretty much the worst thing I could do. I mean, have you seen Connor and M'gann? Every mission it's the same thing: one of them gets hurt and the other lets out this heart breaking scream and then they're distracted the rest of the time, making stupid mistakes and tripping up the rest of us."

As she says it Artemis realizes it's true: it's the same narrative all over again, all the raw emotion between Connor and M'gann coming out in spurts in the middle of a mission, their problem's morphing into something the whole group of them have to solve. She thinks of the rare moments one of them has been hit too hard, as fallen too heavily against the pavement; she remembers hearing screams that aren't for her but still send a shoot of panic down her spine, remembers how it had suddenly been everyone's burden as well as their's… Maybe Zatanna's right. Maybe getting involved with someone on the team… It would be like getting involved with a coworker… And what if things went wrong? She would have to see Wally all the time… And what if one of them… What if something happened, what if it was her fault…

Wally's better off without her, it's safer for both of them…

She pulls the conversation back into focus and is a little surprised that Zatanna's still ranting, and she gets the impression that the younger girl is trying to convince both of them that she's right. "... It's just irresponsible. Not only is it putting everyone else at risk it's just… It just seems like an unnecessary complication."

She's still a bit stuck in her own head, not quite paying attention. "Hm."

At once Zatanna reads her reaction incorrectly, and it takes a few seconds of her walking an extra couple paces before she realizes the raven haired girl has stopped, one palm pressed against her forehead and looking embarrassed. "Oh God. Please tell me I haven't just put my foot in my mouth. You and Wally aren't—"

Hearing it voiced outloud is more than embarrassing, especially after the conversation they've had; she can feel her cheeks heating, one hand waving dismissively though the air almost too casually. "No. Oh, god, no. No, no, no."

No, no no no no no. We can't.

Something written on her face make's Zatanna smile, and when she catches up to her she's back to teasing. "That's a lot of nos for one not even finished question."

"Shut up." She scoffs.

Zatanna's arm bends, elbow nudging her side. "… Good for you guys though. I think it's smart, not opening yourself up for more… Vulnerabilities." She can't think of anything to say in response to this, and is thankful that they're at the door to the debriefing room.

Wally catches her eye when she enters. There's an odd pang in her stomach (it's not a pang of wanting, don't be an idiot) and she ignores the way he gestures to the empty chair beside him, instead moving to side beside Connor.

The first few weeks in January pass by without incident and before long the wind rolling off the beach is just as cold as it is in Gotham; the skin beneath her academy skirt seems to be permanently goose pimpled and to her horror draws more eyes than usual.

Despite the fact that there's very little going on she hardly has the time to talk to anyone; the Team seems to spend the first half of the month in relative silence as they're shuffled between various debriefings with their mentors and other members of the League. It's an endless stream of one sided discussions: analyzing their combat skills and victory, checking and double checking random logs in the search for the hours select League members lost during the raid. After all this they begin the discussion the person they've all taken to dubbing "the Real Roy Harper." The Roy she knows makes numerous appearances and each time he looks harder and increasingly miserable.

They're caught up in one of their rare moments now: 1 hour, one precious hour in between meetings. Unconsciously they all sit together in the living room, all crammed on the couch and the chairs and enjoying a silence that for once is comfortable and broken only by the sound of chewing as they devour M'gann's cookies. For some unknown reason Robin picks this moment to confront her, just as she's reaching towards the communal plate.

"I've been meaning to ask you," He starts, occupying the empty arm rest of her chair and leaning over her. "In light of everything that's happened, Kal and I just assumed you were still committed to the Team. You good with that?"

Almost immediately the silence around her thickens, and when she looks up from retrieving her cookie she's met with a room full of stares. Across from her Kaldur's eyes widen and immediately narrow, glaring at Dick. "Perhaps this is a matter we should discuss with Artemis alone, Robin—"

She can feel her cheeks reddening when Connor cuts across him, thick neck swiveling from his spot on the couch to glare between the two. "Why wouldn't she be committed?"

Kaldur is on his feet before she can answer, still glaring at Robin as he crosses the room, hand extended to grasp her free one and pulling her from her seat. "Come, we can discuss this privately."

She lets him set her upright but doesn't move, squeezing his hand and forcing him to slow. "It's okay." She mutters, nudging him back to his place in the chair opposite. "It's fine." She presses, settling back beside Robin.

The cookie is beginning to crumble slightly in her hand, chocolate melting and pressing to her digits and proving much easier to focus on than their stares, which are glaring at her from all angles. "Before everything went down I was thinking about taking a bit of a break from the Team. Just for a little bit, to get my head on straight."

Connor is the first to respond, his voice biting and sharp in the silence. "... Was this before or after Sportsmaster made you his offer?"

Her eyes narrow at the cookie and she can hear the sound of an elbow against ribs. "Connor!" M'gann hisses.

"After." She decides to be honest with them, or at least as honest as she can bare to be. She catches her teeth before they can escape her mouth and bite at her peeling lips. "But I wasn't thinking of… You know. Working for him again. When he made me the offer it was… I don't know how to explain it. It was more of an escape. Mom and I wouldn't have to run from him anymore. He just wanted to come back and be a family again."

She glances up in time to see Kaldur duck his head and press his palms together, fingers splayed and stiff. She nearly jumps when Wally speaks, voice hard. "… You agreed to the helicopter ride though."

There it is, as hard and fast as a slap in the face like it always feels when he speaks like that to her. Suddenly the silence is sharp, glances being exchanged too quickly for her to see. "I agreed to him protecting my mom. I didn't know what he had planned until it was too late, until he had me and Jade cornered. I didn't have a choice."

Wally shifts his weight on the floor, unfolding and refolding his legs and no longer bothering with the cookie he's replaced on the coffee table. "You had us."

"Did I?" She snaps at him. "I didn't have you when you were running around after Roy, giggling whenever he happened to fire an arrow remotely straight—"

"Is that what this is about? You're insecure still—"

"Hey!" Robin cuts them both off, the rest of the Team beginning to look uncomfortable. "She's right KF. It's not like we were all exactly trusting each other, not after that whole thing with the mole—"

"But—"

"Enough." Kaldur's hands abruptly split apart, hands moving to brace his knees as he sits straighter in his seat, addressing them all with a firm look on his face. "We are finished questioning each other's loyalty. We are a Team, and we have all had our own indiscretions. It is time we forgave each other." The look he sends them all makes whatever snarky remark she had prepared die in her throat, her cheeks reddening when he locks eyes with her, Connor, and M'gann in turn. "All three of you are as welcome here as you have ever been."

There's another silence half beat of silence before everyone breaks off, splitting into muttered conversations, and once again Robin leans over her with a slightly sheepish grin on his face. "Listen, you'll want to talk to Bats the next time you see him. He wants you to take a tour of the arsenal of weaponry he's made up for—" Robin stutters slightly when Wally abruptly rises from the floor, whatever speech that's rekindled in the room dying when he stalks off, looking moody.

"God." She can't stop herself from saying, glaring at Wally's back. "What's his problem?"

"I think you mean problems." Dick corrects her, leaning back until he's taking up part of the back of her chair and speaking to her in an undertone. "Let's see… He's stubborn, he's a numb-skull despite having higher than average intelligence, his nose still bleeds whenever he tries to vibrate through stuff, the girl he has a crush on doesn't think any of their kisses count—"

At once her cheeks flare red. "Dick!"

Robin laughs, digging his phone out of his pocket and beginning to scroll aimlessly. "What? It's true. Still bleeds every time—"

"Don't be an idiot." She cuts him off, her crimson cheeks attracting the attention of M'gann, who looks at her across the room. No doubt the sudden influx of emotion has made her curious. "And don't talk about things you don't understand." She warns him, ignoring the Martian.

"Speaking of understanding," He teases, fingers still flexing across his phone screen. "Will you please explain to him what counts and what doesn't? Kid keeps on picking my brain, the idiot's actually trying to compile data and create some sort of list—"

She throws her head back, staring in horror at the ceiling. "Oh, my god."

"No kidding." He agrees, smirking at her. "So please, for my sake, will you just talk to him? If I have to hear one more time about kissing technique or proper build up or have the words 'how much tongue is too much tongue' said in my presence I'm going to hurl."

"God, please stop." She moans, getting up from their chair. "I get it, I'm going."

She's just about made it out of the room when Robin calls after her, voice loud enough so the rest of the Team can hear. "By the way, I totally think the kiss on the Watchtower counts—I mean, sure you just saved the world and it was New Year's Eve, blah blah blah, but you had a view of the freaking planet—"

"Oh my god!" She nearly shrieks, stomping away as the rest of the Team bursts into snickers.

AN: The first chapter of anything is always a little slow so please bare with me for a bit!

Please read and review, especially if you are a returning reader! I won't post again until I have at least 5 reviews.