I Surrender - a Young Justice, Post-Canon, Fix-it for Wally West

by Hinnylover99

Summary:

Artemis Crock has been living a lie for the last four years since Wally disappeared. She has everyone around her convinced that she has moved on, that the grief over Wally's death has dulled over time.

Unfortunately for her, no wall can stand forever - especially not a wall that is continuously pummeled by her inability to ever stop loving Wally West ... and it doesn't help when she begins to doubt if he ever really died, a doubt further exploited when she learns of Zatanna's and M'gann's deception.

-OR-

In which Artemis might just get her happy ending with Wally after all because true love doesn't die.

Notes:

Soooo, I wrote this because I was frankly just not happy with the way Young Justice ended. I'm a huge Wally West/Artemis Crock fan, and the creators deciding to just "kill" Wally and not bring him back yet didn't sit right with me. Like many of you, I've been waiting for Wally's return since the end of season 2, but with another hiatus for season 5, I got tired of waiting. This is my story of how Wally is trapped in the speed force and finds his way out of it, but in the process of having been stuck there for 4 years, ends up faster than fast. So it's got angst, struggle, drama, hurt, and lots of comfort and feelings involved. There's gonna be smut, there's gonna be passion. My goal is to make this a rollercoaster, a whirlwind that you both hate and love me for.

These characters aren't mine, but the plot is. I don't care what anyone says, the Speed Force exists on every earth in the multi-verse because without it, Speeders couldn't really exist. Anyways, this is my angsty-fluffy fix-it to what is otherwise a great series. This work was inspired by Alex Warren's unreleased song "Eternity" and all those stupid tiktok edits. Especially the edits of Wally and Artemis to that song that have almost made me cry, as well as Celine Deon's song "I Surrender". So yeah, it's angsty but I've got a happy ending in plan for it. I want to take this story faaaar, well past what exists or was even hinted at in canon. So, I hope you guys enjoy the ride! I've got pretty much the entire story already written, so you don't have to worry about infrequent updates. But I am going through it and editing, adding, as I post. Without further ado, I present to you "I Surrender - a Young Justice, Post-Canon, Fix-it for Wally West."

Chapter 1: The Slow Unraveling of Artemis Crock's Mental State

Paris, October 8^th, 2020

The café smells of espresso and rain, a heavy, bittersweet scent that clings to my skin like a second skin, wrapping me in a melancholy I can’t name. It’s the kind of smell that burrows deep, stirring memories I’ve tried to bury, making me feel like I’m drowning in a tide of grief and longing. I sit by the window, my fingers tracing the cool edge of the glass, watching droplets race down in chaotic, fleeting paths. Each one is a cruel reminder of how time slips away—relentless, uncaring, carrying pieces of me with it. Four years, three months, and eighteen days. That’s how long it’s been since Wally West disappeared, since the Arctic vortex—or the Speed Force, as Dick insists—swallowed him whole on June 20^th, 2016. I don’t count the days anymore, not consciously. But my heart does. It’s a metronome, ticking out the seconds of his absence, each beat a quiet accusation: he’s gone, and you’re still here.

Across from me, Jason Bard sits, his dark eyes skimming the crinkled pages of a newspaper. His thumb brushes the edge of the paper rhythmically, as if he’s trying to anchor himself to this moment, to this fragile normalcy we’ve carved out. Jason is good—steady, kind, the kind of man who doesn’t flinch when I wake up gasping from nightmares I refuse to explain. He makes me breakfast on Sundays, leaves notes on the fridge when he’s working late, and asks questions with a gentleness that makes my chest ache. But he doesn’t know me. Not really. Not the way Wally did, with his infuriating grin and his ability to see through my walls like they were glass. Jason sees the Artemis I let him see: the sharp-edged ex-hero, the professor who’s traded capes for coffee-stained essays. He doesn’t know the girl who used to laugh until her sides hurt, who trusted someone enough to let them hold her heart. That girl vanished with Wally, and I’m not sure she’s ever coming back.

I told myself Wally was dead. It was easier that way—a clean cut, a gravestone I could scream at, a place to direct the rage that burns hotter than my grief. But there’s no body, no closure, just an absence that festers like an open wound, raw and unhealing. I hate him for it. I hate him for running to save the world, for being too brave, for taking so much of me with him when he disappeared. I hate that I still look for him in crowds, in the blur of a jogger’s red sneakers, in the flash of a smile that’s never quite right. I hate that I can’t let him go, even now, sitting across from a man who deserves better than a woman haunted by a ghost.

“Artemis?” Jason’s voice cuts through the haze, soft but steady, pulling me back to the present. He’s folded the newspaper, his head tilted, concern etching deep lines across his forehead. His eyes search mine, and for a moment, I feel exposed, like he might see the truth I’ve buried beneath layers of practiced indifference. “You okay? You’ve been staring out there for a while.”

I force a smile, the kind I’ve perfected over years of lying to teammates, to my mother, to myself. It’s sharp, convincing, a mask I wear like armor, polished to deflect questions I can’t answer. “Yeah, just… thinking about work,” I say, my voice steady despite the lie. I’m always lying these days, not to hurt him but to protect the jagged pieces of myself I can’t share. Jason nods, accepting it because he doesn’t know better. He doesn’t know that every time I’m quiet, I’m seeing Wally’s crooked grin, hearing his stupid, infectious laugh, feeling the ghost of his hand brushing mine. He doesn’t know that silence is where I go to mourn a life I was supposed to have.

I sip my coffee, bitter and cold, the taste grounding me even as it stings. Outside, Paris hums with life, couples huddled under umbrellas, their laughter muffled by the steady patter of rain. The city is vibrant, alive, but it feels like a betrayal. Wally and I used to talk about coming back here, after the world stopped needing saving, after we could just be. He’d drag me to every cheesy tourist spot—the Eiffel Tower at dusk, the Louvre’s endless halls—stuffing his face with croissants and teasing me when I rolled my eyes. I’d pretend to hate it, but I loved every second, loved the way his joy made the world brighter, made me brighter. Now, Paris is a wound I can’t close. I’m here with someone else, living a life that’s supposed to be mine but feels like a borrowed coat—too tight in some places, too loose in others, never quite fitting.

The rain picks up, drumming against the window, and I close my eyes for a moment, letting the sound wash over me. In my mind, I’m back in Central City, standing in the rain with Wally, his red hair plastered to his forehead, his laugh louder than the storm. “Come on, Artemis,” he’d say, pulling me into a ridiculous dance on the sidewalk, “live a little!” I’d shove him, call him an idiot, but I’d be laughing too, my heart so full it hurt. Now, the memory is a blade, slicing through the numbness I’ve built around myself. I want to scream, to demand answers from a universe that’s taken too much. I want to surrender to the grief, to let it consume me until there’s nothing left to feel. But I can’t. Not with Jason watching, not with a life I’m supposed to live waiting for me.

I open my eyes, and Jason’s still there, his expression soft, patient. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, and this time, I almost break. I almost tell him everything—about Wally, about the hole in my chest, about the way I’m terrified I’ll never feel whole again. But I don’t. Instead, I reach across the table, my hand finding his, and I squeeze gently, anchoring myself to him, to this moment.

“I’m fine,” I say, and it’s the biggest lie yet. Because I’m not fine. I’m a warrior who’s lost her fight, a woman who’s surrendered her heart to a memory, and I don’t know how to take it back. Outside, the rain keeps falling, and I wonder if it’s washing away what’s left of me, or if it’s the only thing keeping me here.

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Somewhere, in a place beyond time, Wally West runs. The Speed Force is a kaleidoscope of light and pain, a prison of infinite velocity. His body vibrates, his heart screams, but he can’t stop. He sees her—Artemis—her grey eyes fierce and broken, her blonde hair catching the wind. He reaches for her, always reaching, but she’s a mirage, slipping through his fingers. “I’m trying, babe,” he whispers, his voice lost in the cosmic storm. “I’m trying to come home.” But the Speed Force doesn’t listen. It holds him tight, a jealous lover, and he wonders if he’ll ever escape.

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Jason’s apartment is a cocoon of warmth, cluttered with stacks of dog-eared books and vinyl records that spill across shelves like memories he can’t let go. The air hums with the sizzle of garlic and herbs from the kitchen, mingling with the faint, smoky scent of a candle flickering on the coffee table. He’s cooking tonight, swaying slightly as he hums a jazz tune, the notes low and soulful, weaving through the room like a gentle embrace. I’m curled on his couch, knees tucked beneath me, a glass of red wine cradled in my hands, its deep ruby glow catching the lamplight. I’m happy, I tell myself, the words a mantra I’ve repeated so often they’ve lost their edges. I have a life. I’m Tigress now, not Artemis—leader of missions with the Team, barking orders, saving the world like it’s my job, my purpose. And Jason… he’s safe. He doesn’t run headlong into danger, doesn’t vanish into thin air like a gust of wind I couldn’t catch. He’s here, solid, real, his presence a quiet anchor in a sea of chaos I’ve never stopped navigating.

But then it hits me, like it always does, unbidden and merciless. A wave of grief so heavy it steals my breath, crushing my chest until I’m gasping for air I can’t find. In the quiet of this moment, I see Wally’s face—his constellation of freckles, the mischievous spark in his green eyes when he said my name, like it was a secret only we shared. I hear his voice, that cocky, teasing lilt whispering “Spitfire,” and it’s a knife twisting in my chest, sharp and unrelenting. The memory is vivid, tactile, as if I could reach out and touch him, feel the warmth of his hand in mine, hear his laugh echoing through time. What if he’d stayed? What if I’d never come out of retirement, what if he had never gone to the Arctic? What if we’d had our Paris—our lazy mornings, our cheesy tourist traps, our forever? The questions are poison, seeping into my veins, and I’ve never really found an antidote. The limbo that Zatanna and M’gann sent me to helped me. But the memories, the “what-ifs”, they haunt me, circling like vultures, picking at the raw edges of a wound that refuses to heal.

My hands tremble, and I set the wine glass down on the table, the clink of glass against wood louder than it should be. Jason notices—he always does, his quiet attentiveness a blessing and a curse. He turns from the stove, wiping his hands on a dish towel, his brow furrowing as he crosses the room. He kneels in front of me, his dark eyes searching mine, soft with a concern that makes my throat tighten. “Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice is too gentle, too kind, and it makes me want to scream, to shatter the fragile peace of this moment because it feels like a lie. I don’t deserve this warmth, this care, not when half of me is still frozen in that Arctic storm, reaching for someone who’s gone.

“Nothing,” I mutter, swiping at my eyes before the tears can fall, my fingers coming away damp despite my efforts. “Just tired.” It’s a flimsy excuse, one I’ve used too many times, but I can’t give him more. I can’t crack open the vault where I keep Wally’s memory, where I hoard every laugh, every touch, every promise we never kept. It’s too raw even after all these years, too sacred, too devastating.

Jason doesn’t push, though I can see the questions in his eyes, the quiet worry he swallows down. His hand lingers on my knee, warm and grounding, a tether to a present I’m only half-living. I want to love him. God, I’ve tried. I’ve tried to let his steadiness fill the cracks in my soul, to let his laughter drown out the echoes of Wally’s. He deserves it—deserves someone whole, someone who can give him a heart that isn’t fractured, a love that isn’t shadowed by loss. But I’m not whole. Wally took half my heart when he disappeared, and what’s left is a hollow thing, beating out of habit, out of duty. I’m a shell, going through the motions—leading missions, sitting through dates, flashing smiles that never reach my eyes—because stopping means admitting I’ll never be okay. It means facing the truth: I surrendered to Wally’s love years ago, gave him everything I had, and now I’m paying the price. Like the song says, I’m caught in a feeling I can’t escape, a love I can’t bury, no matter how many miles or years I put between us.

I look at Jason, his face soft in the lamplight, and guilt twists in my gut. He’s building a life with me, brick by careful brick, and I’m letting him because it’s easier than being alone with my ghosts. But every time I let him hold me, every time I smile at his jokes, I feel like I’m betraying Wally—and myself. I’m trapped, torn between a past I can’t reclaim and a future I can’t fully embrace. The jazz tune fades into silence, and the only sound is the soft patter of rain against the window, a mirror to the storm inside me. I close my eyes, and for a moment, I’m back with Wally, dancing in the rain, his arms around me, his voice promising forever. Then I open them, and it’s Jason, patient and unaware, waiting for a woman who might never show up.

“I’m okay,” I say, my voice steadier now, another lie to add to the pile. I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his, holding on like he’s the only thing keeping me from drowning. But deep down, I know the truth: I surrendered to Wally’s love, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t surrender to anyone else.

The bedroom is cloaked in shadows, the only light a faint silver glow from the moon slipping through the curtains. Jason lies asleep beside me, his breathing deep and steady, a rhythm that should be comforting but feels like a metronome counting out the seconds I’m failing to live fully. His warmth radiates against my side, grounding, dependable, a reminder of the life I’ve built—one I keep telling myself is enough. But as I stare at the ceiling, its cracks barely visible in the dimness, my mind drifts, unmoored, to the place I’ve tried so hard to lock away: the Speed Force. Dick’s obsessed with it, poring over theories and equations scribbled on napkins and whiteboards, chasing fragments of hope like a man possessed. He’s convinced Wally’s alive, trapped in some cosmic current, running forever. I told him to stop, my voice sharp, cutting. I can’t afford hope. Hope is a trap, a cruel promise that dangles salvation only to break you when it crumbles. But in the quiet of this night, with Jason’s soft snores filling the space, I wonder. Is Wally out there, running, fighting to get back to me? Does he see me, too, in whatever fractured dimension he’s caught in? Does he feel this ache, this unbearable weight of absence?

I close my eyes, and the tears come, silent and unstoppable. They’re not loud, not dramatic—just a quiet surrender to the grief I can’t outrun. I’m happy with Jason, I am. I tell myself this as I trace the curve of his arm, as I listen to his steady heartbeat. But it’s a surface happiness, a fragile veneer that cracks under the weight of memory. Every laugh we share, every gentle touch, is haunted by the ghost of Wally’s grin, his freckled face, the way he’d say “Spitfire” with that infuriating, heart-stealing smirk. Jason is good, kind, everything a partner should be. But he’s not Wally. No one ever will be.

Every man I’ve entertained the thought of—Jason, even Will, were fleeting attempts at moving forward—they were doomed from the start. They couldn’t fill the void Wally left, couldn’t command my heart the way he did, with his reckless courage and his infuriating optimism. He claimed me wholly, effortlessly, and I surrendered to him without a fight, giving him every piece of me—my trust, my dreams, my future. And when he vanished into that Arctic vortex, he took it all with him, leaving me hollow, a shadow of the girl who used to laugh until her sides ached. I’m numb to it now, resigned to this half-life, this existence where I go through the motions—leading missions as Tigress, smiling at Jason’s jokes, pretending I’m whole. I’ve moved on, or so I tell myself. I’ve built a life, a routine, a semblance of normalcy. But I’ve never healed. Never let go. The truth is a blade in my chest and bitter on my tongue: I surrendered to Wally West, and he took me with him when he vanished, leaving behind a woman who’s forgotten how to feel anything but loss.

I turn my head, studying Jason’s face in the moonlight—peaceful, unaware of the war raging inside me. Guilt claws at my throat. He deserves better than this, better than a woman who’s only half-present, whose heart is tethered to a ghost. I want to be the partner he needs, the one who can love him fully, but every time I try, Wally’s memory pulls me back, a current I can’t escape. The Speed Force might be Dick’s obsession, but it’s my prison, a place where Wally exists just out of reach, where I’m trapped in the echo of what we were. I press my palms to my eyes, trying to stop the tears, to silence the questions that haunt me. What if I’d been faster, stronger, enough to save him? What if he’s out there, fighting to come home? What if I’m betraying him by lying here, building a life without him and not looking for answers?

The room feels too small, the air too thick. I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Jason, and pad to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The city outside is quiet, the streets glistening with leftover rain, reflecting the moon like scattered stars. I imagine Wally out there, a blur of red and gold, running toward me. It’s a fantasy, a dangerous one, but for a moment, I let myself believe it. I let myself feel the ache, the love, the unbearable weight of a heart that’s never stopped being his. I’m caught in a feeling I can’t escape, a love I can’t bury. I gave my everything to Wally years ago, and no matter how many nights I spend in Jason’s arms, no matter how many missions I lead or lies I tell myself, I’m still his. Always his.

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Somewhere in the Speed Force, Wally stumbles, his knees hitting the endless void. A crack forms in the light, a whisper of possibility. He grits his teeth, his heart pounding with her name. “Artemis,” he gasps, and pushes forward, not knowing if the crack leads home or to oblivion. But he runs, he screams her name in the endless void, he cries out in pain from the lightning that charges each atom of his being, but he keeps running because he promised her forever, and Wally West doesn’t break promises.

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The dream claws me awake, a scream lodged in my throat, my heart hammering so hard it feels like it’ll shatter my ribs. The room is dark, save for the faint glow of Star City's neon bleeding through the curtains of Jason's apartment. Jason’s still here, snoring softly. My breath is ragged though, the sheets tangled around me like a trap. The dream was Wally, but not the Wally I’ve clung to in memory, not the one I saw in limbo, not the one with the crooked grin and freckles like a star map. This Wally was a ghost, a blur of red and gold trapped in a churning, electric void. His eyes were wild, desperate, his voice a broken rasp as he shouted my name, “Artemis, help me!” His hands reached through the storm, scorched and trembling, only to be yanked back, his screams swallowed by crackling light. It felt real—too real, a visceral punch that left me shaking, my skin prickling with the uncertainty of it all. Could Dick be right? Could Wally still be out there stuck in some cosmic space, suffering, and not at peace like I’d believed. I don’t have the mental energy to even open that can of worms right now. Every carefully constructed lie I’ve told myself is threatening to come undone at the seams, but I need something. Some kind of answer to it all, because it just doesn’t make sense.

That ritual last year, the one where Zatanna and M’gann helped me reach Wally’s spirit in Limbo, was nothing like this. That night, Zatanna’s magic had woven a soft, warm void where Wally’s voice was calm, his presence gentle. He’d called me “Spitfire,” told me to live, to keep fighting, and I’d poured my heart out, believing I’d said goodbye. It was painful but comforting, a fragile closure I’d held onto through months of grief. But this dream… it was raw, chaotic, alive with a terror that gnaws at me now, so vivid it overshadows the ritual’s serene glow. My gut twists, suspicion flaring, sharpened by the trust issues carved into me from a childhood of lies—my father’s betrayals, my sister’s abandonment. Something’s wrong. The ritual felt like a memory, a projection, but this dream felt like truth.

I’m on my feet, pulling on my jacket, my bow slung over my shoulder as I head out into the rain-soaked night, and Jason doesn’t stir. The dream’s still burning in my mind, Wally’s screams echoing, and I need answers. I track Zatanna and M’gann to the Team’s old warehouse base, a cavernous space littered with mission gear and ghosts of better days. They’re there, huddled over a table strewn with maps and tech, their faces tense as I barge in, the door slamming behind me. The air smells of rust and damp concrete, the rain drumming a relentless beat on the roof.

“Artemis?” Zatanna straightens, her dark eyes narrowing with concern. “What’s wrong? You look—”

“Tell me about the ritual,” I cut her off, my voice low, steady, but laced with steel. I drop my bow on the table, the clatter sharp, my eyes locked on hers, then M’gann’s. “The one where you said I talked to Wally’s spirit in Limbo. Was it real?”

M’gann’s green skin pales, her hands freezing mid-gesture. Zatanna’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something—guilt?—crossing her face before she schools it. “What are you talking about?” Zatanna says, her voice too smooth, too practiced. “Of course it was real. We helped you connect—”

“Don’t lie to me,” I snap, stepping closer, my heart pounding. I’ve spent years reading people, surviving on instinct, and I see it now—the way M’gann’s eyes dart to Zatanna, the way Zatanna’s fingers twitch like she’s fighting the urge to cast a spell. They’re hiding something, and it’s written all over them like a map. “I had a dream last night. Wally was screaming, suffering. It felt more real than anything I felt in your so-called Limbo. So, I’m asking you, point blank: Did I really talk to him, or was it something else?”

M’gann’s breath hitches, and Zatanna’s mask slips, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second. “Artemis, it was a dream,” M’gann says, her voice soft, pleading, but there’s a tremor there, a crack in her composure. “You’re still grieving. He was your first love, it’s natural to—”

“Stop,” I growl, my fists clenching, my nails biting into my palms. “Don’t patronize me. I know what I felt. That ritual was too clean, too perfect, like a script. This dream was chaos, pain, real. So tell me the truth, or I swear I’ll walk out of here and never look back.”

The silence is deafening, the rain’s rhythm the only sound as they exchange a glance, a wordless admission that fuels my rage. Zatanna exhales, her shoulders slumping. “It wasn’t real,” she says, her voice barely audible, the words landing like a sledgehammer. “There was no Limbo, no spirit. It was a construct.”

My vision blurs, tears and fury colliding. “What?” I whisper, my voice breaking, but I don’t back down.

M’gann steps forward, her eyes glistening. “I created a psychic space in your mind, Artemis,” she says, her voice trembling. “A place for you to process your grief, to say what you needed to say. Zatanna’s magic made it feel real, but it was just… your memories, shaped to help you heal.”

The world tilts, my breath coming in sharp gasps. “You lied to me?” The words tear out, a scream that echoes off the warehouse walls. I’m shaking, my hands itching to grab my bow, to do something, anything, to make this pain stop. “You made me think I was talking to Wally, that he heard me, and it was all a trick?”

“It wasn’t a trick!” M’gann cries, her voice breaking, tears spilling down her cheeks. “We saw you fading, Artemis, shutting us out, drowning in pain. We thought if you could say goodbye—”

“Goodbye?” I laugh, a harsh, jagged sound that makes them both flinch. “You think that was a goodbye? You stole the only moment I had with him! You made me believe I’d reached him, that he knew I would always love him, and it was fake?” My tears are falling now, hot and relentless, my chest heaving with the weight of betrayal. That ritual was my lifeline, the moment I’d clung to through nights of screaming nightmares and days of hollow smiles. I’d bared my soul, confessed my love, my guilt, my desperation, and it was a lie—a psychic illusion crafted by the people I trusted most.

Zatanna steps toward me, her hands raised, her face pale. “Artemis, we never meant to hurt you,” she says, her voice steady but laced with regret. “We thought we were helping you heal, giving you a chance to—”

“Heal?” I snarl, my voice shaking with fury. “You call that healing? You violated my mind, my memories, my love! You had no right to mess with my heart, to play god with my grief!” My childhood taught me to expect betrayal—my father’s lies, my sister’s absence—but this cuts deeper, a wound from the people I called family. The closure I’d cherished was a mirage, and the grief I’d fought to contain is raw, unending, a void I can’t escape.

M’gann reaches for me, her voice trembling. “I felt your pain, Artemis. It was crushing you. I thought if you could let go—”

“Let go?” I step back, my voice a low, lethal hiss. “You don’t get to decide when I let go! Wally was mine—my heart, my everything—and you stole him from me again!” The rage is a wildfire, but beneath it is a deeper wound—the realization that the goodbye I’d held sacred was a fabrication, leaving me with nothing real to hold onto. Wally’s screams from the dream haunt me, so vivid that I can’t shake the fear that he could be out there, suffering, while I’m here, betrayed by my friends.

Zatanna’s face crumples, her voice tear-streaked. “We love you, Artemis. We couldn’t watch you destroy yourself. We made a mistake, but our hearts were in the right place.”

“Love?” I spit, my hands shaking. “This isn’t love. This is betrayal. You broke into my mind, twisted my memories, and left me with nothing but pain.” The warehouse feels too small, the air too thick, my vision blurring as I grab my bow and turn for the door. “Artemis, please,” M’gann calls, but I don’t stop. The rain outside is cold, relentless, soaking me as I step into the night, my tears mixing with the downpour. The city blurs around me, a gray haze of pain and betrayal.

I walk, directionless, the rain washing over me, but it can’t cleanse the wound they’ve torn open. Wally’s been gone for years, and that ritual was a treasure, a ray of sunlight against the darkness his absence has left in the void of my heart. Now it’s ash, a cruel deception by the people I trusted. The dream of him suffering in the Speed Force clings to me, its rawness a stark contrast to the ritual’s false peace, fueling my fear that he’s out there, fighting, while I’m here, adrift in a sea of lies. Somewhere, Wally’s running, desperate to return, but I don’t know that. All I know is the betrayal, the unresolved ache, the love I surrendered to Wally West, now tainted by a lie that’s left me more broken than ever.

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I eventually find my way to my own apartment traveling through zeta-tubes to get to Gotham. The darkness of this city feels so much more familiar to the lights of Star City. I can’t go back to Jason’s, not right now. I don’t sleep, but I collapse against the wall, sliding to the floor and hugging my knees to my chest. I barely notice Brucely nuzzling against my leg. The rain outside is incessant, an uneven rhythm against the windows, battering against them like my own emotions battering my head. The betrayal of my best friends is fresh on my mind, the reality that Wally isn’t at peace, not for certain at least, swirling around my psyche like a hurricane. The memories crash around me, uninvited, relentless, and the ever-constant ache in my chest intensifies as my own heartbeat, a dull, persistent throb that never truly leaves reminds me that nothing is really okay. My best friends betrayed me. And God, that dream of Wally was so raw and painful that the grief I’ve felt since his disappearance seeps through the cracks of the feeble walls I’ve built, staining every moment with the ghost of him. My mind can’t stop thinking about him, my heart can’t stop beating for him.

I sit still, eyes tracing the shadows on the ceiling illuminated against the lighting and thunder that crashes through the sky. My breath shallow as if moving too much might shatter me further. Brucely is an anchor against the storm raging around and inside me. I scratch his ear as he lies down and places his head just near my hip bone. My body may be in Gotham, but my heart is elsewhere, tethered to a man who’s gone. I don’t know what’s coming, I don’t know what my dream meant, whether it was something true or some new manifestation of my mind attempting to undo my carefully crafted facade. The lies of my friends are real though, and the anger and betrayal I felt at their confession rears its head fighting for dominance over my emotions. I’ve not felt this alone since he disappeared in the Artic. I’d like to believe that the universe is shifting, that the intense lightning and thunder outside are a sign of something, that maybe Wally’s fists are pounding against a crack in reality, his voice hoarse from shouting my name across dimensions. But if I believe that, then when the hope crumbles from when nothing happens, it will destroy me. I don’t know that he’s fighting, as he always has, to get back to me, his every step a defiance of time and space. All I know is this: I surrendered to Wally West once, gave him every piece of my heart, soul, and body in a reckless, all-consuming love, and no matter how hard I try, I’ve never been able to come to regret it.

The storm grows heavier, a tempest that mirrors my own emotions and mind. I gingerly stand up and pad to the window, my bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. The city outside is blurred by the downpour, streetlights smearing into halos, the world softened and indistinct. I press my palm to the glass, the chill seeping into my skin, and close my eyes, letting the sound of the rain and thunder wash over me, letting the lightning illuminate behind my eyelids. In the quiet, in those flashes of light behind closed eyes, I see Wally’s face—his freckles like a star map, his green eyes bright with mischief, his grin so wide it could split the sky. I hear his voice, that teasing “Spitfire” that used to make me roll my eyes and laugh, and the memory is so vivid it steals my breath. It’s a wound that never heals, a love that refuses to fade, and I’m tired of fighting it. I’ve tried to move on, tried to love Jason with the same fierce abandon I gave Wally, but it’s like pouring water into a broken cup—it spills, it leaks, it’s never enough.

Guilt twists in my gut as I think back to Jason, his face will be peaceful in sleep, unaware of the war I wage every day and the one happening right now miles away from him. He’s steady, kind, a man who builds his life with care and patience, and I want to be the woman he deserves. I want to let go of the past, to let Wally’s memory rest, but it’s like trying to let go of my own heartbeat. I surrendered to Wally years ago, in stolen moments between missions, in quiet nights under starlit skies, in promises we made with the reckless certainty of youth. He took my heart with him when he vanished, and what’s left is a hollow thing, beating out of habit, out of duty to a life I’m only half-living.

I lean my forehead against the glass, the cold grounding me, and whisper his name into the silence between cracks of thunder. “Wally.” It’s a prayer, a plea, a confession. Somewhere, in a place beyond my reach, no matter where that place is, I hope he hears me. I hope he knows that my heart is his and has always been his. I’ve learned in the span of less than a day that I don’t know anything. I don’t know if my friends have lied about other things, I don’t know if Wally is at peace, I don’t know how to carry on with all this new information. The seams of my lies were already feeble enough, the walls already crumbling with the forward motion of time. All I know is the ache, the love, the unshakable truth that I’m still his, always his, caught in a feeling I can’t escape. Like that stupid Celine Deon song says, I surrendered to Wally West, and no matter how many mornings I wake in Jason’s arms, no matter how many years pass, I’ll never be anyone else’s.

Chapter 2: Shards of a Life

Notes:

I've decided that I hate it when people intentionally draw out a fanfiction that is completed, so I'm going to post much more than one chapter per week. The main thing for me is just making sure the writing is as excellent as possible, because as I said in the Summary, this fic is pretty much finished in terms of most of the writing and the outline. I'm just fleshing out certain areas. If you like it, please comment or give kudos! I appreciate any and all feedback

Star City, October 11^th, 2020

The mirror in Jason’s bathroom is cracked, a spiderweb fracture splintering the upper corner, its jagged lines catching the dim fluorescent light like veins of ice. I stare at my reflection, my face a mosaic of shadows and hollows, my eyes bruised by another sleepless night, their green dulled to a stormy gray. My fingers grip the porcelain sink, knuckles whitening, nails digging into my palms as if I can hold myself together through sheer force of will. Inside, Artemis is screaming, a caged animal clawing at the steel walls I’ve built to keep her quiet, her grief for Wally West a wildfire that threatens to consume me. She’s the one who loved him, the one who poured her heart out in a ritual she believed reached his spirit, only to learn it was a lie spun by Zatanna and M’gann—a betrayal that’s left her raw, exposed, bleeding. Tigress is what remains, a predator forged in pain, suiting up for a mission to drown out the chaos. But the fracture in the mirror is a mirror of my soul, and tonight, I’m not sure which woman will survive.

My gear is laid out on the counter—crossbow bolts, leather gloves, the Tigress mask with its sleek, predatory lines. I pull on the suit, the fabric tight against my skin, a second hide that hardens me against the world. Each piece is a ritual, a step toward burying Artemis, but her voice echoes, sharp and accusing: You’re running from me, from him, from the truth. I clench my jaw, shoving her down, but the ache in my chest doesn’t fade, a metronome ticking out four years, three months, and now twenty-one days since Wally vanished into the Speed Force. The betrayal stings worse now, Zatanna and M’gann’s deception a fresh wound layered over the old one. They’d crafted a false goodbye, a psychic illusion of Wally’s voice, and I’d believed it, clung to it like a lifeline. Now it’s ash, and I’m adrift, hating them, hating myself for trusting, hating Wally for leaving me to this half-life.

Jason’s in the kitchen, the clink of dishes and the soft hum of a jazz record filtering through the apartment, it should be endearing but it just rattles my already frayed nerves. He’s packing a protein bar and a water bottle into a small bag, his movements deliberate, a quiet act of care that pierces my heart with guilt for all these wild emotions I’m feeling. His dark hair falls over his forehead, his brow furrowed as he glances at me through the open door. “You sure you’re good for this?” he calls, his voice steady but threaded with worry, a tone I’ve heard too often lately. He’s seen me like this before but rarely. There’s been one or two days since we started dating when the weight of Wally’s absence was a fresh as the day he disappeared and would turn me into a ghost, a feral creature he couldn’t reach. Back then, I’d been a stranger, morphing into something unknown for survival’s sake. Tonight, it’s the betrayal that’s unmoored me, the knowledge that my friends manipulated my grief, that the closure I’d cherished was a lie. I hate that Jason sees it, hate that I can’t mask the cracks splitting me apart.

“I’m fine,” I snap, the words sharper than a blade, slicing the air between us. I pull on my mask, the leather cool against my flushed skin, its weight grounding me as I become Tigress. I stride past him, avoiding his eyes, the warmth of his concern a weight I can’t bear with everything else. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Artemis—” He reaches for my arm, his fingers brushing my sleeve, but I’m already out the door, the night swallowing me whole. He’s calling to the wrong woman anyways. Artemis is buried deep, locked in the furthest reaches of my mind, her screams muffled. Tigress is in control, a hunter with a mission, and I need the fight to silence the storm inside.

Central City sprawls beneath a bruised sky, its neon signs flickering like distant stars, the air heavy with the threat of rain. The mission is a meta-human trafficking ring, a cancer the League and Team are cutting out. Barry’s leading, his calm authority a faint echo of Wally’s reckless energy. Bart’s backing him up, his speed a blur that twists my gut. Conner’s with me for muscle, and M’gann’s there, her psychic presence a hum I can’t ignore. I avoid her gaze, my own glare cold, my voice steel when I speak, warning her to keep it professional. I can’t face her, not after her betrayal, not when every glance feels like a fresh cut. Central City is a wound itself, every street a memory of Wally—his laugh echoing in alleyways, his red and yellow streak darting past, his hand pulling me from danger. I used to love the rush of a fight, the adrenaline singing in my veins. Now it’s just noise, a desperate attempt to drown the silence he left, the emotional torrent that’s been surging since I learned the truth about the ritual.

I perch on a rooftop, the city’s pulse thrumming below, my crossbow trained on the warehouse where the traffickers operate. The weapon’s weight is familiar, an extension of my will, but my hands tremble slightly, betraying the turmoil inside. Artemis whispers, This won’t fix you. You’re running from me. I grit my teeth, forcing her down, but the ache persists, a tide pulling me under. Bart zips up beside me, his sudden presence a jolt. “Yo, Tigress, you see anything?” His voice is too bright, his suit, the way he stands, and wild hair in my peripheral vision too much like Wally’s. It’s a knife plunging into my heart. He’s grown into the new Kid Flash, taller now than when he was Impulse, his grin a painful echo of the Allen-West charm, and it’s all unbearable. Kid Flash died years ago, Kid Flash is screaming in pain in my nightmares in an eternal whirlwind of blinding light and color.

“Clear so far,” I mutter, my jaw so tight it aches, my eyes fixed through the scope. I can’t look at him, can’t face the living reminder of what I’ve lost. Bart didn’t choose this, didn’t ask to be a speedster in a world without Wally, but grief isn’t rational. It’s a storm that rips you apart, leaving you hating the pieces, and I hate Bart for existing when Wally doesn’t, even as I hate myself for feeling it.

M’gann’s voice slips into my mind, gentle but firm, a violation I can’t block. Artemis, focus. They’re moving. My teeth grind, the sound a tether to the present as I adjust my aim, my fingers itching to fire, to break something, anything. The fight erupts below—Conner smashes through concrete walls, his roars echoing as he takes down masked gunmen; M’gann disarms guards with a flicker of thought, her telepathy a silent blade; Bart salutes me as he speeds below, he and Barry twin blurs, dismantling the operation with surgical precision. I’m a spectator, my crossbow useless, my role reduced to watching as the team moves without me, ensuring no one escapes to the peripheral. It burns, a scalding reminder of my own fragility, my inability to outrun the pain.

Then I spot a thug bolting for a back alley near the waterfront, his silhouette a fleeting shadow against the sodium glow of streetlights. Something in me snaps, a dam breaking, and Tigress takes over fully. He’s prey, a target for the rage and grief boiling inside, a vessel for the pain I can’t contain. I leap across rooftops, my boots pounding against gravel, my breath harsh in my ears, ignoring the team’s voices in my comms. The city blurs around me, a maze of steel and glass, but my focus narrows to this man, this pathetic figure scrambling through the shadows. I pounce from above, tackling him to the wet pavement, his gun clattering away as I unleash a barrage of punches and kicks. My strikes are calculated—midsection, groin, each blow designed to hurt, to make him feel the agony tearing me apart. His nose shatters under my fist, blood splattering across his face, and the sight fuels me, my adrenaline surging like liquid fire. I’m not Artemis, not Tigress—just a creature of fury, wanting him to suffer as I do. I consider choking him, feeling his pulse fade under my hands, or firing a bolt through his skull to see the fear in his eyes before the light extinguishes in them. The bloodlust is intoxicating, drowning out the voices in my head—Artemis’s pleas, Wally’s ghost, the yell of my team over the comms.

Before I can cross that line, Bart’s there, a blur of red cuffing the thug, his speed pulling me back from the edge. I’m panting, my fists still clenched, my body trembling with unspent rage. Artemis stirs, a flicker of gratitude that Bart stopped me, but Tigress is livid, her prey stolen. Without a word, I grab my crossbow, turn my back on Bart, and scale a nearby rooftop, my movements swift, desperate, needing distance from the team, from myself. M’gann must sense my state—she doesn’t follow, doesn’t speak, and I’m glad, because as much as I tell myself that I’d like to kill her right now for what she did to me, it’s far more realistic, even if I don’t admit it to myself, that I’d shatter if she tried.

Hours pass by with seconds crawling like years as I sit in the storm of the emotions that I’m helpless to fight. By midnight, the church bells toll across Central City, their deep chimes a mournful counterpoint to the city’s hum. I’m alone on the rooftop, the skyline glittering through a haze of unshed tears, the air sharp with the promise of more rain. My mask is off, discarded beside me, my face exposed to the night’s judgment. I’m a shell, a weapon, a woman who loves a ghost. Jason’s waiting in Star City, his steady warmth a home I can’t claim. Home was Wally’s arms, his heartbeat against mine, his laugh filling the spaces I didn’t know were empty. The ritual’s betrayal has stripped even that memory, leaving me with a false goodbye and nothing to fight against the nightmare of his suffering or his screams that haunt me. I’m numb, or I try to be, but the grief is a tide, pulling me under. Artemis begs to surface, to feel, to mourn the lies and the nightmares, but Tigress is too tired to fight, too broken to care. It doesn’t matter if it’s Artemis or Tigris, our heart was given to a goofy, annoying, endearing, earth-shattering love, and we’re both paying the price—a fractured and lost warrior who’s forgotten how to live.

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In the Speed Force, Wally West is a scream in the silence. The light burns, the speed consumes, but he runs because stopping means losing her. He sees Artemis—her eyes, her scars, her broken smile—and it’s all that keeps him sane. The Force is a maze, a torment, but there’s a tremor now, a ripple in the endless current. He doesn’t know what it is. He only knows he’s closer, somehow, to breaking free. “Artemis,” he chokes, and the word is a prayer, a promise, a plea in the endless eternity of space and time.

Chapter 3: The Weight of Hope

Notes:

Here we go again, I've got more angst for you. But don't worry, I'll maybe put you all out of your misery soon. Maybe

Gotham, October 20^th, 2020

Days bleed into one another, each one a quiet battle to hold myself together. I’ve taken time off from the university, claiming I need to research, but it’s a lie I tell to the University, to Jason, even to myself. The truth is uglier: the carefully crafted façade of Tigress, the warrior who can face anything, is crumbling, and I need solitude to rebuild the walls in my mind before Artemis—the woman who loved Wally West, who trusted her friends only to be betrayed—spills out and drowns me. My apartment in Gotham is a sanctuary of sorts, its bare walls and sparse furniture a reflection of the emptiness I carry. I avoid mirrors, afraid of the fractured woman staring back, her grey eyes dulled by grief and betrayal.

It’s an unusually bright day in Gotham, the sun cutting through the city’s perpetual gloom, when I step into a bustling coffee shop in the city center. The air is thick with the aroma of roasted beans and fresh pastries, the chatter of patrons a dull roar against the clink of cups. I’m at the counter, waiting for my black coffee, when the hairs on my neck prickle—not with the sharp edge of danger, but with the eerie certainty of being watched, maybe followed. My instincts, honed by years of surviving my father’s lies and the streets’ brutality, kick into gear. I take the steaming cup from the barista, my movements deliberate, feigning nonchalance as I sip and weave through the crowd toward a shadowed alley nearby. If I seem distracted, my stalker might get careless, and I’m itching for a fight. Without Bart here to pull me back, as he did during that mission in Central City, I’m not sure how far I’ll go. Gotham’s no stranger to bodies in alleys, and though I’m not the feral creature I was that night, my control is a thin thread. I may not be whole, and I probably never will be, but I’m not such a loose canon now that I’ve had time to rebuild my walls, and now that the sting of Zatanna and M’gann’s betrayal has dulled to a steady ache, but it still hurts. But honestly, what doesn’t hurt these days? My chest, despite my best efforts, still aches for Wally, still feels guilty about how I feel about a dead man, still feels guilty about how I’ve been unable to give Jason all of me because I gave it to a ghost of my past, still feels desolate at my fractured relationship with my mom and sister. They know I’m alive, but I don’t come around, because I can’t seem to. And I still feel awful that I’ve not been around to see Mary or Rudy, but I can’t go back to their house, and I sure as hell can’t look into those eyes that are Wally’s without being his or seeing that chin that’s his on someone who is alive that isn’t him.

The alley is narrow, its damp bricks slick with yesterday’s rain, the air heavy with the tang of rust and garbage. I pause, sipping my coffee, my back to the sunlit street, senses sharp as I wait for my shadow to make a move. I’m ready, muscles coiled, imagining the satisfying crunch of a punch landing, a release for the rage simmering beneath my skin. Then a voice cuts through, familiar, unwelcome, stopping me cold. “Hey, ‘Mis.”

I take a deep, controlled breath through my nose, the coffee’s bitterness grounding me as I turn my head. Dick Grayson leans against a brick wall, his dark hair catching the light, his arms crossed casually, but his smile is tight, strained. His blue eyes are what set me on edge—too knowing, too haunted, carrying the weight of losing his best friend. This isn’t a casual visit. He’s been digging again, chasing Speed Force theories, and I want to throttle him for it, for stirring the embers of hope I’ve fought to bury.

“Not now, Grayson,” I say, my voice a low growl, pissed at myself for trapping myself in this alley with only two escapes—up or past him. I wanted a fight, but not this one. I turn, intending to shoulder-check him as I stride back to the street, craving the satisfaction of knocking that knowing look off his face. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t block me, just stands there, and it infuriates me more. I brush past, my shoulder grazing his, the contact sparking a flare of anger I can’t release.

“Artemis, wait.” His voice is soft, almost pleading, and it freezes me, an unseasonal chill settling over my skin despite the sun’s warmth. “I found something. A fluctuation in the temporal energy readings from the Arctic site. It’s faint, but—”

“No.” I spin on him, my voice a blade, cutting through the alley’s damp air. “Don’t do this to me, Dick. Don’t give me hope when there’s nothing left.” My chest heaves, my hands trembling at my sides, coffee sloshing in the cup I still clutch. I hate how pathetic and weak I sound, how broken, the walls I’ve built crumbling under the weight of his words. Artemis screams in my mind, What about the dream? He was suffering, calling for you! But Tigress clamps down, desperate to silence her. “He’s gone. He’s dead. Let him stay that way.”

Dick’s eyes don’t waver, heavy with guilt and determination. “I’m not saying he’s alive. I’m saying we don’t know. And I deserve to know, Artemis. You deserve to know.”

I laugh, a bitter, jagged sound that bounces off the bricks, sharp enough to cut. “ I deserve to know? No, Dick. I deserve to sleep without seeing his face, to breathe without drowning in grief. But I don’t get that, do I?” I step closer, my voice dropping to a whisper, venomous and raw. “You want to know what I deserve? I deserve to hate Wally for leaving me, but I can’t. I fucking loved him, Dick. I still love him, four years later, and he was my everything. My home, my heart, my future. And he’s gone, leaving me with half a life, half a soul, and no way to piece it back together because every missing fragment went with him into that damn vortex.” My tears threaten to spill, but I hold them back, my gaze locked on Dick’s, daring him to argue.

He doesn’t. He just watches, his silence a weight I can’t bear. I turn away, the sun now hidden behind clouds, its warmth gone as I storm down the street toward Jason’s apartment, my boots echoing on the pavement. The city feels like a cage, its gray spires closing in, mirroring the prison of my thoughts. Dick’s words have planted a seed, a fragile shard of hope that cuts as much as it tempts. The nightmare of Wally suffering in the Speed Force, his screams so vivid they felt like truth, looms large, whispering that he might be out there, fighting to return. But hope is a poison I can’t afford, not after Zatanna’s and M’gann’s betrayal, not when I know it could crush me if it dies.

I take a zeta-tube back to Star City. Jason’s asleep when I reach his apartment, sprawled across the couch, a worn copy of The Sun Also Rises splayed on his chest, his dark hair mussed, his face soft in the afternoon light filtering through rain-streaked windows. I stand over him, my coffee cold in my hand, trying to feel something—love, gratitude, anything—but it’s like reaching into a void. My heart is a war zone, torn between the man before me and the ghost I can’t let go. Jason’s good, safe, everything Wally wasn’t, but he’s not Wally. No one ever will be. The hope of Dick’s words, because despite my best efforts his words did spark something in my chest, combined with the nightmare’s raw terror, has cracked open the grief I’ve fought to bury, leaving me raw and vulnerable. I want to scream, to shatter the silence, but I’m too tired, too broken, and I can’t wake Jason to let him find me like this.

That night Jason proposes. It’s quiet, intimate, just us in his apartment eating Chinese take-out, the rain a soft percussion against the windows and the sun’s warmth long forgotten. He’s on one knee, holding a simple silver ring, its understated shine catching the lamplight. His eyes are earnest, warm, and it hurts to look at them. “I know you’ve been through hell, Artemis,” he says, his voice steady but vulnerable. “But I want to be your future, if you’ll let me.”

I stare at the ring, my heart a battlefield, Artemis and Tigress at war. I want to say yes, want to believe I can be whole, that I can build a life with this man who’s stood by me, trying to help build me up again. But wanting something doesn’t mean it always happens. The truth is, I want it, but Wally’s name is carved into my soul, each beat of my heart a hymn to him. I surrendered to him years ago, gave him my love, my body, my everything—we were each other’s firsts, each other’s onlys, a sacred bond I can’t betray. I’ve lied to Jason, claiming I want to wait for marriage, refusing to even do anything more than kiss him, when the truth is I can’t bear the thought of anyone else touching me, not when it feels like a violation of what Wally and I shared. “I… I need time,” I say, my voice cracking, barely a whisper. Jason nods, tucking the ring away, but the hurt in his eyes is a new weight, another failure I carry. “Maybe I should stay at my place tonight,” I add, and he doesn’t argue, his silence louder than words.

At my apartment, Brucely curls up beside me on the bed, his warmth a small comfort against the cold inside. I’m exhausted, emotionally spent, fighting a battle I’m losing with every breath. The hope Dick’s planted, fragile and sharp as glass, won’t die, amplified by the nightmare of Wally’s pain. I close my eyes, and he’s there again, running through a storm of light, his body a streak of red and gold, his face twisted in agony. “I’m coming, Spitfire,” he says, his voice breaking, and I wake sobbing, my hands clutching air, Brucely’s whine a soft echo in the dark. I’m numb, I tell myself, I’ve moved on. But it’s a lie, as flimsy as the walls I’ve been trying to rebuild. I’m a wreck, a woman who loves a man who’s gone, every step forward a betrayal of the heart I gave him. The grief, the hope, the betrayal—they’re a tide, pulling me under, and I’m too tired to fight. I curl tighter, tears silent as always, because screaming into the darkness would mean admitting I’m still bleeding, still hoping, still loving a ghost who might never return.

Chapter 4: The Cracking of the World

Notes:

New chapter alert! As always, please comment, give kudos, share, etc. I love all your feedback!

Central City, November 13^th, 2020

The mission comes out of nowhere, only one day after Oliver and the others woke up from their coma in the Royal Memorial Hospital. There’s a cosmic anomaly tearing through Central City’s heart, a jagged rift in reality spewing energy that fries tech and warps time itself. The call comes at dawn, Barry’s voice crackling through the comms, urgent and grim, summoning the League and the Team to contain what he calls a “temporal storm.” The League’s best minds theorize it’s something beyond reality’s bounds—something vast, powerful, alien. I’m there with the Team, my crossbow slung across my back, its weight a familiar anchor, but useless against an enemy I can’t see, can’t fight. I’m backup, a witness to what could be the end of the world if we fail, standing on the sidelines as the city trembles under a sky fractured with electric light. My head pounds, a relentless throb that syncs with memories of another mission, another storm, another loss. The air smells of ozone and burning metal, the ground vibrating under my boots, and I’m barely holding myself upright through it all.

“Stay sharp, Tigress,” Conner says, his hand heavy on my shoulder, his blue eyes steady but searching, catching the cracks in my armor. His voice is a low rumble, meant to ground me, but it only deepens the ache. “You good?”

I nod, my jaw tight, but I’m drowning. The rift looms above, a wound in the sky, pulsing with jagged arcs of white and gold light, its edges fraying like torn fabric. It’s Wally’s absence made visible, a cosmic scar that mirrors the one in my chest. I hate it—hate how it pulls at me, whispering possibilities I can’t afford to believe, hate the faint, impossible sound of my name carried on the wind, sharp and desperate, like a voice I’ve heard in nightmares. It’s not real, I tell myself, gripping my crossbow tighter, the leather of my gloves creaking. It’s just your head, your grief. But the sound lingers, a ghostly echo that claws at the walls I’ve built, stirring the hope I’ve fought to bury since Dick’s theories and that nightmare of Wally suffering.

Barry strides forward, his red suit a stark contrast to the gray chaos, his face grim under the cowl. “This thing’s unstable,” he says, his voice cutting through the Team’s chatter. “It’s bending time, space, everything. We need to close it before it rips Central City apart.” He glances at Bart, who’s practically vibrating with excitement, his Kid Flash suit glinting, his grin too much like Wally’s. “Kid, you ready to run?”

“Born ready, Uncle Barry!” Bart quips, bouncing on his heels, but his eyes flicker to me, catching my cold stare. He falters, just for a moment, and I hate myself for it. He’s not Wally, but he’s close enough to twist the knife.

The plan is simple, desperate: Barry and Bart will run, faster than ever, their combined speed generating a kinetic counterforce to stabilize the rift’s energy. It’s the Arctic all over again, a gamble with speed and sacrifice, and my heart lurches, a sickening déjà vu. I want to scream, to beg them to stop, but I’m rooted, my eyes locked on the two speedsters as they blur into streaks of red and gold, their velocity shaking the earth, a low rumble vibrating through my bones. The rift pulses brighter, its light searing, and I shield my eyes, the glare too raw, too much like the vortex that stole Wally. My name echoes again, clearer now, a desperate cry—“Artemis!”—and my chest twists, a warning I can’t name, a hope I can’t quell. It’s not him, I tell myself, but Artemis screams inside, What if it is?

“Keep it together, Tigress! Help get these people to safety.” Conner shouts from below, smashing through debris as he guards the evacuating civilians. His voice is a lifeline, but I’m slipping, incapable of doing anything more than stand there. The rift’s light pulling at memories—Wally’s laugh in my ear, his hand yanking me from danger, his “Spitfire” whispered in the dark. I want to be taken, to vanish into that light if it means finding him, even if it’s just to know he’s gone. The thought terrifies me, a reckless wish born of grief and betrayal.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the Speed Force, Wally feels it—a tremor, a crack, a scream ripping through the endless light. The infinite expanse is a prison of chaos, a storm of electric currents that burn his skin, his bones, his soul. Barry and Bart’s speed is a tidal wave, destabilizing the Force’s fabric, splitting its seams like overstretched cloth. A fissure opens, jagged and blinding, a sliver of reality beyond the torment. Wally lunges for it, his body screaming, every muscle ablaze as he pushes against the Force’s pull. His heart roars her name—“Artemis!”—the sound tearing from his throat, raw and desperate. He’s closer now, so close he can almost taste the air of home, feel the warmth of her hand in his. The Force fights to hold him, its currents clawing at his limbs, but he’s Wally West, and he’s never stopped running for her. “I’m coming, Spitfire,” he gasps, his voice lost in the storm, but he pushes forward, the fissure his only hope, her name his only anchor.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In what feels like only seconds, the rift stabilizes, the sky quiets, its electric fury fading to a soft glow before collapsing into itself. Central City exhales, the ground still, the air heavy with the scent of scorched pavement and ozone. Barry and Bart skid to a stop, panting, their grins wide as the Team erupts in cheers—Conner’s fist pump, M’gann’s relieved sigh, Zatanna’s murmured spell to seal the rift’s remnants. But I’m frozen, my eyes locked on the spot where the light was brightest, where I heard Wally’s voice, clear as crystal, screaming my name. It wasn’t a memory, not a dream, but him, a certainty that sinks into my bones and terrifies me. My crossbow slips from my hands, clattering on the rooftop, and I don’t move to pick it up. Dick is beside me in an instant. “Artemis, are you okay?”—but it’s distant, drowned by the echo of Wally’s cry, a sound that rips through the walls I’ve built.

“Tigress, talk to me,” Conner says, walking over to where my feet are glued to the pavement, his voice low, concerned. He’s close now, his bulk a steady presence, but I can’t look at him, can’t face the confusion in his eyes because I don’t know if I have an answer that will clear anything up about what just happened.

“I heard him,” I whisper, my voice cracking, barely audible over the city’s hum. “Wally. He called my name.” My hands tremble, my breath shallow, and I hate how vulnerable I sound, how exposed. “It wasn’t like the ritual. It wasn’t… fake. It was as clear as if he was standing beside me.”

Dick sucks in a sharp breath of air at that confession, but Conner’s jaw just tightens, his hand hovering near my shoulder, not quite touching. “Artemis, you’re under a lot of stress. The rift, the energy—it messes with your head.”

“No,” I snap, my eyes flashing to his, sharp with defiance. “It was real. I felt him.” My voice breaks, tears burning, but I don’t let them fall. “He’s out there, Conner. Suffering. And I can’t—” I stop, choking on the words, the hope and fear colliding in a storm I can’t contain.

He doesn’t argue, just nods, his silence a heavy acknowledgment. “Let’s get you home,” he says finally, his voice soft, and I don’t fight him, don’t turn around to see if Dick has dared to breath or move from my admission. I zeta to Gotham on autopilot, my body moving while my mind replays that voice, that scream, over and over. Jason’s waiting at my apartment, his arms open, his dark eyes warm with concern as he steps toward me. “Artemis, you okay?” he asks, his voice a gentle anchor, but I can’t go to him, can’t let him hold me when I’m fracturing.

I collapse to the floor, my knees hitting the hardwood, my hands tangling in my hair as a sob tears free—not silent this time, but raw, ugly, a sound that rips me open from the inside. For years, I’ve built walls, told myself Wally was dead, that the ritual’s false closure was enough to keep me standing. But tonight, I felt him, not a memory or a lie, but him, his presence as real as the ground I’m sitting on, his voice a lifeline in the chaos. It terrifies me, because what if he’s been alive all this time, suffering while I tried to move on? What if Dick’s theories, his damn fluctuations, are right? The questions are a blade, jagged and relentless, cutting through the fragile hope I’ve tried to bury. I’ve got no blood left to bleed, but I’m bleeding anyway, my heart a war zone of regret, guilt, and a love I can’t kill.

Jason kneels beside me, his hand hovering, unsure. “Artemis, talk to me,” he says, his voice low, pleading. “What happened out there?”

I shake my head, my sobs choking me, my hands clutching my hair as if I can hold myself together. “I heard him, Jason,” I gasp, my voice raw, trembling. “Wally. He was calling me. He’s… he might be alive.” The words break me, hope and fear colliding in a storm that threatens to drown me. “I can’t do this. I don’t know what to do.”

Jason’s silent, his hand settling on my back, warm but distant, a reminder of the life I’m failing to live. He’s good, safe, but he’s not Wally, and the guilt of that truth is another wound. I gave my all to Wally years ago, gave him my heart, my soul, and no amount of time, no betrayal, no mission can change that. I’m a wreck, a woman loving a ghost, torn between a past I can’t reclaim and a future I can’t embrace, and the echo of Wally’s voice, rather than save me, is reminding me that I never tried to save him. I never let myself hope that he was alive, I never did anything more than wallow in grief and try to move on. I failed him, because he would never have given up on me. And that truth is harsh and it’s killing me, stabbing me with guilt and regret, leaving me to bleed out on this cold floor.

Chapter 5: Shades of Solace

Notes:

I hope you like this one. I really tried to embrace the themes of depression. As someone who has depression, I tried to stay real to what it feels like.

The Watchtower, November 13^th, 2020

The Watchtower hums with a sterile calm, its metallic corridors gleaming under cold, artificial light, the air sharp with the faint tang of recycled oxygen and polished steel. I’m summoned here like a child to a principal’s office, my boots echoing on the polished floor as I make my way to the briefing room, each step heavier than the last. The League’s call came a few days after the Central City mission, a curt message from Batman that didn’t invite refusal. My crossbow is slung across my back, its weight a familiar anchor, but it feels like a prop now, useless against the storm inside me. The temporal storm’s aftermath lingers—Wally’s voice screaming my name through the rift, a sound so real it cracked the walls I’ve built around my heart. I’m Artemis, I’m Tigress, I’m a fractured mess, and the realization of my failure during that mission burns like acid: I didn’t help a single civilian, just stood frozen, drowning in my own grief while the city trembled. Worse, I’m haunted by the truth I’ve buried for over four years—that I never tried to save Wally, never dared believe he could be alive, unlike he would have done for me.

The briefing room’s doors hiss open, revealing a crescent of familiar faces—Batman, Wonder Woman, Superman, Barry, Oliver, Dinah—each one a weight pressing on my chest. I’m comforted to see Ollie and Dinah after the scare they were poisoned during Perdita’s abduction, but their presence does little to sooth my wariness at the League’s call. The table gleams under the overhead lights, reflecting my distorted image, a woman with hollowed eyes and a clenched jaw, barely holding herself together. Batman’s voice cuts through the silence, clinical and unyielding. “Tigress, your performance in Central City was unacceptable. You failed to engage, failed to protect civilians. You did nothing, and its obvious that you are not in the mental head space to do anything right now. Effective immediately, you’re on mandatory leave until further notice.”

The words land like a blow, but I don’t flinch, my face a mask of stone. I’m too tired, too broken to even feel. What more is just one more thing to drown me in my grief? “Understood,” I say, my voice flat, my gaze fixed on the table to avoid their eyes. Barry shifts, his expression pained, but he doesn’t speak. He heard me on the ground, heard me say I’d heard Wally, and the guilt in his eyes mirrors my own.

Batman speaks again, “You are dismissed. When you are more in control of yourself, you may resume your position on the Team.” I nod my head and turn to leave. I make it through the doors of the briefing room before I hear my name and quick footsteps trying to catch up to me. “Artemis” Oliver says, catching up and putting his hand on my shoulder. I stop in my tracks, my head bowed. He gently turns me around to face him. He’s standing there, his green hood pushed back, his face etched with concern. “Artemis, this isn’t just about the mission,” he says, his voice softer, warmer, cutting deeper than Batman’s verdict. “We’re worried about you. You’re not yourself. What happened out there?”

Dinah’s beside him, her blue eyes searching mine, filled with a love that feels like a blade. “Talk to us, kid,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, the same tone she used when I was a teenager, lost and angry, before I found a home with the Team. “We’re family. Whatever’s going on, we’re here.”

Their words are a crack in my armor, and I hate them for it. I want to run, to zeta out of here, to bury myself in shadows where no one can see the wreckage. But I’m trapped, their love pinning me like a spotlight, and the weight of my failures—Wally, the civilians, myself—crushes me. My hands tremble, my breath hitching, and I feel Artemis clawing her way to the surface, raw and bleeding. “You don’t get it,” I whisper, my voice cracking, barely audible over the hum of the Watchtower’s systems. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

Dinah moves first, stepping closer to me, her hand resting lightly on my arm. “Artemis, breathe,” she says, her voice a lifeline in the tempest. “Tell us what’s happening.”

I shake my head, tears burning my eyes, but they spill anyway, hot and relentless, betraying the walls I’ve spent years building. “I heard him,” I choke out, my voice raw, trembling. “In Central City, during the storm. Wally’s voice, screaming my name. It wasn’t a dream, wasn’t a lie like that damn ritual.” My fists clench, the sting of Zatanna and M’gann’s betrayal flaring anew. “It was real, and I… I did nothing. All these years, I never tried to save him, never believed he could be alive. I just… gave up.”

Oliver’s face softens, his eyes glistening with a pain that mirrors mine. “Artemis, you were grieving,” he says, standing now, his voice thick with emotion. “You did what you had to, to survive.”

“No!” I snap, my voice rising, echoing off the steel walls. “I gave up on him! Wally would’ve never done that to me. He’d have torn the universe apart, searched every corner until he had proof I was gone. But me? I told myself he was dead because it was easier, because I was weak. I tried to move on, to build a life, but I can’t, because I’m still his, always his, and now I know he might be out there, suffering, and I did nothing.” My sobs break free, raw and ugly, tearing through me like the rift in Central City’s sky. I sink to my knees, my hands clutching my hair, the weight of my guilt a tide pulling me under. “And Jason… he proposed,” I gasp, the confession spilling out, a wound I can’t hold back. “Last week, in his apartment, with a ring and all his heart, and I couldn’t say yes. I told him I needed time, but it’s a lie. I can’t give him what’s left of me, because Wally took it all, and I’m too broken to love anyone else. I’m failing him, failing everyone, and I don’t know how to stop.”

Dinah kneels beside me, her arms wrapping around me, her warmth a stark contrast to the cold floor. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice thick with tears, her hold fierce and unwavering. “You’re not failing. You’re carrying so much, and you’re still here. That’s enough. You’re not weak, Artemis,” she murmurs, her voice steady. “You’re human. You loved him, and you lost him, and you kept going. That’s strength, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

Oliver crouches in front of me, his hand on my shoulder, his calloused fingers grounding. “Kid, Jason’s a good man, and he loves you,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “But you don’t owe him your heart, not if it’s not yours to give. And Wally… if he’s out there, we’ll find him. But you gotta forgive yourself for surviving, for trying to live. Wally was family to us, too. And if there’s a chance he’s out there, we’ll find him. Together. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

Their love is a flood, warm and relentless, and it breaks me. I sob harder, my body shaking, the walls I’ve built collapsing under their compassion. “I don’t deserve this,” I gasp, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t deserve you, or Jason, or anyone. I’m so alone, Oliver. I’m so… broken. I gave Wally everything, and he’s gone, and I’m just… empty. I can’t love anyone else, can’t be whole again. And now, knowing he might be alive, it’s worse, because I failed him. I failed everyone.”

Dinah tightens her hold, her cheek against my hair, her voice fierce with love. “You listen to me, Artemis Crock. You are not empty. You are not a failure. You’re hurting, and that’s okay, because we love you—broken, angry, all of it. You don’t have to be whole to be ours.”

Oliver nods, his eyes shining with tears he doesn’t hide. “We’re not letting you go, kid. Not now, not ever. And if Wally’s out there, we’ll fight for him, just like you’ve always fought for us. But you gotta let us in.”

I cling to them, my sobs muffled against Dinah’s shoulder, their arms a fortress against the loneliness that’s consumed me. The Watchtower’s sterile hum fades, replaced by the steady rhythm of their breathing, their love a beacon in the dark. I’m drowning in depression, in the guilt of my inaction, the fear that Wally’s suffering while I tried to move on. Dick’s theories, the temporal fluctuations, the voice in the storm—they’ve ignited a hope I can’t extinguish, and it terrifies me, because it could destroy what little I have left. But Oliver and Dinah’s love is unwavering, a lifeline I don’t deserve but can’t refuse. I’m still bleeding, still loving a ghost, still a woman fractured between Artemis and Tigress, but for the first time in years, I’m not alone on this cold floor. Their arms hold me together, and though I’m broken, their love whispers that I might still be enough.

Chapter 6: Cracks in the Cosmos

Notes:

Oof, hope the last chapter wasn't too much of a tearjerker. We're gonna start seeing Artemis pick herself up, she'll find that the hope that Wally is out there isn't something to destroy her, but something to give her strength.

Blüdhaven, November 14^th, 2020

The Blüdhaven skyline glitters through the rain-streaked windows of Dick Grayson’s apartment, a mosaic of neon and shadow that feels too alive for the dead weight in my chest. I stand by the window, my arms crossed, my reflection a ghost in the glass—hollow eyes, sharp jaw, a woman caught between Artemis and Tigress, neither whole. It’s been a day since the Watchtower, since I broke under Oliver and Dinah’s love, confessing everything: Wally’s voice in the Central City rift, my failure to fight for him, Jason’s proposal, my inability to love anyone else. The League’s mandatory leave stings, a badge of my failure, but it’s given me space to face the truth I’ve buried for over four years: Wally might be alive, trapped, and I can’t keep living a lie with Jason while that hope burns in me. I told Jason I needed space, my voice cracking as I left his apartment, his hurt eyes haunting me. He deserves better than a woman whose heart belongs to a ghost, and I can’t pretend anymore—not when I hear Wally’s screams in my nightmares every time I fall asleep, not when Dick’s theories are a lifeline I can’t ignore after the rift in Central City.

The apartment smells of fresh coffee and takeout pizza, a lived-in warmth that clashes with the cold knot in my gut. Dick’s sprawled on the couch, his laptop open on the coffee table, its screen glowing with charts and equations I don’t understand. Barbara Gordon sits beside him, her red hair pulled back, her glasses catching the lamplight as she scans a tablet. They’re a unit, their easy intimacy a pang I envy, a reminder of what I had with Wally. I’m here because Dick’s been digging, chasing theories about the Speed Force—a concept so obscure in our world that even the League barely acknowledges it. He called me yesterday, his voice cautious but urgent, promising answers. I’m ready to hear them, ready to fight for Wally, even if it breaks me.

“Artemis, you want coffee?” Barbara asks, her voice warm but careful, her green eyes assessing me from behind her glasses. She’s Oracle, sharp and steady, but she’s also Babs, who’s seen me at my worst. She knows I’m a wreck, even if I’m hiding it under my leather jacket and clenched fists.

“I’m good,” I say, my voice rough, turning from the window to face them. “Let’s just get to it, Dick. What did you find?”

Dick leans forward, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his expression a mix of excitement and guilt. “Okay, but you gotta promise to hear me out, ‘Mis. This is… out there, even for us.” He taps his laptop, pulling up a file labeled Anomaly_X. “A couple years ago, I was in the Batcave, poking around Bruce’s encrypted archives—don’t ask, long story—and I found this. It’s a multiversal theory dump, stuff about parallel dimensions, cosmic barriers, and something called a ‘force’ that exists outside space and time. Not much detail, just enough to make my brain itch. Bruce didn’t label it, but the data matched energy signatures from the Arctic when Wally… you know.”

My heart lurches, my breath catching. “So this is some kind of Speed Force,” I say, the words heavy, unfamiliar. “That’s what you’re talking about, right?”

Dick nods, his eyes locked on mine. “Yeah. I didn’t know what it was then, but after Central City, after you said you heard him, I started digging deeper. The temporal storm’s energy matched the Arctic signatures, and I’ve been tracking fluctuations ever since. They’re faint, but they’re there, like something’s trying to break through.”

I swallow hard, my hands trembling as I lean against the windowsill, the cold glass grounding me. “So you’re saying Wally’s in this… Speed Force? Alive?”

“I’m saying it’s possible,” Dick says, his voice cautious but earnest. “The file mentioned a realm where energy converges, where time and space don’t work like they do here. If Wally got pulled in, he could be trapped, fighting to get out. That rift in Central City—it wasn’t random. Barry and Bart’s speed destabilized something, and you hearing him… that’s not a coincidence.”

Barbara sets her tablet down, her expression softening. “Artemis, we’re not trying to give you false hope,” she says, her voice steady. “But Dick’s onto something. The data’s real, and it lines up with what you experienced. We just don’t know enough yet.”

I laugh, a bitter, jagged sound that echoes in the small apartment. “Hope’s the problem, Babs. It’s a blade, and I’m already bleeding. But I can’t ignore this, not anymore. I gave up on him once, told myself he was dead because it was easier. I won’t do it again.” My voice cracks, Artemis clawing to the surface, raw and desperate. “If he’s out there, suffering, I have to fight for him. I owe him that.”

Dick’s eyes soften, guilt flickering across his face. “I should’ve pushed harder sooner,” he says, his voice low. “Wally was my best friend, and I… I let him go, too. But we’re in this together now, ‘Mis. Whatever it takes.”

I nod, my throat tight, tears burning but not falling. “So what’s the plan? You got a way to crack this Speed Force open?”

Dick hesitates, glancing at Barbara, then back at me. “Hold on, there’s something else about Central City I didn’t tell you at the time,” he says, his voice dropping, cautious. “You weren’t in a place to hear it, ‘Mis, not after the mission, not with how raw you were. Babs is the only one I’ve told this theory to, but it’s been eating at me. Remember how no one could figure out where that rift came from, how it just… appeared? What if it wasn’t random? What if it was Wally?”

My breath catches, my heart pounding as I straighten, my hands gripping the windowsill. “What are you saying, Dick?” I ask, my voice low, trembling with a mix of fear and hope.

Dick leans closer, his eyes intense. “Think about it. The rift was spitting out temporal energy, warping reality, and the only way to stabilize it was Barry and Bart running at max speed, pumping out kinetic energy to counter it. That’s not a coincidence. What if Wally’s in the Speed Force, running so fast, fighting so hard to get back, that he’s destabilizing the fabric of reality? His speed could’ve caused that rift, like a crack in a dam. It makes sense—the energy signatures match, and you heard him, Artemis. He’s closer to getting home than we thought.”

Barbara nods, her expression serious. “The data supports it,” she says, tapping her tablet. “The rift’s energy profile was nearly identical to the Arctic event, just… amplified, like something was pushing from the other side. If Wally’s generating that kind of force, he’s not just trapped—he’s fighting.”

“So what do we do, how do we help him fight it?” I ask.

Barbara exchanges a glance with Dick, her lips pursing. “It’s not that simple,” she says, her tone measured. “The Speed Force isn’t a place you just… go. From what we’ve pieced together, it’s a dimension of pure energy, tied to speedsters. Barry and Bart are our best shot, but even they don’t fully understand it. We’re talking about tech we don’t have, equations we can’t solve yet.”

“Yet,” Dick cuts in, his voice firm. “I’ve got Bruce’s files, STAR Labs contacts, and some off-world leads from the Lanterns. We start small—monitor the fluctuations, build a model of the energy patterns, figure out how to amplify them. But honestly, one of the best things we can hope for is, if it is Wally, and if he is fighting, and apparently getting faster, fast enough to cause that kind of rift in the first place, then maybe he’ll come back even sooner. I know it sounds awful. We hope for another rift, another potential world ending event that only two people in the world are capable of containing, but yeah, that might be the quickest way for him to get back.”

I pace, my boots scuffing the hardwood, my heart racing with a mix of fear and determination. “And if another rift forms on its own or if we create one ourselves? What then? We pull him out, and he’s… what? The same Wally? Or something else?” My voice shakes, the nightmare of Wally’s pain flashing through my mind—his screams, his scorched hands reaching for me. “What if he’s been in there for years, Dick? What if he’s broken, what if he’s not the same person that went in?”

Dick stands, crossing to me, his hands on my shoulders, grounding me. “We don’t know, Artemis,” he says, his voice steady but raw. “But if he’s fighting to get back to you, he’s still Wally. And we’ll bring him home, whatever it takes. You’re not doing this alone.”

I meet his eyes, seeing the brother I’ve leaned on through too many losses, and nod, my resolve hardening. “Okay,” I say, my voice low, fierce. “I’m in. But no secrets, no lies. I can’t handle another betrayal.” My thoughts flicker to Zatanna and M’gann, their deception a scar I still carry.

“No lies,” Barbara promises, her voice firm. “We’re family, Artemis. We do this together, or not at all.”

I exhale, the weight in my chest shifting, not lighter but shared. I’ve distanced myself from Jason, left his apartment with a half-truth about needing time, because I can’t love him while Wally’s out there, a possibility I can’t ignore. The League may have benched me, but I’m not done fighting—not for Wally, not for the truth. The Speed Force is a mystery, a realm beyond our grasp, but Dick’s theories, sparked by a cryptic file in the Batcave, are a spark in the dark. I’m terrified, hopeful, broken, but I’m Artemis Crock, and I keep fighting even when I’m broken and down, especially for Wally. If he’s alive, I’ll tear reality apart to bring him home.

Chapter 7: Amends

Notes:

Long chapter alert! Hope you like this one. Remember, comments, kudos, shares, etc all mean so much to me! As much as I love writing this story, it is so much better when I know others love to read it. Thanks!

STAR Labs, November 16^th, 2020

The STAR Labs facility in Central City hums with a quiet energy, its sleek corridors lined with glass panels and blinking monitors, the air crisp with the faint buzz of high-tech machinery and the scent of antiseptic. I’m here with Dick and Barbara, my leather jacket swapped for a nondescript hoodie to blend in, my crossbow left behind—though my fingers itch for its familiar weight. I may not be conducting missions or participating in them, but I’m not sitting idle anymore. I’ve decided to start making amends, to claw back some piece of the woman I was before Wally’s absence fractured me. Helping Dick and Barbara with their Speed Force recon is a start, a way to fight for Wally without drowning in the guilt of my past inaction. Today, we’re combing through STAR Labs’ archives for energy signature data, hoping to map the fluctuations Dick’s been tracking since the Central City rift. It’s meticulous work, but it feels like purpose, a step toward redemption.

Dick’s at a terminal, his fingers flying across the keyboard, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he mutters about encryption protocols. Barbara’s beside him, her wheelchair positioned at a custom console, her glasses reflecting the glow of her screen as she cross-references data. I’m at a nearby workstation, scrolling through decades-old experiment logs, my eyes scanning for anything that matches the temporal energy spikes from Bruce’s Batcave file. The room is bathed in soft blue light, the monitors casting long shadows across the polished floor, and the hum of servers is a steady backdrop to our quiet banter.

“Artemis, you find anything yet?” Dick calls, not looking up, his voice laced with that familiar Nightwing focus—sharp but warm.

I lean back in my chair, stretching my arms, the hoodie’s sleeves sliding up to reveal the faint scars on my wrists from years of combat. “Nothing solid,” I say, my voice steadier than it’s been in weeks. “Just a bunch of failed particle accelerator tests from the ‘90s. Unless you think Wally’s stuck in a pre-Y2K glitch.”

Barbara snorts, her lips quirking into a smile. “That’d be just his luck,” she says, glancing over. “Trapped in a dimension with dial-up internet. He’d lose it.”

I manage a small laugh, the sound foreign but welcome, a crack of light in the fog that’s shrouded me since Wally vanished. “He’d probably try to speed-hack it,” I say, my tone softening. “Then crash the whole system and blame anyone he could, specifically Bart if he were there.”

Dick grins, finally looking up. “Sounds about right. But seriously, ‘Mis, keep an eye out for anything labeled ‘quantum resonance’ or ‘chrono-anomaly.’ That’s the stuff Bruce’s file hinted at.”

“Got it,” I nod, turning back to my screen, my fingers brushing the trackpad as I dive back into the logs. The work is tedious, but it’s grounding, a way to channel the restless energy that’s been building since I distanced myself from Jason. Leaving his apartment was a knife to my heart, his quiet acceptance cutting deeper than any argument could, but I couldn’t keep pretending I could love him while Wally’s voice echoes in my mind, a beacon I can’t ignore. Helping Dick and Barbara feels like a vow—to Wally, to myself—to do better, to be the woman who fights for what matters.

“Artemis, you okay over there?” Barbara’s voice pulls me back, her tone gentle but probing. She’s watching me, her green eyes sharp behind her glasses, catching the flicker of emotion I thought I’d hidden.

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a half-smile. “Just… thinking. I’m heading to the suburbs after this. Gonna visit Mary and Rudy.”

Dick’s eyebrows shoot up, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. “Wally’s parents? That’s… big, ‘Mis. You sure you’re ready?”

I shrug, my gaze dropping to my hands, the hoodie’s cuffs fraying at the edges. “Not really,” I admit, my voice low. “But I owe them. I’ve been avoiding them for years, too caught up in my own mess to face them. It’s time I showed up.”

Barbara reaches over, her hand squeezing mine briefly, her touch warm and steady. “That’s brave,” she says, her voice firm. “They’ll be glad to see you, Artemis. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, grateful for her words but not trusting my voice to respond. The idea of seeing Mary and Rudy terrifies me—their home, their faces, so full of Wally’s echoes—but it’s a step I need to take, a way to make amends for the distance I’ve kept, even if I can’t tell them about the hope burning in me. I won’t risk breaking them with false promises, not when I’m still piecing together the truth about the Speed Force.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Central City’s suburbs are a stark contrast to downtown's neon pulse, their tree-lined streets quiet under a late afternoon sun, the air rich with the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming lilacs. The Wests’ house is a modest two-story, its yellow paint faded but warm, the front porch cluttered with potted plants and a worn swing that creaks in the breeze. My heart pounds as I approach, my sneakers scuffing the cracked sidewalk, a paper bag of pastries from their favorite bakery crinkling in my hand—a peace offering, a distraction. I haven’t been here since the memorial, couldn’t bear the weight of their grief alongside my own. But today, I’m here, not as Tigress, not as the broken Artemis, but as the woman who loved their son, determined to be better.

I knock, the sound sharp against the hum of cicadas, and the door opens to reveal Mary West, her auburn hair streaked with gray, her green eyes—so like Wally’s—widening with surprise. “Artemis?” she says, her voice soft, warm, a mix of shock and joy. “Oh, honey, it’s been so long.”

“Hey, Mary,” I say, my voice catching, a smile tugging at my lips despite the ache in my chest. “I, uh, brought pastries. Figured you and Rudy might like some.”

She laughs, a bright sound that eases the knot in my gut, and pulls me into a hug, her arms strong despite her slight frame. “You didn’t have to bring anything, sweetheart,” she says, stepping back to look at me, her eyes searching. “Come in, come in. Rudy’s in the living room, probably napping through his game show reruns.”

I follow her inside, the house a time capsule of warmth and memory—the worn plaid couch, the shelves crammed with family photos, the faint smell of lemon polish and homemade bread. Rudy’s in his armchair, his glasses perched on his nose, snoring softly as a TV blares a trivia question about ‘80s pop stars. Mary nudges him awake, her smile fond. “Rudy, we’ve got company. Artemis is here.”

Rudy blinks, his face lighting up as he pushes himself up, his gray hair tousled. “Artemis Crock? Well, I’ll be,” he says, his voice gruff but warm. “Didn’t expect to see you, kid. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” I say, setting the pastries on the coffee table, my fingers lingering on the bag. “Just… wanted to see you both. It’s been too long.” The words feel inadequate, but they’re true, a small truth to anchor me.

Mary gestures to the couch, her smile unwavering. “Sit, sit. I’ll get some tea. You still take it with honey?”

“Yeah,” I nod, a flicker of warmth at her memory, and settle on the couch, my hands clasped to keep them from shaking. Rudy leans forward, his eyes kind but curious, and I brace myself for questions I can’t fully answer.

“So, how you holding up, kid?” he asks, his voice gentle. “We know things haven’t been easy, with… everything.”

I swallow, my gaze drifting to a photo on the mantle—Wally at his high school graduation, his grin wide, his freckles stark against his flushed cheeks. “I’m… trying,” I say, my voice low. “Taking it day by day. I’ve been helping some friends with a project, keeping busy.”

Mary returns with a tray of tea, her movements graceful, and sets it on the table, handing me a steaming mug. “That’s good to hear,” she says, sitting beside me, her hand resting lightly on my knee. “We worry about you, Artemis. You’re family, you know that.”

The word family hits like a soft blow, and I grip the mug tighter, its warmth seeping into my palms. “I know,” I say, my voice thick. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I just… it’s been hard, being here, without him.”

Rudy nods, his expression softening. “It’s hard for us, too,” he says, his voice rough. “But seeing you, it’s like a piece of Wally’s still here. You two were something special.”

I smile, a small, genuine thing, the ache in my chest easing just a fraction. “He was the special one,” I say, my voice soft. “I was just lucky to keep up.”

Mary laughs, her eyes glistening. “Oh, don’t sell yourself short, honey. You kept him on his toes, and he loved every second of it.”

We talk for hours, the conversation weaving through memories—Wally’s terrible cooking attempts, his obsession with cheesy sci-fi movies, the time he tried to “surprise” me with a picnic and set the blanket on fire. I laugh more than I have in years, the sound mingling with theirs, a fragile harmony that feels like healing. I don’t tell them about the Speed Force, about Dick’s theories or the rift, about the hope that Wally might be alive. I can’t risk breaking them with a possibility that might shatter, not when I’m still grappling with it myself. But being here, sharing stories, feels like an amends, a way to honor Wally and the family he gave me.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the living room in a golden glow, I stand to leave, the pastry bag empty, the tea mugs drained. Mary hugs me again, her embrace fierce, and Rudy claps me on the shoulder, his grip steady. “Don’t be a stranger, Artemis,” he says, his voice gruff but kind. “Door’s always open.”

“I won’t,” I promise, my voice steady, meaning it. I step onto the porch, the evening air cool against my face, the cicadas’ song a soft farewell. My heart is lighter, not whole but mending, and I carry their warmth with me as I head back to Central City to see if Babs and Dick found anything. Helping Dick and Barbara, visiting Mary and Rudy—it’s not enough to erase my failures, but it’s a start, a redemption I’m building one step at a time. Wally’s out there, I believe it now, and I’ll fight for him, for them, for the woman I still want to be.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The drive from the suburbs of Central City to STAR Labs is a blur, the highway’s sodium lights streaking past like comets against the twilight sky, the hum of my motorcycle’s engine a steady pulse beneath me. The warmth of Mary and Rudy West’s home lingers, their laughter and stories about Wally a fragile glow in my chest, but my mind is already racing ahead to STAR Labs. Visiting Wally’s parents was a step toward amends, a way to honor the man I love without breaking them with the hope I carry—that Wally might be alive, trapped in the Speed Force, a term we’ve been using for weeks but still barely understand. Now, I’m Artemis Crock, not Tigress, not the broken woman who failed in Central City, but someone with purpose, heading back to Dick and Barbara to see if they’ve unearthed anything new in their recon. The air is cool, tinged with the sharp scent of asphalt and distant rain, and my hoodie clings to my skin as I weave through traffic, my heart pounding with anticipation. Tonight, at Mary and Rudy’s, I felt nearer to him in a way that I haven’t felt since he vanished. It was a peaceful closeness, not the grief of the nightmare, or the fear of hearing his voice in Central City. But I can’t stop wishing it was more, maybe the rest of tonight might bring us closer to actually finding him.

STAR Labs looms ahead, its glass façade reflecting the city’s neon pulse, a beacon of science and secrets. I park my bike in the shadowed lot, my boots crunching on gravel as I head inside, the security badge Dick forged for me buzzing me through the doors. The lobby is quiet, its polished marble floor gleaming under soft lights, the air cool and sterile, carrying the faint hum of machinery deep within the complex. I take the elevator to the sublevel archives, my reflection in the mirrored walls showing a woman with determined eyes but faint lines of exhaustion. The ding of the elevator snaps me back, and I step into the research lab, a cavernous space cluttered with monitors, server racks, and scattered coffee cups, the air thick with the ozone tang of overworked tech.

Dick’s at his terminal, his dark hair mussed, his Nightwing focus etched into his furrowed brow as he types furiously. Barbara’s beside him, her wheelchair angled at her custom console, her fingers dancing across a touchscreen, her red hair catching the blue glow of her screen. The room feels alive, charged with their shared intensity, and I feel a flicker of hope, a spark that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

“Yo, ‘Mis, you’re back!” Dick calls, glancing up with a grin, though his eyes are tired, rimmed with the strain of hours at the screen. “How’d it go with Mary and Rudy?”

“Good,” I say, pulling off my hoodie and tossing it over a chair, my voice steadier than I feel. “Better than I expected. They’re… they’re family. I needed that.” I lean against a desk, crossing my arms, my gaze flicking to their screens. “What about you two? Find anything?”

Barbara smirks, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Oh, we found something, alright,” she says, her voice laced with excitement. “Dick hit the jackpot while you were gone. Show her, Boy Wonder.”

Dick spins his laptop toward me, his grin widening. “Check this out,” he says, pulling up a file labeled Project_Tachyon_73. “Buried in STAR Labs’ archives, from some rogue physicist in the ‘70s. It’s obscure, barely digitized, but it’s gold. They were trying to tap into what they called a ‘universal force’—no name, just cryptic notes about a pocket dimension that exists everywhere, all at once, outside space and time.”

I lean closer, my heart racing as I scan the grainy scanned pages, the text dense with equations and hand-drawn diagrams of energy flows. “They’re talking about the Speed Force,” I say, my voice low, a mix of skepticism and hope, recognizing the description from our earlier theories.

“Exactly,” Dick says, zooming in on a paragraph. “They didn’t call it that, but it’s our Speed Force. They couldn’t harness it, but they measured its energy output, and it’s almost identical to a speedster’s kinetic signature—like Barry, Bart, or… Wally. The researchers thought speedsters might be tapping into this force unconsciously, channeling it to move the way they do. They called it a ‘dimension of infinite convergence,’ where energy flows in loops, eternal and omnipresent.”

Barbara chimes in, her voice sharp with focus. “The file says attempts to access it caused micro-rifts, little tears in reality that leaked energy matching speedster profiles. Sound familiar?”

My breath catches, my hands gripping the desk as the pieces click. “The Arctic vortex,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Central City’s rift. They had the same energy, like a speedster’s.”

“Exactly,” Dick says, his eyes intense. “I’m thinking those weren’t random. They were phantom rifts, breaches into the Speed Force. And if speedsters are using its energy, like the file suggests, then Wally, running in the Arctic, could’ve been pulled into it when the vortex opened. His energy was indistinguishable from the rift’s, but he wasn’t fast enough to outrun the speed trails from Barry and Bart, so it sucked him back in, like a magnet, just like it did the kinetic energy Barry and Bart were giving off, which is what stabilized it.”

I straighten, my mind reeling, the nightmare of Wally’s screams flashing through me—his voice calling my name, raw and desperate. “So you’re saying the Speed Force is definitely where he is?” I ask, my voice trembling. “And he’s stuck there because he’s a speedster?”

Barbara nods, her expression serious but hopeful. “It’s a theory, but it fits. The Central City rift—Dick’s right, it wasn’t random. You heard Wally, Artemis. If he’s running in there, pushing against that dimension, he could be causing those rifts, trying to break through.”

I pace, my boots scuffing the lab’s tiled floor, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and exhilaration. “Okay, but how does this help us?” I ask, my voice firm, needing to anchor this hope in action. “If the Speed Force is this… infinite dimension, how do we reach him?”

Dick leans back, his fingers drumming on the desk. “That’s where it gets tricky,” he says. “The file doesn’t give us a roadmap, but it confirms the Speed Force’s energy is tied to speedsters. The vortex in the Arctic, the rift in Central City—they’re like doors, but unstable ones. If Wally’s energy caused the rifts in Central City, like we think, it’s because he’s running at a frequency that’s tearing through the Speed Force’s barriers.”

Barbara taps her tablet, pulling up a graph of the Central City rift’s energy spikes. “Look at this,” she says, pointing to a jagged peak. “The rift’s energy was chaotic, but it stabilized when Barry and Bart ran. Their speed matched the rift’s output, like they were syncing with it. The researchers noted the same thing—micro-rifts closed when they countered the energy with a similar frequency. It’s why we think Wally’s energy, being Speed Force energy, could’ve triggered the rift in the first place.”

I stop pacing, my hands clenching into fists, hope surging like a tide. “So he’s alive,” I say, my voice fierce, daring them to contradict me. “He’s in the Speed Force, running, trying to get home.”

Dick meets my gaze, his expression a mix of hope and caution. “We can’t be sure, ‘Mis,” he says, his voice gentle. “But the data’s pointing that way. And I’m not giving up until we know for sure.”

“Neither am I,” I say, my resolve hardening, Artemis and Tigress aligning in a single purpose. “What’s next? How do we find him?”

Barbara leans forward, her voice brisk. “We need more data—more rift signatures, more speedster energy profiles. I’m working on a model to predict where the next rift might form, because if this is Wally, then we know he won’t stop, which can only mean that another rift will form, but as of right now, the only thing I can theorize is that we’d either need Barry or Bart to generate their own rift, or we’ll have to wait for Wally to do it again.”

I exhale, the lab’s hum a steady backdrop to the fire in my chest. “Okay,” I say, my voice low, determined. “Keep me in the loop. I’m not benched anymore, not for this.” The League’s leave can’t stop me, not when Wally’s out there, running for me. I’ve made amends with Mary and Rudy, started rebuilding the woman I want to be, and now, with Dick and Barbara, I’m unraveling the Speed Force’s secrets. It’s our map, and I’ll follow it, no matter how far, to bring Wally home.

Chapter 8: Lightning in the Heart

Notes:

Not too much to say about this one. I just wanted to explore some more of the relationships that Artemis would have with Wally's family. I hope you enjoy!

Central City, November 17^th, 2020

The Central City suburbs are a patchwork of quiet lawns and pastel houses, their uniformity broken by the vibrant chaos of late summer flowers spilling over fences. The Allen residence is unassuming, a two-story colonial with a red door and a tricycle tipped over on the driveway, its plastic wheels catching the golden light of the setting sun. I park my motorcycle a block away, my heart thudding as I pull off my helmet, the evening air cool against my flushed skin, carrying the scent of grilling burgers and freshly mowed grass. Honestly, coming here, to Barry’s home, feels like stepping onto hallowed ground. Barry was Wally’s uncle, his mentor, his hero—if anyone understands the ache to bring him back, it’s him. Despite his League status, Barry’s always put family first, and I’m banking on that love to get answers about the Speed Force, answers that might lead me to Wally. My hoodie’s sleeves are tugged over my knuckles, a nervous habit, as I approach the door, my boots scuffing the concrete. I’m Artemis Crock, not Tigress tonight, just a woman chasing hope, and I’m terrified of what I might find.

I knock, the sound sharp against the hum of cicadas, and the door swings open to reveal Barry Allen, his blond hair slightly mussed, his blue eyes widening with surprise. He’s in a faded Flash T-shirt and jeans, a dish towel slung over his shoulder, looking every bit the suburban dad and nothing like the fastest man alive. “Artemis?” he says, his voice warm but tinged with confusion. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Everything okay?”

“Hey, Barry,” I say, managing a small smile, my hands shoved into my pockets to hide their trembling. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Just wanted to talk. Is now a bad time?”

He blinks, then steps back, his smile broadening. “Never a bad time for you, kid. Come on in. Iris is wrangling the twins, but we’ve got coffee on.” He gestures inside, and I follow, the house enveloping me in a wave of warmth—the scent of roasted coffee, the faint tang of tomato sauce, the sound of childish giggles echoing from the kitchen.

The living room is a cozy chaos of toys and books, a plush rug strewn with plastic blocks, a TV paused on a cartoon with bright, frozen characters. Iris West-Allen appears from the kitchen, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, her smile as radiant as I remember. “Artemis!” she exclaims, wiping her hands on an apron. “What a surprise. You staying for dinner?”

“I don’t want to impose,” I say, my voice softer than I intend, but Iris waves me off, her eyes kind.

“Nonsense,” she says, crossing to hug me, her embrace brief but fierce. “You’re family. Sit, I’ll grab you a drink. Coffee? Water?”

“Coffee’s good,” I nod, settling on the couch, my gaze catching on a photo frame above the fireplace—Wally and Barry at a family barbecue, Wally’s grin wide, his arm slung around his uncle’s shoulders. My chest tightens, but I push it down as two small figures barrel into the room, a blur of curls and laughter.

“Mommy, Wally took my truck!” a girl with Iris’s eyes wails, clutching a stuffed bear. Her brother, a boy with Barry’s blond hair and a mischievous grin, holds a toy truck triumphantly.

“Wallace Allen, give Dawn her truck back,” Barry says, his voice mock-stern, scooping the boy up. Wallace—named for Wally, a homage that stings—giggles, relinquishing the toy. The twins, barely three, are a whirlwind, and I can’t help but smile, the ache in my heart softening at their chaos.

Iris returns with a tray of coffee mugs, setting them on the table as she corrals the twins onto the rug with a coloring book. “So, Artemis,” she says, sitting across from me, her gaze curious but gentle. “What brings you by? Not that we’re not thrilled to see you.”

I take a mug, its warmth grounding me, and glance at Barry, who’s settled beside Iris, his dish towel now folded on his lap. “I’ve been… thinking a lot about speedsters,” I say, my voice careful, testing the waters. “About how your powers work, Barry. I was hoping you could tell me more. Like, how you got them, what it feels like when you run.”

Barry’s eyebrows lift, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he leans back, his expression thoughtful. “That’s a new one,” he says, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Most people just want to know how fast I can go. Why the sudden interest?”

I shrug, sipping my coffee to buy time, its bitterness sharp on my tongue. “Just curious,” I say, keeping my tone light. “You’re the Flash, right? Figured you’re the expert on all things speed.”

He chuckles, but his eyes are sharp, searching, and I know he’s not buying my casual act. “Fair enough,” he says, leaning forward, his hands clasped. “I got my powers from a lightning strike, back in my CSI days. Chemical bath, coma, the whole origin story. As for what it feels like… it’s like there’s this lightning running through me, this energy I can tap into whenever I need to go fast. It’s always there, buzzing under my skin, but I only really feel it when I let go, when I run.”

I nod, my pulse quickening, the word “lightning” echoing in my head. “So, when you’re not running, you’re just… normal?” I ask, leaning forward. “Like, is everything in slow motion all the time, or do you choose when to speed up?”

Barry laughs, a warm sound that fills the room. “Nah, it’s not slow motion 24/7, thank God. That’d drive me nuts. I can operate at normal speed, think like anyone else. But when I want to go fast, it’s like flipping a switch—the world slows, and I’m in this… flow, where everything’s crystal clear. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I’m part of something bigger, something electric.”

“Something bigger,” I repeat, my voice low, my mind racing to the STAR Labs file, the “universal force” that powers speedsters, the Speed Force. “What about when you run? Do you ever feel… I don’t know, connected to something else? Like a place, or a force?”

Barry’s smile fades slightly, his eyes narrowing, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “Sometimes,” he says, his voice quieter, more guarded. “It’s rare, but there’s this… hum, like I’m brushing against something vast. I always figured it was just the rush, you know? Adrenaline playing tricks.”

Iris glances at him, her hand resting on his arm, a silent question in her eyes, but she turns to me, her tone gentle. “Artemis, what’s this really about? You’ve got that look—like you’re chasing something.”

I swallow, my fingers tightening around the mug, the heat almost burning. “I’m just… trying to understand,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “After Central City, the rift… I’ve been thinking about Wally a lot. About how he ran, how you run. I need to know more.”

Barry’s expression softens, but there’s a flicker of suspicion, a League hero’s instinct kicking in. “I heard what you said when you were standing there talking to Connor and Dick,” he says, his voice low, careful. “About hearing Wally through the rift. I know you’re hurting, Artemis, and I’m worried about you, especially after the League’s decision. How are you holding up with all that?”

I force a smile, grateful for his concern but deflecting. “I’m okay, Barry. Really. The leave sucks, but I’m keeping busy, helping Dick with some things. I just… I need to understand your powers, for me. For closure.”

He nods, but his eyes don’t leave mine, and I know he’s not fully convinced. “Alright,” he says, leaning back. “But you know you can talk to me, right? About anything. I miss Wally, too. Every damn day.” His voice cracks, and he pauses, glancing at the twins, who are now scribbling furiously. “Sometimes, when I run, it’s like… I feel him, you know? Like he’s right beside me, keeping pace. I tell myself it’s grief, my head playing tricks, but it feels so real.”

My ears ring, my breath catching as his words sink in, aligning with Dick’s theories, the STAR Labs file, the Speed Force as a dimension speedsters tap into. “You feel him?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper, leaning forward, my coffee forgotten. “Like, actually feel him, when you’re running?”

Barry nods, his expression raw, vulnerable. “Yeah. It’s rare, but it’s like a shadow, a presence. I never told anyone, not even Iris, because it sounds crazy. But it’s like he’s there, just out of reach.”

Iris squeezes his hand, her eyes glistening, and I feel a pang of guilt for stirring this pain, but my mind is racing. Barry’s running in the Speed Force, using its energy, and if he feels Wally, it’s not grief—it’s real, Wally’s presence in the dimension that powers them. I want to tell him everything, about the Speed Force, the rifts, Dick’s research, but I hold back, not ready to risk false hope, not ready to tell him where my mind is heading, not with the twins giggling nearby, unaware of the weight of their cousin’s loss.

“Barry, that’s… that means something,” I say, my voice trembling, unable to hide my urgency. “It’s not crazy. It’s—”

“Artemis,” Iris cuts in, her voice gentle but firm. “Maybe we should take a break. You look like you need some air. Stay for dinner, let’s talk about something lighter.”

I nod, forcing a smile, my heart pounding. “Yeah, okay,” I say, but my mind’s already racing, needing to call Dick, to tell him Barry’s feeling Wally in the Speed Force. I stay for dinner, laughing at the twins’ antics, trading stories with Iris and Barry, but the revelation burns in me leaving me restless, a spark of hope that Wally’s closer than we thought.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Allen house glows warmly against the Central City night, its windows spilling golden light onto the lawn as I step outside, the door clicking shut behind me. The air is cooler now, thick with the scent of damp grass and distant charcoal from a neighbor’s barbecue, the cicadas’ song a soft hum under the streetlights’ buzz. Dinner with Barry, Iris, and the twins was a balm—Wallace’s ketchup-smeared grin, Dawn’s insistence on sharing her cookie, Iris’s warm laughter—but Barry’s words burn in my chest, a fire I can’t contain. He feels Wally when he runs, a presence in the Speed Force, and it’s not grief, not a trick of the mind, but proof, aligning with Dick’s research, the STAR Labs file, the phantom rifts. I need to tell Dick, need to make sense of this, but my hands tremble as I pull my phone from my hoodie pocket, my breath shallow in the quiet street. Four years and five months since Wally vanished, and tonight, I’m almost certain he’s out there, more than I’ve ever been, believing that he’s fighting to come home.

I walk to my motorcycle, parked under a drooping oak, its leaves rustling in the breeze, and lean against it, the cold metal grounding me as I dial Dick’s number. The line rings, each tone stretching my nerves taut, and I glance back at the house, half-expecting Barry to follow, his suspicion sharp during our talk. He’s the Flash, a League hero, and he heard me confess in Central City about Wally’s voice in the rift—he knows I’m chasing something, but I couldn’t tell him, not yet, not with Iris and the twins so close, their lives fragile enough from Wally’s “death” without false hope.

“‘Mis, that you?” Dick’s voice crackles through, warm but tired, the faint hum of STAR Labs’ servers in the background. Dick has been there nearly every night since he found the Tachyon file. “It’s late. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice low, urgent, my free hand gripping the bike’s handlebar. “I just left Barry’s place. Dick, you’re not gonna believe this. He feels Wally when he runs.”

A pause, then a rustle, like Dick’s sitting up straighter. “Wait, back up,” he says, his tone sharpening. “Barry Allen? Feels Wally? Explain that one.”

I take a deep breath, controlling my emotions. I glance around, the street is empty but for a stray cat slinking past. “He said when he runs, sometimes it’s like Wally’s beside him, keeping pace. A presence, he called it. He has chalked it down to grief, but Dick, it’s the Speed Force. Barry’s tapping into it when he runs, just like the STAR Labs file said—speedsters channeling that universal force. If he’s feeling Wally, it means Wally’s there, in the Speed Force, alive.”

“Holy—okay, slow down,” Dick says, his voice a mix of excitement and caution. “That’s huge, ‘Mis. Did he say how often? Or what it feels like?”

“He said it was rare, but real,” I say, pacing now, my boots scuffing the sidewalk, my heart racing. “Like a shadow, just out of reach. It lines up with everything—the Arctic vortex, the Central City rift, the energy signatures. The file said speedsters’ energy is indistinguishable from the Speed Force’s, right? So when Barry runs, he’s brushing against that dimension, and Wally’s in there, running too, causing rifts, trying to break through. I know it.”

Dick whistles, low and sharp. “That’s… damn, that’s a game-changer,” he says, and I hear the clack of a keyboard, like he’s already pulling up files. “If Barry’s sensing Wally, it’s not just a signal—it’s a connection. We need to get him in on this, test his runs, see if we can amplify that feeling.”

I shake my head, though he can’t see it, my hand running through my hair. “Not yet,” I say, my voice firm. “Barry’s suspicious. He asked why I was digging into his powers, brought up Central City. He’s worried about me, thinks I’m spiraling after the League’s leave. I didn’t tell him about our research, not with Iris and the twins there. It’s Rudy and Mary all over again. I can’t break them with this, not until we’re sure we know how to get him back.”

“Fair point,” Dick says, his tone softening. “Okay, we keep it tight for now. I’ll tell Babs, and we’ll cross-reference Barry’s experience with the Tachyon file. Maybe there’s something about speedster-to-speedster connections in the Speed Force. You coming back to STAR Labs?”

“Soon,” I say, glancing at my bike, the chrome glinting under the streetlight. “I need to clear my head first. Barry’s words… they’re real, Dick. Wally’s out there, I know it.”

“I believe you, ‘Mis,” Dick says, his voice steady, a brother’s promise. “We’re close. Hang in there, alright?”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice thick, and end the call, the phone heavy in my hand. I lean against the bike, the night air cool on my face, the stars faint above the city’s glow. Barry’s revelation is a spark, a piece of the puzzle that makes the Speed Force feel tangible, Wally’s presence no longer a dream but a truth I can almost touch. I’m Artemis Crock, and I’ve been running from hope too long. Now, I’m chasing it, for Wally, for the lightning that might bring him home.

Chapter 9: Dreams of Lightning

Notes:

Suspenseful chapter, isn't it? What's gonna happen next?

Central City, November 18^th, 2020

The Allen house is silent in the early hours past midnight, its warmth cocooned against the cool night outside Central City. The living room clock ticks softly, a steady rhythm beneath the faint hum of the refrigerator, the air still carrying the lingering scent of tomato sauce from dinner and the sweet trace of cookies shared with Artemis and the twins. Barry Allen lies in bed, his arm draped over Iris’s waist, her breathing slow and even beside him. The bedroom is bathed in the soft glow of a streetlight filtering through the blinds, casting slatted shadows across the quilt. It’s been hours since Artemis left, her questions about his speedster powers—how he runs, what he feels—still swirling in Barry’s mind, stirring memories of Wally he’d tried to bury. Years have passed since Wally’s demise. Every second was painful, but tonight, the weight of Artemis’s presence, her grief for Wally a tangible shroud in the air, her probing curiosity, and his own confession about feeling Wally while running have left Barry restless, teetering on the edge of sleep.

He finally manages to fall asleep, but in no time at all he has slipped into a dream, sudden and vivid, like plunging into a storm. The world is a kaleidoscope of light and sound, a boundless expanse of electric currents crackling like wildfire, their arcs weaving a tapestry of gold and white that pulses with an otherworldly hum. Barry’s running, his legs a blur, the familiar lightning of his speed coursing through him, but this isn’t the Central City streets or the open plains—it’s something else, a realm where gravity bends and time frays at the edges. Ahead, a figure blazes through the chaos, a streak of red and gold, his form flickering like a flame in a gale. It’s Wally, his silhouette unmistakable, his Kid Flash suit tattered, his freckled face contorted in pain. Barry’s heart lurches, his voice raw as he calls out, “Wally! Slow down!” but the sound is swallowed by the roar of the storm, a cacophony of thunder and screeching energy.

Wally’s running, faster than Barry’s ever seen, his body a comet of light, trailing sparks that burn like embers. Barry pushes himself, his muscles screaming, his chest tight as he fights to keep pace, but Wally’s just out of reach, a phantom in the torrent. The younger speedster’s eyes are wide, haunted, his jaw clenched against a pain Barry can feel in his bones—an exhaustion that’s more than physical, a soul-deep weariness etched into every strained movement. Wally’s lips move, forming words Barry can’t hear, but the desperation in his gaze is a knife, cutting through the dream’s haze. “I’m trying,” Wally seems to say, his voice a faint echo, “I’m trying to get home.” Barry reaches out, his fingers brushing nothing but electric air, the gap between them widening as Wally surges forward, a blur of agony and resolve.

The dream shifts, the light searing, and Barry feels himself falling, his speed faltering as Wally’s form fades into the storm. The hum becomes a scream, a discordant wail that vibrates through his skull, and Barry’s yanked awake, his body drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a drum. He’s sitting upright in bed, the quilt tangled around his legs, his breath ragged in the quiet room. Iris is beside him, her hand on his shoulder, her dark eyes wide with concern in the dim light. “Barry, what’s wrong?” she asks, her voice soft but urgent, leaning over him, her hair brushing his arm. “You were thrashing, calling out.”

Barry runs a trembling hand through his damp hair, his chest heaving, the dream’s images still burning behind his eyes—Wally’s pain, his desperate run, the electric storm that felt too real. “I… I don’t know,” he says, his voice hoarse, shaking his head as he tries to ground himself in the familiar—Iris’s touch, the creak of the bed, the faint glow of the alarm clock reading 2:47 AM. “It was a dream. Wally was… he was running, Iris. Hurting, exhausted, like he was fighting to get somewhere. I was trying to keep up, but I couldn’t reach him.”

Iris’s expression softens, her hand moving to his cheek, her thumb brushing his skin. “Oh, honey,” she says, her voice thick with empathy. “It’s because of dinner, isn’t it? Artemis being here, asking about all those questions, talking about Wally. It stirred things up. Dreams do that, pull up the pain we try to keep down.”

Barry shakes his head, his eyes distant, fixed on the shadows across the room. “No, it wasn’t just that,” he says, his voice low, insistent. “It felt so real, Iris. Like I was there, wherever he was. He was in pain, running through this… storm of light, like lightning but bigger, alive. I could feel him, like when I run sometimes, but stronger.” He meets her gaze, his blue eyes raw, searching. “It was as real as you being next to me…What if it wasn’t just a dream? What if he’s out there, somewhere, trying to get back?”

Iris’s brow furrows, her hand tightening on his. “Barry, you’re not making sense,” she says gently, but there’s a flicker of worry in her eyes. “We all miss Wally. But you can’t let this eat at you. Wally died. Artemis was hurting, too, you saw it. Maybe her questions got in your head.”

He nods, but his mind’s racing, Artemis’s probing questions echoing alongside the dream—her curiosity about the “something bigger” he feels when running, her intensity when he mentioned feeling Wally’s presence. “Maybe,” he says, his voice unsteady, not wanting to worry Iris further. “But it just felt different this time. Different from any kind of dream I’ve ever had before. I need to figure this out.”

Iris pulls him close, her arms wrapping around him, her warmth a lifeline against the chill of the dream. “We’ll figure it out together,” she murmurs, her voice fierce with love. “But you need rest, Barry. You’re no good to anyone if you’re running on empty.”

He holds her, his face buried in her hair, the scent of her shampoo grounding him, but his heart’s still racing, Wally’s pained face seared into his mind. As Iris’s breathing steadies, Barry stares into the dark, the lightning of the dream still crackling in his veins. Just as he’s about to feel the soft lull of sleep claim him again, the emergency beacon on his nightstand flares.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Gotham night presses against my apartment windows, its inky darkness broken by the flicker of distant streetlights and the occasional sweep of headlights below. My bedroom is a cocoon of shadows, the air cool and still, scented with the faint musk of leather from my jacket draped over a chair and the lingering trace of chamomile tea from earlier. I’m tangled in my sheets, Brucely’s soft snores a steady rhythm at the foot of the bed, his warmth a small comfort against the restlessness that’s plagued me since visiting Barry home hours ago. His words—feeling Wally’s presence when he runs, like a shadow in the Speed Force—have woven into my thoughts, blending with Dick’s research, the STAR Labs file, and the hope that Wally’s alive, fighting to return.

The dream crashes over me, a maelstrom of light and sound, a realm where reality frays into electric chaos. I’m standing in a boundless expanse, the ground beneath my boots a shimmering plane of gold and white, crackling with arcs of energy that pulse like heartbeats. The air hums, thick with the scent of ozone and something primal, like a storm about to break. Ahead, a figure blazes through the tempest, a streak of red and gold, his form a comet trailing sparks that flare and fade. It’s Wally, his Kid Flash suit scorched and tattered, his freckled face etched with pain, his green eyes burning with a determination that steals my breath. He’s running, faster than I’ve ever seen, his body a blur of motion, each step a defiance against the forces tearing at him. “I’m coming,” he says, his voice raw, a mantra repeated with every labored breath. “I’m coming, Spitfire.”

My heart lurches, my voice tearing from my throat as I call out, “Wally! I’m here!” but the sound is swallowed by the roar of the storm, a cacophony of thunder and screeching currents. I reach for him, my hands grasping at electric air, but he doesn’t hear me, doesn’t see me, his focus locked on some distant point beyond the chaos. His face is a mask of agony, sweat and soot streaking his cheeks, but that determination—fierce, unyielding, awe-inspiring—radiates like a beacon, a promise that he’ll never stop. The Speed Force claws at him, its currents wrapping around his limbs like chains, but he pushes through, his every movement a testament to his love, his will to return. I scream his name again, my voice breaking, tears burning my eyes, but he’s too far, a fading star in the storm, and the dream begins to splinter, the light searing my vision.

I wake with a gasp, my chest heaving, my body slick with sweat, the sheets twisted around my legs like vines. The room is dark, the digital clock on my nightstand glowing 3:02 a.m., its red numbers stark against the shadows. Brucely whines, nudging my hand with his wet nose, his eyes glinting with concern, but I’m barely aware of him, my pulse thundering in my ears, Wally’s face—pained, determined, alive—seared into my mind. I sit up, my breath ragged, my hands trembling as I run them through my damp hair. Something’s blossoming in my chest, not just hope but a certainty, a tingling premonition that something massive is coming, and soon. The dream wasn’t just a memory or grief—it was a vision, a glimpse of Wally in the Speed Force, fighting for me, for home. I need to tell Dick, need to know if he’s found anything, if the Speed Force is stirring again.

I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, my fingers clumsy, the screen’s light harsh as I dial Dick’s number. The line rings, each tone stretching my nerves taut, and I swing my legs over the bed’s edge, my bare feet hitting the cold hardwood, grounding me as I wait. Brucely hops down, his tags jingling, and curls up beside me, a silent support. The dream’s urgency pulses through me, Wally’s “I’m coming” echoing like a vow, and I know this isn’t coincidence.

“‘Mis?” Dick’s voice crackles through, groggy but alert, the faint rustle of sheets suggesting I’ve woken him. “It’s three in the morning. What’s up?”

“Dick, I had a dream,” I say, my voice low, urgent, my free hand gripping the edge of the bed. “Wally was running in the Speed Force, in pain but so determined, saying ‘I’m coming.’ It felt real, like he’s close, like something huge is happening. Tell me you’ve got something, anything.”

A pause, then a sharp intake of breath as I hear a siren wail in the background, and I hear him moving, like he’s sitting up. “Holy shit, Artemis, our emergency beacon just flared,” he says, his voice shaking off sleep, now sharp. “Hold on. It looks like there’s a new rift forming, right now, in Gotham. It’s massive, bigger than Central City’s, spitting out temporal energy like crazy. This is all hands on deck—League, Team, everyone’s mobilizing to help evacuate the area.”

My heart skips, the dream’s certainty colliding with his words, a spark igniting in my chest. “Gotham?” I say, standing, my voice rising and rushing to my window to look out onto the very city this new rift is forming in. “Dick, this is it. Wally’s doing this, I know it. The dream, the rift—it’s him, pushing through the Speed Force.”

“Slow down, ‘Mis,” Dick says, but his tone’s charged, matching my urgency. “We don’t know. I’m heading to Gotham now. I’ll use a zeta-tube to get there. Get dressed, because suspended or not, if I know you then there’s no way you’d sit this one out, even if you’re not supposed to be there.”

“Damn right,” I say, already moving, yanking my leather jacket from the chair, my boots by the door calling to me. “Suspension or not, I’m not sitting this out. Not when it’s Wally. Where’s the rift?”

“Above the harbor, near the old Wayne Enterprises warehouse district,” Dick says, his voice clipped, efficient. “It’s unstable, growing fast. Looks like Barry’s already on his way, so’s Bart. Get to the harbor asap.”

“On it,” I say, ending the call, my phone tossed onto the bed as I pull on my jeans, my heart racing with a mix of fear and exhilaration. Brucely watches, his head tilted, but I’m already in motion. Wally’s running, hurting but fighting, and this rift—bigger, closer, in Gotham—is his doing, I feel it in my bones. Something big is happening, and I’m not letting it pass me by.

Chapter 10: The Rift of Return

Notes:

FINALLY!

Gotham, November 18^th, 2020

The city’s air crackles with a primal, electric wrongness, as if the universe itself is holding its breath, teetering on the edge of collapse. A new temporal storm rages above, a jagged gash in the midnight sky, pulsing with blinding light that claws at my eyes and sears my soul. I burst from my apartment, the door slamming behind me, Brucely’s startled bark fading as I race down the stairwell, my boots pounding the concrete, unwilling to waste a single second. The storm’s glow is visible the moment I hit the street, a miniature sun defying the late hour, its radiance fracturing the city’s eternal gloom. It’s a mirror of my heart—a beacon of hope amidst the darkness, a light that doesn’t crush me but ignites my lungs with air I haven’t breathed in four years, four months, and twenty-nine days. Since Wally vanished into the Speed Force, I’ve been drowning, but tonight, the dream of him running, his pained yet determined “I’m coming, Spitfire,” pulses through me like a lifeline. This storm is his, I know it, a cosmic echo of his will to return, and I’m racing toward it, toward him.

I leap down the stairwell, skipping steps, my hands grazing the rusted railing, the cold metal biting my palms. My motorcycle waits in the alley, its chrome glinting under the storm’s unnatural light, and I swing onto it, the engine roaring to life with a growl that matches the thunder above. My heart pounds so fiercely it aches, a drumbeat syncing with the storm’s rhythm, each pulse a vow to reach the harbor, to face whatever this rift holds. I peel out, the tires screeching, weaving through Gotham’s narrow alleys, their brick walls blurring past, the city’s late-night stragglers—drunks, dealers, lost souls—barely registering as I swerve to avoid them. Time is a thief, and I won’t let it steal this chance. The night air is sharp, laced with the acrid tang of ozone and burning metal, and each breath fans a flame in my chest, a passion so deep it scorches my veins. I’m no longer drowning but breaking the surface, gasping for the hope that Wally’s alive, that love—illogical, reckless, eternal—can defy the Speed Force itself.

The city is waking, stirred by the storm’s fury. Thunder roars, a deafening bellow that shakes windows and rattles my bones, the wind howling through the streets like a banshee, tearing at my jacket. Lightning splits the sky, its jagged bolts striking with apocalyptic precision, shattering rooftops, igniting sparks that dance in the chaos. One bolt grazes a billboard across the street, its metal frame screeching as it buckles, but I don’t flinch, my eyes locked on the horizon where the rift burns brightest. If lightning struck me now, I swear it would mend the fractured half of my heart, fusing it whole with the raw energy of Wally’s fight. It’s not rational, but love never is—it’s a force as wild and unstoppable as the storm above, and I’m its willing captive, racing toward the harbor where reality itself is unraveling.

I reach the harbor district, the air thick with the briny tang of the sea and the metallic sting of destruction, and my breath catches, stolen by the sheer scale of the chaos. The rift looms over the waterfront, a colossal wound in the sky, its edges fraying like torn fabric, spewing arcs of white-gold light that pulse like a heartbeat, each throb shaking the earth. Barry and Bart are twin blurs of red and gold below, their speed a sonic roar that vibrates through my boots, bending reality itself as they run circles around the rift’s base, their kinetic energy a desperate bid to contain it. Their velocity is inhuman, faster than I’ve ever seen, a testament to their limits pushed beyond reason, and yet the rift grows, its storm spreading like a ravenous beast, determined to consume Gotham. The League and Team are a frenetic symphony of action—Oliver and Dinah guide evacuees from a lightning-struck tenement, their faces grim as they shout directions; Kaldur summons torrents of seawater to douse a blazing rooftop, his trident glowing; Batman, a shadow of precision, directs efforts with Superman, his voice cutting through the comms like a surgical blade; Conner bursts through a collapsing warehouse, rubble exploding around him as he clears a path for a terrified mother clutching her infant. The chaos is overwhelming, a typhoon of destruction, but I see it for what it is: Wally’s determination made manifest, the storm’s ferocity a reflection of his unyielding will to break free from the Speed Force.

A crack of thunder splits the air, and a lightning bolt strikes a rooftop crane above me, its metal frame groaning like a wounded beast. Time slows, the world narrowing to the creaking steel as it buckles, its cables snapping with a whip-like crack, the crane toppling in a cascade of sparks and debris. Below, a child—no more than three—stands frozen, his tiny face streaked with tears, his cries lost in the storm’s roar. My body moves before my mind catches up, as if I’ve tapped into the Speed Force’s energy, my legs pumping, my heart a furnace of instinct. The chaos around me blurs, the falling crane’s path a deadly arc tearing through brick and glass, shards glittering like lethal stars. I reach the boy, my arms scooping him up, his small body trembling against my chest as I cradle him, throwing myself through the ground-floor window of a shuttered pawn shop. Glass shatters around us, biting my shoulders, but I land hard, my shoulder screaming, the boy safe in my arms. His sobs pierce the din, awakening a fierce protectiveness in me, a mirror of the love that drives me to Wally. “You’re okay,” I whisper, my voice raw, holding him close as I catch my breath, relief flooding me like a tide.

I stagger to my feet, the shop’s interior a dim maze of dusty shelves and broken trinkets, and carry the boy to the front door, the storm’s fury still raging outside. He points a trembling finger, screaming, “Mama!” and I see her—a young woman in a tattered coat, her face a mask of hysteria, fighting against a police line, her screams for her son cutting through the wind. I scan the street, ensuring no immediate threats—falling debris, stray lightning—before setting the boy down, his tiny legs wobbling as he runs to her. She collapses to her knees, scooping him up, her sobs of relief a raw, wrenching sound that echoes in my chest. For a moment, I’m not alone in my love’s torment, her desperate fear a mirror of my own, the hell of watching someone you’d die for slip away. I take a shaky breath, steeling myself, and turn back to the rift, its blinding light now a supernova against the roiling storm clouds, its scream a living thing, calling Wally’s name.

Barry and Bart are still running, their forms barely visible, their speed a cyclone of red and gold that shakes the harbor’s docks, splintering wood and buckling steel. They’re pushing beyond their limits, their combined energy a desperate counterforce to the rift’s chaos, but it’s not enough—the rift expands, its edges clawing wider, its light searing my retinas. Guilt twists in my gut, a traitor’s wish that they fail, that the rift stays open long enough for Wally to break through. I fumble for my comm, abandoned since my suspension, and jam it into my ear, the storm’s roar nearly drowning out the chatter. “Barry, Bart, you have to go faster!” Batman’s voice cuts through, tight with an urgency I’ve never heard, his composure fraying as the ground trembles, buildings groaning under the strain. I hear Barry, faint through the comms, obviously struggling with the task, already pushing himself to his max. “We’re…trying.” The rift flares, a blinding pulse that forces me to shield my eyes, my breath hitching in my throat.

Then I see it—a third light, not red, not gold, but a raw, incandescent white, streaking within the rift like a comet born of pure fury. It’s so fast it burns, a celestial fire that sears my vision, and I stumble back, my hands flailing for balance. Dick’s there, his grip steady on my arm, keeping me upright, his face a mirror of my own—awe, fear, hope warring in his eyes. “What the hell is that?” Bart’s voice crackles through the comms, high with panic, while Barry’s shouting, his words lost in the wind’s scream, the rift’s wail. The third light leaps from the rift, a meteor plummeting to earth with a ferocity that sends shockwaves rippling across the harbor, knocking Barry and Bart off their feet, their bodies tumbling through the air like leaves in a gale. The light accelerates, a seamless ring of radiance, intensifying the cyclone they’d formed, its winds and lightning now a torrential barrier no one can breach. The ground shatters, fissures spiderwebbing under the docks, and the rift begins to collapse, its edges folding inward like a dying star.

We’re all stunned, reduced to spectators in the face of this cosmic spectacle. The cyclone tightens, its roar deafening, the only light now from the storm’s lightning and the relentless circle of white fire below. In a moment that feels unmoored from reality, the circle slows, the cyclone’s ferocity waning, and the light begins to take shape—a figure, human, vibrating with a speed that hums in my bones, a resonance that sings of the Speed Force. My breath catches, my legs trembling as I stumble forward, Dick’s hand still on my arm, his grip tight with the same disbelief and hope I feel. The figure slows further, details emerging through the haze—tattered scraps of red and yellow clinging to a scorched body, smoke rising from skin that’s burned beyond endurance, a frame that’s lean, battered, but unmistakably familiar. He’s panting, staggering, barely standing as he stops running and begins to turn, and then his knees buckle, hitting the cracked pavement with a sound that echoes like a gunshot in my skull.

I’m moving before I know it, my legs carrying me across the shattered docks, my breath a ragged prayer. The Team’s voices flood the comms—M’gann’s psychic hum brushes my mind, Conner’s shout, Dinah’s call—but it’s all static, drowned by the pounding of my heart. I drop to my knees beside him, the ground rough and scorched from the heat and friction of his footsteps, my hands shaking as I reach out, terrified he’ll dissolve like the dream that woke me. His body trembles, vibrating so fast it blurs, his skin radiating heat, like he’s a furnace forged in the Speed Force’s heart. I tear away the remnants of his mask, my fingers clumsy, desperate, needing to see him, to know it’s real.

His head lifts, agonizingly slow, his face a map of pain—scorched, bloodied, his freckles stark against ashen skin. His eyes meet mine, green flecked with gold, bloodshot and haunted, but unmistakably his. Wally. My Wally. His lips part, cracked and bleeding, and he whispers, “Spitfire,” his voice a broken thread, raw with love and exhaustion. His eyes flutter, rolling back, and he collapses, his body going still, a fragile shell that’s carried him through hell.

My world shatters, a kaleidoscope of joy and terror. I cradle him, my arms shaking, his heat searing my skin, his heartbeat faint but there, a miracle against my chest. The storm above quiets, its thunder fading, the rift gone, leaving only the crackle of lightning and the stunned silence of the Team and League. Dick’s beside me, his hand on my shoulder, his breath hitching, and I hear Barry’s voice, raw and disbelieving, “Wally?” The world narrows to the man in my arms, the love I surrendered to years ago, returned from the Speed Force’s abyss. He’s here, broken but alive, and I’m not letting go, not ever again.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I n the Speed Force, moments ago, time was a myth, a shattered concept lost in the eternal torrent of light and chaos. The realm was no place, yet every place, a boundless maelstrom of golden-white currents that roared like a cosmic ocean, their arcs crackling with primal energy that burned hotter than stars. Wally West existed here, not as a man but as a spark, a fleeting pulse of will caught in the Force’s relentless grasp. His body—once flesh and bone, now a fraying tapestry of scorched muscle and raw nerve—screamed with every motion, each step a defiance against the dimension that sought to unravel him. Four years, four months, and twenty-nine days lost in this hell, though time meant nothing here, only the endless run, the ceaseless fight to hold onto himself, to remember her name: Artemis. Her face, fierce and broken, was his lodestar, etched into his soul, a beacon that kept him from dissolving into the Speed Force’s infinite hunger.

The Force was alive, a sentient storm that whispered and wailed, its voices a cacophony of past, present, and futures unformed. They taunted him, fragments of memories—his laughter with Dick, Barry’s proud grin, Artemis’s sharp smile—twisting into cruel echoes that clawed at his mind. The air, if it could be called that, was thick with ozone and a metallic tang, like blood and lightning fused, searing his lungs with every ragged breath. His Kid Flash suit, once a symbol of joy, hung in tatters, its red and yellow scraps fluttering like dying embers, his skin beneath a map of burns and bruises, glowing faintly with the Force’s stolen energy. Yet Wally ran, his legs a blur, his heart a furnace roaring her name, each beat a vow: I’m coming, Spitfire. The pain was a crucible, forging his determination into something unbreakable, a will that defied the Speed Force’s claim on his soul.

Moments ago, a tremor shook the endless light, a fissure splitting open like a wound in the fabric of the Force. The currents convulsed, their golden arcs fracturing into jagged shards that lashed at Wally’s form, threatening to tear him apart. He felt it—the surge of familiar energy, red and gold, twin comets piercing the veil from beyond. Barry and Bart, running faster than ever, their speed a sonic blade slicing through the Speed Force’s barriers, their kinetic force destabilizing the realm’s eternal grip. The fissure pulsed, a blinding maw of raw possibility, and Wally’s heart leapt, a spark of hope igniting amidst the agony. He saw her—Artemis, not a memory but a vision, her gray eyes fierce with love and loss, her leather jacket whipping in a storm’s wind, standing in a Gotham night torn by light. She was real, close, and the fissure was his chance, his only chance.

Wally ran, harder than he ever had, his body a screaming protest, each muscle fiber shredding under the strain, his bones vibrating with a frequency that threatened to shatter them. The Speed Force fought back, its currents coiling around him like serpents, their electric bite sinking into his flesh, dragging at his momentum. “You are ours,” the voices hissed, a chorus of timeless hunger, but Wally’s love was louder, a roar that drowned their claim. Artemis. Spitfire. Home. He poured everything into the run—every memory of her laughter, her touch, the way she’d call him “dumbass” with a smirk—channeling it into speed that burned brighter than the Force itself. His vision blurred, blood and sweat stinging his eyes, but the fissure grew, its light a beacon, her silhouette clearer with every desperate stride.

He threw himself into the crack, not caring if it killed him, his body a comet of raw will, trailing sparks that screamed against the Force’s resistance. The fissure’s edges tore at him, a gauntlet of razor-light that flayed his skin, his suit disintegrating into ash, his nerves alight with agony beyond comprehension. He saw her, closer now, her face a canvas of hope and fear, and he pushed, his voice breaking as he gasped, “I’m coming,” a mantra that held him together. The Speed Force clung to him, its energy surging through his veins, a molten tide that threatened to consume him even as he broke free. The world shifted, the light collapsing into darkness, gravity slamming into him like a fist, and he was out, free, crashing into a shattered Gotham harbor, the air cold and sharp, the ground unforgiving beneath his trembling form. He knew if he didn’t do something to close the rift though then he would be reclaimed by his jealous lover, so he ran as fast as he could, instinctively knowing what he needed to do. He ran until the rock under his feet threatened to become molten lave, he ran for his parents, he ran for his best friends, he ran for his family, and he ran for Artemis.

Finally, when he didn’t know if he had anything left, he felt the pull of the Speed Force subside, the rift closing as he began to slow down until he finally could stop. The Speed Force’s energy lingered, a wildfire in his blood, burning through every cell, his body vibrating so fast it blurred, smoke rising from his scorched skin. His lungs heaved, each breath a knife, his vision swimming as he staggered, barely standing, the world a kaleidoscope of pain and light. He turned, driven by a need deeper than survival, and saw her—Artemis, real, running towards him as he collapsed. He wasn’t sure if he was dead, but he knew he was being cradled and held by an angel. He cracked his eyes open and saw her, kneeling before him, her eyes wide with awe and terror, her hands reaching but hesitating, as if he might vanish. She was his anchor, his reason, the only thing keeping him tethered to this reality. “Spitfire,” he whispered, his voice a cracked thread, raw with love and exhaustion, his green eyes locking with hers, gold-flecked and bloodshot, holding her image as the darkness surged, a tide he couldn’t fight. The Speed Force’s echo roared in his ears as he succumbed to the darkness, her name the last light in his fading world.

The Speed Force watched, its currents still churning, the fissure sealing behind him, a scar in its endless expanse. Wally was gone, torn from its grasp, but the Force was eternal, its whispers lingering, waiting. He’d escaped, but not unscathed—its energy clung to him, a mark that would never fade, a bond that might yet call him back. For now, he was hers, returned to a world of time and pain, but the Speed Force was patient, its light unending, and it knew: no one runs forever.

Chapter 11: Homecoming

Gotham, November 18^th, 2020

The harbor district lies in ruins, a scarred battlefield of splintered docks and smoldering craters, the air thick with the acrid sting of ozone and charred steel. The rift’s collapse has left an eerie silence, broken only by the distant wail of sirens and the crackle of dying fires. I’m on my knees beside Wally West, my voice a raw scream tearing through the fading chaos. “Wally! Wake up!” My hands clutch his trembling form, shaking him, begging him to stir, but he’s limp, his body humming with a strange vibration that rattles my bones, a lingering echo of whatever force brought him back. His skin burns my palms, too hot, his chest barely rising, each shallow breath a fragile thread I cling to. Panic chokes me, a tidal wave threatening to drown the impossible truth: he’s here, real, alive. But he’s broken, scorched, and I’m terrified he’ll slip away again, into the abyss that stole him.

The League and Team stand frozen, silhouettes against the flickering emergency lights, their faces a gallery of shock and hope. M’gann’s eyes glow faintly, her voice a whisper in the darkness: “It’s him… his mind’s faint, but it’s Wally.” Her words tremble, and I choke on a sob, my hands tightening on Wally’s form, terrified he’s a cruel illusion, a phantom conjured by my desperate heart. But his skin is real, hot and scarred, his heartbeat a stuttering promise against my palm. Kaldur steps forward, his trident dim, his voice low. “How… how is this possible?” Zatanna’s hands shake, her magic sparking, her eyes wide. “That rift… it felt alive, like it was fighting for him. I've never seen anything like that.” I can’t answer, can’t think beyond the man in my arms, returned against all odds.

“Artemis, move!” Conner’s voice slices through, his hands gripping my shoulders, pulling me back, but I fight him, my nails digging into his arms. “No! I won’t let go, not again!” My voice cracks, a desperate plea, my eyes locked on Wally’s gaunt face—freckles stark against ashen, burned skin, his lips cracked and bleeding, the boy I loved buried beneath the man who’s suffered unimaginable torment. Barry and Bart skid to a halt beside us, their speed trailing sparks that fizzle in the damp air. Barry’s face is pale, his blue eyes wide with horror, his hands shaking as he stares at his nephew. “Wally?” he chokes out, his voice raw, dropping to his knees. He takes a step forward, then stops. “Artemis, you knew, didn’t you? You knew he was out there.” I nod, tears burning, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. “We have to save him,” Barry says, fierce, a vow that binds us. Bart’s frozen, his mouth agape, his usual frenetic energy stilled, his eyes pleading for certainty.

Batman emerges from the shadows, his cape a dark ripple, his voice a steady anchor. “He’s alive, but barely,” he says, kneeling beside Wally, his gloved fingers pressing against the scorched neck, searching for a pulse. “Weak, irregular. He needs medical attention, now.” His calm steadies me, but my hands still tremble, clutching Wally’s tattered costume, the red and yellow scraps stained with blood and ash. I see the man I lost, the man I’m terrified of losing again, and hope flares brighter than fear, a defiant spark against the weight threatening to crush me.

“Get him to the Watchtower!” Barry’s voice snaps, raw with urgency, his hands lifting Wally with a gentleness that shatters me. I want to protest, I can’t leave Wally’s side, not after just getting him back. But rationality wins, I know Barry can get him medical attention faster without me holding on to Wally, and his safety and survival are the most important things to me. Before he can take a step though, Dick’s voice cuts through, sharp and desperate. “Wait! Don’t run with him!” Barry whirls, his eyes blazing. “He needs help now, Grayson!” But my mind catches up, the fog of panic parting. Dick, Barbara, and I know the truth: Wally’s been trapped in the Speed Force, a dimension almost no one else knows about, a place tied to speedsters’ power. If Barry runs, if he accesses the Speed Force while holding Wally in this state, it could pull Wally back. Gratitude for Dick’s clarity floods me as I whisper, “He’s right, Barry. It could be dangerous. We can’t explain here, not now. Please, trust us.” Barry’s jaw tightens, his eyes flicking between us, suspicion warring with desperation. He heard my confession in Central City, heard the questions I asked him not even 8 hours ago, knows I’ve chased Wally’s voice, and now, with Wally here, his instinct demands answers. Batman’s voice, clipped, backs us up. “Do as they say, Flash. Give him to Superman. He can reach the zeta-tube fastest without risking harm.” Bruce’s gaze pierces me, a silent acknowledgment of our secrets, unnerving but unsurprising. Barry hesitantly, but grudgingly obliges, passing Wally to Clark’s arms, who cradles him with care, his red cape stark against Wally’s scorched form. Superman takes off, a blur toward the zeta-tube without so much as a backwards glance, and the air shifts, Wally’s absence a fresh wound.

That’s when it all starts to settle in me. The silence around us, the only noise in the night the sirens from the first responders trying to help create some normalcy again and the crackle of leftover fires. Barry looks at me, like he wants to say something, but then speeds off in the direction of the zeta-tube. The League and Team surround us—Oliver, Dinah, Kaldur, Conner, M’gann, Zatanna, Bart—their eyes heavy with questions. Bart’s voice is the first to speak. It trembles as he says, “You...you’re sure it’s him?” His eyes, so like Wally’s, plead. “Yes,” I say, steady, a single word carrying my heart. Bart nods, then speeds off, chasing his cousin. I can tell that everyone wants answers, but mercifully it’s Oliver and Dinah that keep any questions from coming. They are at my side in an instant, hugging me and holding me close, shielding me from the questions that I know will come but can’t face right now. I crumble under the presence of their unconditional love, tears blurring my eyes as I cling to the two of them, finally able to breathe again for the first time in years. And I laugh, a sound that sounds foreign to me, but I can’t stop the hope and love that’s bursting from my chest, I don’t want to stop it. I’ve been starved for it, and now it’s here. Wally’s here.

By the time I separate from their grasps, everyone else has left. All gone back to the Watchtower, I’m sure. Dick probably to tell Barbara what happened before he goes there himself. Oliver speaks up, his voice soft, "Come on, Kid. Let's get to the Watchtower." I let them guide me towards the zeta-tube, the walk a blur in my mind. Oliver and Dinah's hands steady on my shoulders, almost carrying me because the weight of it all is just so much, and I’m tired of carrying the weight alone. We’re there in no time, without any words spoken, just giving me time to process my thoughts, their silence a balm to my battered soul. But one thought stands out against the rest. Wally’s back, he’ll be okay. Because even if it hasn’t been said, even if his skin was scorched and burnt, his body filled with fatigue, I know with a certainty in my heart that he’s not leaving again. The walk helps me to clear my head, prepare for the questions that I know I won’t get long before I’m expected to answer them.

We arrive at the Gotham zeta tube. It’s blue glow swallows us, depositing us in the Watchtower’s sterile halls, my first return since my suspension. The command center hums with tension, the League and Team’s eyes tracking me. Everyone is there except for Barry and Bart. Bruce steps forward, his cowl’s lenses unyielding, his voice clipped and precise. “Explain, Artemis. The rift, Kid Flash’s return, your involvement. Now.” His words dig into our secrets, and my temper flares. “I need to see him first,” I say, trembling but firm, my hands clenched. “He’s fighting for his life. I won’t stand here while—” Conner steps forward, his voice grounding. “Bruce, she’s right. Let her go to him. We’ll get answers later.” Zatanna’s hand brushes my arm, her eyes soft. “We’re with you, Artemis, but we need to understand.” Dinah cuts through, Black Canary’s steel in her stance, facing Batman and the rest with an unyielding protectiveness in her eyes. “No, not yet. She’s going to the Med Bay. Answers can wait.” Oliver’s hand grips my shoulder, and Bruce’s jaw tightens, his gaze calculating. “Very well,” he says, a slow nod, his voice laced with warning. “But we will talk, soon.” Dinah’s stare holds, refusing to cower or backdown from Bruce, and I’m awestruck, my chest tight with gratitude that I can be free from my fate for just a little longer, that I can see Wally now.

I make my way to the Med Bay, my boots echoing in the silence of the hallways, Dinah and Oliver trailing. The steady beep of a heart monitor greets me as I push through the doors, the sterile air sharp with antiseptic and machinery’s hum. Barry’s there, his cowl off, his blond hair disheveled, staring at the face of his nephew with awe and grief. Bart is mercifully still, he’s not even pacing. He’s just standing there, his mouth slightly hanging open, like he still can’t believe what he’s seeing. And honestly, I don’t blame him, because as soon as I step into the room, my vision tunnels to a single point. Wally. He lies fragile, his burns swathed in bandages, an IV snaking into his arm, his chest rising with shallow breaths. A faint hum lingers, an unnatural energy making the air shimmer, a reminder of the dimension that nearly claimed him. His face, cleaned of ash, is pale, his freckles stark, but serene, the pain of his fight smoothed by unconsciousness. I collapse into a chair beside him, my hands finding his, warm but no longer searing, his fingers slack but solid. Tears spill, hot paths down my cheeks, dripping onto his skin, but these aren’t tears of grief, nor are they born of fear. These are tears that I've never cried before. They’re joy manifested, an intangible emotion made tangible. A love healing the half-heart I’ve carried since that day in the Arctic. “Wally,” I whisper, “you came back.”

Barry’s gaze shifts to me, red-rimmed, heavy with guilt. “Artemis,” he says, barely above the monitor’s beep, “I should’ve known he was out there. I felt him, running beside me, but I let him go.” His hands clench. “You never did, did you? You kept fighting.” I swallow, my throat tight, Wally’s hand warm in mine. “I had to,” I whisper. “He’s my everything.” Barry nods, a ghost of a smile. “Mine too. We’ll keep him safe, together.” Bart steps closer, his voice soft. “He’s really back, right? Not a trick?” I squeeze Wally’s hand, my gaze on his face. “He’s back,” I say, fierce. Dinah and Oliver are still behind me, both of their eyes glistening. Dinah speaks up, her voice soft. “He’s strong, Artemis. He’s fighting, even now.” She squeezes my shoulder, and I nod, tears falling faster. I’m not Tigress, not Artemis, just a woman reborn by love, my tears stitching my heart whole. I surrendered to Wally's love once, and I’m surrendering again, my soul his, forever his.

Chapter 12: The Aftermath

The Watchtower, November 18^th, 2020

Hours pass, or maybe days—I’ve lost track, time blurring like the endless light Wally fought through to return. The Watchtower’s Med Bay is a sterile cocoon, its antiseptic tang sharp in my nose, the steady beep of Wally’s heart monitor a fragile lifeline anchoring me. He’s stable, the doctors say, his burns bandaged, his breathing steadier, but he’s not awake. His body hums with a low vibration, a faint echo of the energy that brought him back, setting my teeth on edge and knotting my stomach with dread. The medics exchange puzzled glances, their monitors flashing with readings they can’t decipher—energy spikes, temporal anomalies, a mystery they’re not equipped to solve. I sit by his bed, my hand clasped around his, his skin warm but no longer searing, his freckled face serene yet gaunt, a map of the torment he endured.

The inevitable summons comes too soon. A League aide, her voice clipped through the intercom, informs me the briefing room awaits. My time is up. The League wants answers—about the Gotham rift, Wally’s return, my role in it all. My heart lurches, a visceral urge to stay, to guard Wally’s side, but the aide’s promise that I can return after softens the blow. I lean down, pressing my lips to Wally’s forehead, his skin cool under my touch, and whisper, “I’ll be back, dumbass. Don’t go anywhere.” The words are a vow, a tether to the hope that’s kept me alive. I force myself to stand, my legs heavy, my leather jacket feeling like armor as I step into the Watchtower’s gleaming halls, the fluorescent lights harsh against my tired eyes.

The briefing room looms ahead, a cavernous space of polished steel and holographic displays, the air cool and charged with the hum of technology. My heart does a grateful flip as I enter—Dick’s there, his Nightwing mask off, his dark hair mussed, his blue eyes steady with brotherly resolve. Barbara’s beside him, her wheelchair angled at the table, her red hair catching the light, her expression a mix of determination and quiet pride. They’ll stand with me, my anchors in this storm, and together we’ll unveil the truth we’ve pieced together—the Speed Force, a secret known only to us and, I suspect, Bruce, whose piercing gaze I feel before I see him. The room is packed, the League and Team seated around the crescent table: Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Kaldur, Conner, M’gann, Zatanna, and others, their eyes a mix of curiosity and concern. But my focus narrows to Barry, Bart, Oliver, and Dinah, the ones who know this pain, who feel Wally’s return as deeply as I do. Barry’s face is haggard, his blue eyes shadowed with guilt; Bart’s fidgeting, his usual energy subdued; Oliver and Dinah sit close, their hands clasped, their gazes soft but fierce with protectiveness. I can’t look at anyone else, not when the weight of their judgment threatens to crush me.

Batman stands at the head of the table, his cowl casting shadows, his voice calm and precise, a scalpel cutting through the tension. “Artemis, Nightwing, Oracle. Explain the Gotham rift, Kid Flash’s return, and your involvement. Start from the beginning.” His words are a command, his white lenses unyielding, and I feel the ghost of my suspension, the League’s distrust after Central City, pressing against me. My throat tightens, but Dick steps up, his voice steady, taking the lead as I knew he would.

“It started after the Arctic,” Dick says, his gaze sweeping the room, lingering on Bruce, a silent acknowledgment of the files he accessed. “I couldn’t accept Wally was gone. I was in the Batcave one day a couple of months after. I needed answers, anything that I could find. Barry's confession that Wally simply disappeared into thin air left me unsatisfied. He didn't disintegrate, his body became transparent and then vanished. I knew that matter doesn't work that way. It sounded too similar to what happens when we use the zeta-tubes. So, I searched. I found one of your files, Bruce, on temporal anomalies. It was a start. It helped me conceptualize the start of a theory. Over the last few years, I've chased temporal anomalies, trying to measure them, understand them, where they were coming from. There hadn't been one like Central City's yet, but they all gave me the same data. It was the same kinetic energy that a speedster gives off when they run, just amplified. I needed to learn more about this energy source. I had already theorized that Wally, since he gives off the same energy as the temporal storms, just like Barry and Bart do, could have been absorbed into whatever force was creating the anomalies. It wasn't built on any evidence, just a hope that my best friend was still out there. The real breakthrough for my part was an old STAR Labs document—Project Tachyon 73, from the ‘70s. A rogue physicist theorized a ‘universal force,’ a pocket dimension outside time and space, with energy matching speedster signatures. They tried to tap it, caused micro-rifts, but couldn’t control it.”

Barbara interjects, her voice crisp, her fingers tapping her tablet. “The file described energy leaks from these rifts, identical to speedster kinetics—Barry’s, Bart’s, Wally’s. It backed up everything Dick had already found, gave us a second perspective that aligned with our theories. We hypothesized the Arctic vortex and Central City rift were breaches into this dimension, that Wally was trapped there, his energy causing the storms as he fought to escape.” Her eyes meet mine, a silent handoff, and I swallow, my hands clenching under the table, my heart pounding as I take the floor.

“I never stopped grieving,” I say, my voice low, raw, my eyes fixed on Barry, Bart, Oliver, and Dinah. “After the Arctic, I tried to move on, to be Tigress, to be someone who could live without him. But I couldn’t. Nightmares haunted me—Wally running, in pain, saying ‘I’m coming.’ I thought they were guilt, my mind breaking, but they felt too real, like I was actually seeing him, like I was there with him. And then Central City happened.” Barry stiffens, his breath catching at the admission of my dreams, I know he's thinking back to his confession about feeling Wally while he runs. I press on, the words spilling like a dam breaking. “I heard him through the rift, his voice calling my name. It wasn’t grief, it wasn't a dream—it was real. It was his voice. Dick’s research, the STAR Labs file, and my visit to Barry's house yesterday, it all pointed to this… this force we’ve been calling the Speed Force, a dimension speedsters tap into, maybe without knowing. Wally was stuck there, fighting to get free. His energy caused the rifts, the storms, because he was running for us, trying to escape for over four years.”

The room is silent, the weight of my words sinking in. Barry’s eyes glisten, his hands gripping the table. “You’re saying… he was there, all this time?” he asks, his voice hoarse. “In some dimension, fighting to come back?” I nod, my throat tight. Clark speaks up then, "Flash, what was it that you told Artemis when she visited you?" “I felt him,” Barry whispers, almost to himself. “When I would run, I felt him beside me. I thought it was just… missing him.” His guilt mirrors mine, a shared wound, and I want to reach for him, but Bart speaks, his voice trembling.

“So the Gotham rift… that was him?” Bart asks, his eyes wide, his hands twitching. “He caused it, trying to get out?” Dick nods, his voice gentle. “We think the storm was caused by Wally, but he couldn't escape, no matter how fast he ran. Barry and your speed would have destabilized it, gave Wally the opening he needed. He ran harder than ever, and he made it through.”

Oliver’s smile is warm is warm, grounding. “You never gave up, kid,” he says, his voice rough with pride. Dinah’s eyes shine, her smile soft but fierce. “You brought him back, Artemis. You and your stubborn heart. He ran to get back to you.” Their love steadies me, but Bruce’s voice cuts through, sharp with suspicion.

“You accessed classified files, conducted unauthorized research, and withheld critical information,” he says, his gaze flicking between me, Dick, and Barbara. “Why didn’t you inform the League sooner?” My temper flares, but Dick steps in, his voice calm but firm.

“We weren’t sure, Bruce. Not until Central City, not until Gotham. We didn’t want to raise false hope, not without proof.” Barbara adds, “The data was too fragmented, too dangerous to act on prematurely. We needed to be certain.” Bruce’s jaw tightens, but he nods, a grudging acknowledgment, and I feel a flicker of relief, tempered by the weight of his scrutiny.

Superman speaks, his voice gentle. “What matters is Wally’s back. But this… Speed Force. What does it mean for him? For Barry, Bart?” The question hangs, unanswered, a reminder of the mystery we’ve only begun to unravel. I glance at Wally’s empty chair, imagined at the table, and my resolve hardens.

“It means he fought for us,” I say, my voice fierce, meeting Barry’s eyes. “And we’ll fight for him now, to keep him here, to understand what he went through. I’m not losing him again.” Barry nods, a silent vow, and Bart’s fidgeting stills, his eyes bright with determination. Oliver and Dinah’s smiles are blinding, their love and pride a shield against the League’s judgment.

Bruce leans forward, his voice low. “We’ll investigate this Speed Force. But for now, Wally’s recovery is priority. Artemis, you’re cleared to return to the Med Bay.” His concession surprises me, a rare softening, and I nod, my chest tight with gratitude. I stand, Dick and Barbara at my side, their presence a lifeline as I leave the room, the weight of truth lifting but questions lingering.

Back in the Med Bay, the heart monitor’s beep greets me, a steady rhythm. Wally’s still, his bandaged form fragile, the faint hum of his vibration a reminder of the force that nearly claimed him. I take his hand, my tears falling anew, not of grief but of hope, of a love that’s remade me. “You’re home, Wally,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “And I’m never letting go.” The Watchtower hums around me, the League’s questions answered for now, and finally, I’m here, with him, enraptured to a love that defied the Speed Force itself.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Watchtower Med Bay is a quiet hum of life, its sterile air softened by the rhythmic beep of Wally’s heart monitor, a steady pulse that anchors me in this fragile new reality. The fluorescent lights cast a clinical glow over the room, glinting off the metal bedframe and the monitors displaying cryptic data—spikes of energy the doctors still can’t explain, a faint vibration that lingers in Wally’s bandaged form, a whisper of the dimension that nearly claimed him. It's only been a few hours since the inquisition, but time seems meaningless right now. All that matters is Wally. He’s here, his chest rising with shallow breaths, his freckled face serene despite the burns hidden beneath gauze. I sit beside him, my hand clasped around his, his warmth a miracle I’m in awe of. My leather jacket’s slung over the chair, my hair loose and tangled, my eyes heavy from my vigil. The League’s briefing, the weight of revealing the Speed Force to Barry, Bart, Oliver, Dinah, and the others, feels like a lifetime ago, its questions and scrutiny fading against the quiet certainty of Wally’s heartbeat.

My phone buzzes on the bedside table, a soft vibration that startles me, its screen lighting up with a missed call and voicemail notification. Jason's name glows, a name I haven’t seen in weeks, and my chest tightens with a pang of guilt. I swipe to see a string of unopened texts, sent in the chaos of Gotham’s temporal storm: “Yo, Artemis, you okay? That storm’s insane.” “Heard about the harbor. Call me back, alright?” “C’mon, don’t ghost me. Just need to know you’re alive.” The voicemail icon blinks, and I hesitate, my thumb hovering, before playing it on low volume, Jason’s rough voice filling the quiet.

“Hey, ‘Mis, it’s Jason,” he says, his tone gruff but laced with worry, the faint hum of Gotham’s night in the background—distant sirens, the growl of his motorcycle. “Haven’t heard from you, and I know you’re in Gotham with that crazy storm mess. The news is wild—harbor’s trashed, some kinda light show. I’m… I’m worried, okay? You’re tough, but even you don’t dodge everything. Call me back, or I’m tracking you down myself. Stay safe.” The message ends with a click, and I exhale, my heart aching for the pain I know I'll be causing soon. Jason, a man who is one of the most deserving of love, who is so kind and patient, who I rejected a proclamation of love from, reaching out when I’ve been too lost in Wally’s return to notice. I don’t answer, not yet, my mind too full, but his words linger, a reminder of what I had done rather than try to get Wally back.

The Med Bay door hisses open, and I glance up, my grip on Wally’s hand tightening instinctively. M’gann and Zatanna step inside, their silhouettes soft against the harsh light of the hall. M’gann’s green skin catches the glow, her amber eyes hesitant, her hands clasped nervously. Zatanna’s in civilian clothes, a dark sweater and jeans, her raven hair loose, her eyes shadowed with guilt. They pause, as if unsure if they're welcome, and I feel a familiar twist in my gut—the sting of their lie, revealed only weeks ago, when they hid what they had done. When they manipulated my mind rather than try to actually help me access Wally's spirit. A mistake that I'll forever wonder if, had they actually done what I'd asked, I would've seen where he really was, realized that he could really be brought back, that he wasn't really dead. That betrayal cut deep, a wound I’ve nursed since they admitted to what they did, but now, with his hand in mine, that poison feels heavy, a burden I’m too tired to carry.

“Artemis,” M’gann says, her voice soft, almost a whisper, stepping closer. “We… we wanted to see you. And Wally.” Her eyes flicker to him, widening with awe and relief, a small smile breaking through. Zatanna follows, her boots scuffing the tiled floor, her expression raw. “He’s really back,” she murmurs, her voice thick. “It’s a miracle.”

I nod, my throat tight, unsure what to say. The air feels fragile, charged with unspoken history. M’gann takes another step, her hands twisting together. “We’ve been wanting to talk to you,” she says, her voice trembling. “About… everything. What we did, lying to you about Wally. We know we hurt you, and we’ve hated ourselves for it. I understand if you can’t forgive us, but we need you to know how sorry we are.”

Zatanna’s eyes glisten, her voice steady but pained. “We thought we were protecting you. We thought we were helping you move on, but we were wrong. You deserved the truth of what you asked us for, Artemis. You’ve always been stronger than us, and we… we broke that trust. I’m so sorry.” She swallows, her gaze dropping to Wally, then back to me. “Seeing him here, knowing what you went through to bring him back… it makes it worse, knowing we added to your pain, that we might have even extended it.”

I look at them, these women I once called sisters, their faces etched with regret, and the old anger stirs, a reflex honed by years of grief. But it’s faint, dulled by the weight of Wally’s hand in mine, by the hope his return has kindled. I’m tired—tired of feeling beaten, broken, of carrying resentment like a blade that cuts me deeper than them. My nightmares of Wally running, his voice in the Central City rift, spending time with Mary and Rudy, Barry’s confession of feeling him, Jason’s voicemail—they all weave into a truth I can’t ignore: people make mistakes, but love endures. Wally’s fight through the Speed Force, his “Spitfire” whispered in Gotham’s ruins, reminds me what matters—connection, forgiveness, the family we choose.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how it was,” I say, my voice low, steady, my eyes meeting theirs. “The lies… they hurt. They made me doubt everything, even myself. But I’m done holding onto that poison. It’s been eating me alive, and I’m too tired to keep it in.” I glance at Wally, his serene face a balm, and my chest loosens. “Wally’s back. That’s what’s important. And you’re here, trying to make it right. I can’t be best friends again, not yet, but… I forgive you.”

M’gann’s breath hitches, a sob she stifles, her eyes shimmering. “Thank you,” she whispers, stepping closer, hesitating before resting a hand on my shoulder, her touch light but warm. “We don’t deserve it, but… thank you, Artemis.” Zatanna’s smile is tremulous, relief softening her features. “You’re stronger than I’ll ever be,” she says, her voice thick. “And Wally’s lucky to have you.”

I manage a small smile, the first I’ve given them in months, and it feels like shedding a weight. “He’s a dumbass, but he’s my dumbass,” I say, my voice cracking, and they laugh, soft and tentative, the sound easing the room’s tension. M’gann’s hand lingers, her empathy brushing my mind—not invasive, just a gentle warmth, a silent promise. Zatanna pulls a chair closer, sitting, her eyes on Wally. “He looks… peaceful,” she says, her voice soft. “After everything you told the League, what he went through… it’s incredible he’s here.”

“Yeah,” I say, my thumb tracing Wally’s knuckles, the faint hum of his vibration a reminder of the Speed Force’s mark. “He fought for us. For me.” My voice trembles, and I swallow, glancing at my phone, Jason’s voicemail still glowing. “Someone else reached out today. Jason. He’s worried, with the Gotham storm. I haven’t answered, I don't have the heart to break it off with him yet, but… it made me think. People screw up, God knows I have more than all of you, but we keep trying. Like Wally did. Like you’re doing.”

M’gann’s smile is soft, her eyes bright. “You’ve got a lot of people who care about you, Artemis. Even when you push us away.” Zatanna nods, her expression wry. “Especially then. You’re stuck with us, you know.”

I huff a laugh, the sound foreign but welcome, and for a moment, the Med Bay feels less like a hospital and more like a home. We sit in quiet companionship, the heart monitor’s beep a steady backdrop, their presence a bridge to a past I’m ready to reclaim, piece by piece. I’m not whole, not yet, but with Wally’s hand in mine, M’gann and Zatanna’s apologies accepted, I’m healing. I surrendered to love once, and I’m learning to surrender to forgiveness, to the family that I've wished with all my might to be whole for years.

Chapter 13: Breaking the News

Notes:

I think it's about time we get a family reunion. Mary and Rudy have waited long enough to see their boy.

The Watchtower, November 18^th, 2020

The Watchtower Med Bay hums with sterile life, its artificial lights casting a steady, clinical glow over the room, unyielding in the timeless void of space. November 23rd, 2020, and the station’s chronometer marks morning, though the viewports show only the inky black of orbit, speckled with distant stars. Wally West lies still, his bandaged form a fragile anchor amidst the monitors’ soft beeps, his chest rising with steady breaths—a miracle after last night. A faint vibration lingers in his body, a low hum that prickles my skin, an echo of the mysterious force that returned him. I’m slumped in a chair beside him, my hand clasped around his, his warmth grounding me against the exhaustion clawing at my bones. My leather jacket’s crumpled on the floor, my hair a tangled mess, my eyes gritty from a sleepless vigil watching his freckled face, serene despite the burns hidden beneath gauze. The heart monitor’s rhythmic pulse is my lifeline, a promise he’s here, alive, but yesterday’s chaos—the Gotham rift, the League’s briefing, M’gann and Zatanna’s apologies—weighs heavy on my chest, what I wouldn't give just to see him open his eyes. Just to lose myself in the green and golden hues of them.

Morning brings a cacophony, a whirlwind of voices and footsteps filling the Med Bay with love and concern. Dick’s first, slipping in as the chronometer ticks past 0600, his Nightwing mask off, his blue eyes soft. “You look wrecked, ‘Mis,” he says, placing a coffee cup on the bedside table, its bitter aroma cutting through the antiseptic air. I muster a half-smile, too tired for a quip, and he squeezes my shoulder, his gaze on Wally. “He’s tough. He’ll pull through.” M’gann and Zatanna follow, their presence gentler after last night’s forgiveness, carrying a tray of pastries from the Watchtower’s galley. “Eat something,” M’gann urges, her amber eyes kind, pressing a croissant into my hand. Zatanna’s magic flickers, dimming the overhead lights to ease my headache. “He’s got you to fight for,” she murmurs, her smile warm. Oliver and Dinah arrive next, arms laden with blankets, their faces etched with pride. “Not budging, huh?” Oliver teases, draping a quilt over my shoulders, while Dinah brushes hair from my face, her touch fierce with love. Conner, Kaldur, even Bruce pass through, their visits brief but heavy with support, each glance at Wally a mix of awe and worry. The Med Bay’s a revolving door, a testament to the family Wally’s built, but the noise frays my nerves, my body begging for rest.

“You need sleep, Artemis,” Dinah says, her voice firm, her hand on my arm as M’gann and Conner leave. “You’ll burn out otherwise.” I shake my head, my grip on Wally’s hand tightening, the idea of leaving him—even for a bunk nearby—unthinkable. “I’m staying,” I say, hoarse but resolute. Oliver chuckles, his green eyes crinkling. “Stubborn as hell. Fine, sleep here.” They adjust the chair, propping pillows behind me, and I relent, my eyelids drooping as I lean back, Wally’s hand still in mine, the quilt warm against my skin. I drift, not fully asleep, the Med Bay’s hum a lullaby, tethered to him, refusing to let go.

The door hisses open, stirring me, my eyes blinking against the steady lights. Barry Allen stands in the doorway, his Flash suit swapped for a rumpled T-shirt and jeans, his blond hair mussed, his blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He hasn’t left the Watchtower since the rift, I realize, his vigil as relentless as mine. He steps inside, his boots soft on the tiled floor, and pulls a chair close, sitting with a heavy sigh. “Hey, Artemis,” he says, his voice low, warm but strained. “How’s he holding up?”

“Stable,” I reply, my voice rough, glancing at Wally, the heart monitor’s beep steady. “They don’t know why he’s still… humming, but he’s here.” Barry nods, his gaze fixed on his nephew, his hands clasped tight, knuckles white. The silence between us is heavy, charged with shared pain and hope, yesterday’s briefing—my revelation about Wally’s entrapment, Barry’s confession of feeling him—binding us closer.

“Artemis,” Barry says after a pause, his voice careful, his eyes meeting mine. “Mary and Rudy need to know. Wally’s parents… they need to hear he’s back.” My heart clenches, a vivid memory of that Arctic night flooding me: standing in their Central City suburban living room, my voice breaking as I told them Wally was gone, Mary’s sobs, Rudy’s silent tears, their grief a weight I delivered. “And Iris,” Barry adds, his voice softening. “She doesn’t know either. I haven’t gone home, just told her I’m safe after the storm. They all need to know, but… I wanted to check with you first. Do you want to tell them?”

The question pierces me, a mix of longing and dread. I want to say yes, to erase that grief, to see Mary’s smile, Rudy’s relief, Iris’s joy light up their faces. I picture their home, the warmth of their kitchen, the love they share for Wally—my Wally—binding us in celebration. But my eyes drift to him, his still form, the faint hum that terrifies me, the fear that leaving his side could mean losing him again. I can’t move, can’t let go, not after everything. Guilt churns, shame for prioritizing my fear over their hope, but I’m raw, too fragile to leave.

“I…” My voice cracks, and I swallow, running a hand through my hair, my eyes burning. “I want to, Barry. More than anything, I want to take back the pain I gave them. But I can’t leave him, not now, not like this. I’m sorry, I feel horrible, but…” I trail off, tears prickling, and Barry’s hand rests on my arm, his touch gentle, understanding.

“It’s alright,” he says, his voice steady, a small smile breaking through. “I get it, Artemis. You’ve fought to bring him back. I’d be honored to tell them, to give Mary and Rudy this news. Iris, too. It’s the kind of thing they need to hear face-to-face.” He leans back, his eyes distant, a flicker of joy softening his exhaustion. “They’ll flip, in the best way. But heads-up—they’ll insist on seeing him. Expect them to come back with me, probably storming the Watchtower to get to him.”

I huff a shaky laugh, picturing Mary’s fierce determination, Rudy’s quiet resolve, Iris’s radiant energy filling this sterile room. “Sounds like them,” I say, my voice softening. “Thank you, Barry. For getting it. For doing this.” My gratitude is raw, a bridge between us, and he nods, squeezing my arm.

“They’re family,” he says simply, his gaze returning to Wally. “So are you. We’re in this together.” He stands, his chair scraping softly, and looks at Wally, his expression raw. “He’s strong, like you. He’ll wake up soon.” The words, echoing Wally’s “Spitfire” from Gotham’s ruins, warm me, and I nod, my throat tight.

As Barry leaves, the Med Bay settles into its hum, the heart monitor’s beep a steady vow. I lean back in the chair, the quilt slipping slightly, my hand still in Wally’s, my body yielding to exhaustion. The flurry of visitors—Dick’s coffee, M’gann’s pastries, Oliver’s blankets, Barry’s promise—wraps me in a sense of family, a reminder of what Wally fought for. My phone buzzes, Jason’s unanswered voicemail glowing, a nudge to call him back. But for now, I stay, my eyes drifting shut, Wally’s hand anchoring me as I sleep, dreaming of a future where he wakes, where Mary, Rudy, and Iris fill this room with love, where I’m whole.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Barry Allen stepped out of the Watchtower’s zeta-tube into Central City’s STAR Labs annex, the hum of the portal fading behind him. The air was crisp with the scent of polished steel and faint ozone, a stark contrast to the sterile Med Bay where he’d left Artemis clutching Wally’s hand. It was mid-morning, November 18, 2020, and the weight of the night’s events—Wally’s return through the Gotham rift, the revelation of his entrapment, Artemis’s raw confession—pressed heavy on Barry’s shoulders. His rumpled T-shirt and jeans clung to him, his blond hair disheveled, his blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion and a quiet, burgeoning joy. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t left the Watchtower since the storm, and now, the task ahead loomed: telling Iris, Dawn, Wallace, Mary, and Rudy that Wally was alive.

He sped home, a blur of scarlet lightning through Central City’s streets, the world a watercolor streak of brick and glass. The Allen house stood warm against the autumn chill, its red brick facade glowing under the sun, the front yard scattered with leaves. Barry slowed, his boots crunching on the path, his heart racing—not from speed, but from the weight of the news he carried. He pushed open the door, the familiar creak greeting him, and stepped into the living room, where the scent of coffee and cinnamon lingered, a morning ritual interrupted.

Iris West-Allen stood by the kitchen island, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, her brown eyes sharp with worry. She wore a cozy sweater, her arms crossed, a half-empty coffee mug forgotten beside her. Dawn and Wallace, their three-year-old twins, running around as hyper in the early morning as ever. Iris’s gaze snapped to Barry, relief warring with frustration. “Barry Allen, where have you been?” she demanded, her voice tight, stepping toward him. “You didn’t come home last night. I got your text saying you were safe, but after that storm in Gotham, the news—harbor destroyed, lights in the sky—I’ve been worried sick.”

Barry raised his hands, his expression soft but urgent, a quiet intensity that stilled her words. “Iris, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, steady. “I’ll explain everything, I promise, but we need to go to Mary and Rudy’s. Now. You, me, the twins.” He glanced at Dawn and Wallace, who looked up, sensing the shift, their playing forgotten.

Iris frowned, confusion knitting her brow. “Mary and Rudy’s? Barry, what’s going on? You can’t just—” She stopped, her eyes searching his face, catching the flicker of something raw—hope, pain, certainty. His jaw was set, his blue eyes bright with an insistence that brooked no argument, a soft command that whatever this was, it couldn’t wait. “Okay,” she said slowly, her voice softening, trust overriding her questions. “Kids, come on. We’re going to see Aunt Mary and Uncle Rudy.”

The twins scrambled up, their energy a blur as they darted for their coats, Dawn’s voice piping, “Is this a surprise?” Barry managed a small smile, but his heart ached, the weight of Wally’s return a secret he couldn’t share yet. Iris grabbed her purse, her gaze lingering on him, a silent promise to get answers soon.

The drive to Mary and Rudy's house was a blur, the twins fell asleep briefly in the backseat of the family SUV, Iris’s hand resting on Barry’s, her thumb tracing circles, a quiet anchor. Mary and Rudy West’s house stood on a quiet street, its white clapboard exterior warm with memories—Wally’s childhood, family barbecues, laughter that had dimmed since the Arctic. Barry’s chest tightened as he knocked, the door swinging open to reveal Mary, her red hair streaked with gray, her green eyes weary but warm. Rudy stood behind her, his broad frame filling the doorway, his freckled face creasing with surprise. “Barry? Iris? How good to see you both! We weren't expecting you. What’s this about?” Mary asked, her voice tinged with concern, ushering them inside.

The living room was cozy, cluttered with photos—Wally’s grinning face in his Kid Flash suit, his high school graduation, his arms around Artemis. The scent of fresh bread wafted from the kitchen, a Sunday ritual, but the air grew heavy as Barry faced them, Iris and the twins on the couch, Mary and Rudy in their armchairs. “I need you to listen,” Barry said, his voice steady but thick, standing in the center of the room. “It’s about Wally.”

Mary’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening, while Rudy’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the armrests. Iris’s breath hitched, her hand squeezing Barry’s, the twins falling silent, sensing the gravity. “Barry,” Rudy said, his voice low, warning, “don’t. Don’t do this. Not you, of all people.”

Barry swallowed, his heart pounding, but he pressed on, his gaze unwavering. “Wally’s alive. He’s back.” The words hung, a bombshell shattering the room’s quiet. Mary gasped, a choked sob, her eyes glistening. Rudy stood, his face flushed with anger. “How dare you,” he growled, his voice shaking. “You saw what happened, Barry. You were there when he… when we lost him. Why would you say this?”

“It’s true,” Barry said, his voice firm, stepping forward, his hands raised. “Last night, in Gotham, during the storm—a rift opened, like the one in Central City. Wally came through it. He’s in the Watchtower Med Bay, stable but unconscious. Artemis is with him. I saw him, held him. He’s alive, Rudy. He’s our Wally.”

Silence fell, raw and fragile. Iris’s eyes widened, tears spilling, her hand covering her mouth. “He’s… back?” she whispered, her voice trembling. Dawn and Wallace exchanged glances, their faces split into joyous smiles, too young to fully grasp but old enough to know that their cousin they'd never met was back from wherever he had gone. Mary shook her head, her sobs breaking free. “No… no, it can’t be. We buried that casket. I know it was empty, Barry. But you saw him disappear. We mourned him, we still mourn him.” Her voice cracked, her hands trembling in her lap.

“I know it’s hard,” Barry said, kneeling before her, his voice soft, raw. “I didn’t believe it at first either. But Artemis knew, she never gave up. She and Dick, they figured it out. It's a long story—Wally was trapped, fighting to get back. The rifts, the storms, they were him, trying to break through. Last night, he did.” He looked at Rudy, his eyes pleading. “I felt him, all those times I ran, like he was beside me. I thought it was grief, but it was him. He never died.”

Rudy’s anger wavered, his eyes glistening, his voice hoarse. “You’re sure? You’re absolutely sure it’s him?” Barry nodded, his throat tight. “I’m sure. He’s burned, weak, but it’s Wally. His freckles, his voice… he said ‘Spitfire’ before he collapsed.”

Mary’s sob turned to a gasp, her hand clutching Rudy’s. “That’s… that’s what he called Artemis,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fragile hope. Iris stood, tears streaming, her voice fierce. “Barry, why didn’t you tell me last night? I could’ve—” She stopped, seeing his exhaustion, his love, and softened, pulling him into a hug. “He’s really back,” she murmured, her voice breaking.

The twins surged forward, Dawn’s voice high with excitement. “Is Wally gonna be okay?” Wallace nodded, his eyes wide. “Can we see him, will he play with us?” Rudy sank back into his chair, his face a mix of disbelief and dawning hope, his hand finding Mary’s. “If this is true…” he said, his voice rough, “we need to see him. Now.”

Mary nodded, her eyes fierce, the mother’s resolve that had carried her through grief now blazing with purpose. “Take us to him, Barry,” she said, standing, her voice unwavering. “We’re not waiting another second. Our boy’s alive, and we’re going to him.”

Barry’s smile was tired but radiant, relief flooding him. “I told Artemis they’d storm the Watchtower,” he said, a soft laugh breaking through. “Let’s go. All of us.” Iris gripped his hand, the twins bouncing with nervous energy, Mary and Rudy’s faces set with determination. The family moved as one, their love for Wally a force as unstoppable as the lightning that had brought him home, ready to see their miracle in the Watchtower’s sterile halls.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Watchtower Med Bay is a sterile hum of life, its artificial lights casting a relentless glow over the tiled floor and blinking monitors, a constant reminder we’re floating in the void of space. It’s early afternoon, and I’m still in the chair beside Wally West’s bed, my hand clasped around his, his warmth a miracle I can’t let go of. My body aches, my eyes gritty from a fitful doze, my leather jacket a crumpled heap by my feet. Wally’s still stable. Nothing has changed since last night. His bandaged burns have been changed a few times, his freckled face is still serene, but the faint vibration in his body lingers. The heart monitor’s steady beep is my anchor, a promise he’s here, alive, but I’m raw, stretched thin by everything that's happened and the lack of sleep. The Med Bay’s been a revolving door all day, but now it’s quiet, the calm before another wave.

The door hisses open, and my head snaps up, my grip on Wally’s hand tightening instinctively. Barry Allen steps in, his blue eyes bright with a mix of exhaustion and joy, his rumpled T-shirt a sign he hasn’t slowed down since promising to tell Wally’s family. Behind him, Iris West-Allen enters, her dark hair loose, her brown eyes wide with tears, her sweater clinging to her as if she dressed in a rush. Mary and Rudy West follow, Mary’s red hair streaked with gray, her green eyes glistening, Rudy’s broad frame tense, his freckled face a mask of hope and fear. Then come the twins, Dawn and Wallace—three years old, their auburn curls bouncing, their tiny hands clutching Iris’s. Wallace, named for my Wally, stares with big eyes, a miniature echo of the man on the bed. My heart clenches, a flood of love and guilt—guilt for not being the one to tell Mary and Rudy, for choosing to stay here instead of easing their pain myself.

“Artemis,” Iris says, her voice trembling, rushing to me, her arms pulling me into a hug before I can stand. Her embrace is fierce, warm with vanilla and coffee, and I melt into it, my throat tight. “You brought him back,” she whispers, her tears damp against my cheek. I shake my head, my voice hoarse. “He fought to get back. I just… was there.” She pulls back, her smile radiant, and I see Wally in her eyes, in her strength.

Mary’s beside the bed, her hands hovering over Wally, afraid to touch, her sob breaking the quiet. “My boy,” she chokes out, her voice raw, her fingers finally brushing his bandaged arm, trembling as if he might dissolve. Rudy stands behind her, his eyes glistening, his voice low. “He’s really here?” he asks, looking at me, then Barry, needing confirmation. I nod, my chest aching. “He’s here, Rudy. He’s alive.” Rudy’s breath hitches, his hand finding Mary’s shoulder, anchoring them both as they stare at their son, returned from the impossible.

Barry kneels by the twins, who cling to Iris’s legs, their eyes wide. “Dawn, Wallace, this is your cousin Wally,” he says, his voice gentle, pointing to the bed. “He’s sleeping now, but he’s gonna wake up soon.” Dawn tilts her head, her voice small. “Why’s he got bandages?” Wallace, clutching a stuffed lightning bolt, adds, “Is he hurt?” Barry’s smile is strained but warm. “He got a little banged up, but he’s tough, like you two. He’ll be okay.” The twins nod, their trust in Barry absolute, and my heart twists, seeing Wally’s spark in their curious faces.

Iris moves to Mary’s side, her hand resting on her shoulder, their shared love for Wally a silent bond. “How is he?” Iris asks me, her voice soft, her eyes on Wally’s serene face. “Stable,” I say, my voice rough, my thumb tracing Wally’s knuckles. “He’s still… vibrating, like some energy’s stuck in him. The doctors don’t know why, but he’s breathing, his heart’s strong.” My voice cracks, and Mary’s eyes meet mine, her gratitude raw.

“You stayed with him,” she says, her voice trembling, stepping closer to me. “You never gave up on our boy.” Her hand cups my cheek, her touch maternal, and I lean into it, tears prickling. “I did... I told myself he was gone until I couldn't lie to myself anymore. The hope of him still being out there...it was a weight I couldn't manage. But when I stopped being afraid, when I heard his voice in my dreams and in the Central City rift, I couldn’t give up on him,” I whisper. “He’s my everything.” Rudy nods, his voice gruff. “You’re family, Artemis. Always have been.” His words heal a wound I didn’t know I carried, the guilt for not telling them easing under their love.

"What do you mean you heard his voice?" Mary asks me. She's not let go of Wally's shoulder since she arrived, and I don't blame her one bit, because I've not taken my hand out of his yet either. "It's really a long story." I say, but I tell her anyways. I tell her and Rudy and Iris everything I told the Justice League, I tell them the parts that Dick said, the parts that Babs said. I give them everything, though I'm exhausted, worn thin, I give them everything I can because they deserve it, and they're family. Mary and Iris have tears staining their cheeks the entire time, Rudy seems barely able to hold himself together too. It's Mary that speaks up first, "You are so strong, Artemis Crock. Our boy couldn't have chosen a better woman." And that confession nearly splits what's left of me. Her grace and love is nearly my undoing, but before I can even protest that statement, I'm quieted by Rudy. "Don't you dare discount yourself, Artemis. You have carried too much for too long. It's time to let us ease those burdens off of you. You may not be a perfect person, you make mistakes and carry too much alone. But you knowing that and your decision to love Wally as fiercely as you do, and you always doing your best, is exactly why you're perfect anyways." "Thank you." I choke out, blinded by tears that I won't let fall at this moment.

Time passes in relative silence for the next few minutes. All of us lost in thought. Even the twins are uncharacteristically quiet. The Med Bay feels smaller, filled with the presence of Wally's family. Dawn tugs at Barry’s sleeve, her voice loud in the quiet. “Can we draw him a picture? So he wakes up happy?” Barry chuckles, his eyes glistening. “That’s a great idea, kiddo. We’ll get paper when we’re back home.” Wallace, bolder now, steps closer, holding out his stuffed toy. “For Wally,” he says, placing it by the bed, its red fabric bright against the white sheets. I smile, my chest tight, and ruffle his curls. “He’ll love it, Wallace.”

Barry catches my eye, his expression soft but serious. “Told you they’d storm the Watchtower,” he says, a faint smile breaking through. “Couldn’t keep them away.” I nod, my laugh shaky. “Good. He needs them.” I glance at Wally, imagining his grin if he could see this—his mom’s fussing, his dad’s quiet pride, Iris’s strength, the twins’ chaos. It’s what he fought for, what brought him back to me.

Iris sits beside me, her hand on my arm, her voice low. “You need rest, Artemis. You’re barely holding it together.” I shake my head, my grip on Wally’s hand tightening, the thought of leaving unbearable. “I’m fine here,” I say, my voice firm. She sighs, but her smile is understanding, and she leans her head against mine, a sisterly gesture that warms me.

Mary and Rudy settle into chairs, their eyes never leaving Wally, their hands clasped, a united front. The twins climb onto Iris’s lap, their chatter softening, the Med Bay’s hum blending with their voices. Barry stands by the door, his gaze on his nephew, his expression raw with love and relief. “He’s gonna wake up to one hell of a party,” he murmurs, and I laugh, the sound foreign but welcome, a spark of joy in the sterile room. It's the first time that all of us have been in the same room since the memorial service, and that thought isn't lost on me.

The heart monitor beeps, steady and true, and I squeeze Wally’s hand, my whisper barely audible. “You did it, dumbass. You brought us all together again. I love you, Wally West.”

Chapter 14: The Thanksgiving Awakening

Notes:

Chapter title speaks for itself :)

The Watchtower, November 26^th, 2020

Thanksgiving morning, November 26, 2020, and the Watchtower Med Bay is all too familiar in this limbo where I exist. I’m still in my chair beside Wally's bed, my hand clasped around his, his warmth a miracle I cling to after a few days of fragile hope. It's been days since he returned, and there's no sign of him waking up, no changes yet. My body’s a map of aches, my eyes heavy from broken sleep, my leather jacket slung over the chair’s back, my hair a tangled mess. I've barely left, only enough to take quick showers and stretch my legs when I knew Rudy and Mary wanted a little alone time beside his bed. Wally’s stable, his bandaged burns healing much more slowly than they should be given his speed healing. The heart monitor’s steady beep is my lifeline, but I’m raw, worn thin by vigil and the weight of his stillness. The Wests—Mary and Rudy—and Allens—Barry, Iris, and their three-year-old twins, Dawn and Wallace—have practically moved in, their presence a constant warmth in the Med Bay, refusing to leave Wally’s side for more than a few hours to sleep in the Watchtower’s bunks.

The room’s a lived-in chaos, a testament to their devotion. Mary’s knitting bag spills yarn by the bed, Rudy’s crossword book lies open, Barry’s coffee cups litter the table, and Iris’s laptop hums with news articles she’s drafting remotely. Dawn and Wallace’s drawings—bright scribbles of lightning bolts and a stick-figure Wally—tape the walls, their stuffed toys tucked beside him, Wallace’s red lightning bolt a vibrant splash against the white sheets. It’s a family camp, a refusal to let Wally wake alone, and I’m part of it, my heart swelling with their love even as guilt gnaws at me for not calling Jason back, not doing what I need to do.

The door hisses open, and Mary West steps in, her green eyes soft but purposeful. She’s in a sweater and jeans, an apron dusted with flour tied around her waist, the scent of sage and butter trailing her. “Artemis, sweetheart,” she says, her voice warm, crossing to me. “We’re putting together Thanksgiving dinner in the galley. Iris and I want the whole family there, and that means you.” Her hand rests on my shoulder, her touch maternal, and my throat tightens, tears prickling at her words—family. After years of grief, of carrying their pain from that Arctic night, being claimed as theirs heals a wound I didn’t know I had.

“Mary, I…” My voice cracks, and I swallow, my grip on Wally’s hand tightening. “Thank you. That means everything.” She smiles, her eyes glistening, and leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You’re our girl, always have been. Wally’d want you there, eating his share of pie.” Her laugh is soft, a spark of the Mary who raised the light of my life, and I nod, my chest warm. “I’ll be there,” I promise, my voice hoarse, and she squeezes my shoulder before leaving, the door hissing shut behind her.

The Med Bay settles back into its hum, but the peace is short-lived. The intercom crackles, and Bruce Wayne’s voice—clipped, authoritative—cuts through. “Artemis, Nightwing, Oracle, report to the briefing room. Now.” My stomach drops, a flare of anger sparking. Another debrief, another demand for answers about the Speed Force, the rifts, Wally’s return. I want to ignore it, to stay with Wally, to join Mary and Iris in the galley where the scent of roasting turkey and laughter promises a normalcy I crave. But Bruce’s tone brooks no refusal, and my suspension looms, a reminder of the League’s scrutiny.

I lean down, pressing my lips to Wally’s knuckles, his skin warm under my touch. “I’ll be back,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Don’t wake up without me.” I stand, my legs heavy, and grab my jacket, the leather cool against my skin. The Med Bay feels smaller without me in it, Wally’s family a protective cocoon I’m loath to leave.

The briefing room is a stark contrast, its polished steel and holographic displays cold under the Watchtower’s lights. Dick’s already there, his Nightwing mask off, his blue eyes wary, Barbara beside him, her tablet glowing, her red hair catching the light. Bruce stands at the head, his Batman cowl unyielding, flanked by Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern. Barry’s there too, his Flash suit on, his face tense—he must’ve been pulled from the galley, where I’d seen him helping Iris earlier. The air’s thick with tension, the League’s gazes heavy, and I feel the weight of our secret—the Speed Force, known only to me, Dick, Barbara, and Bruce’s sharp deductions.

“Explain the energy readings,” Bruce says, his voice precise, gesturing to a hologram of Gotham’s rift, its data spiking with anomalies. “The Watchtower’s sensors detected similar signatures in Wally’s system. If this force is unstable, it’s a threat to him, to Barry, to Bart.” My temper flares, my hands clenching. “He’s not a threat,” I snap, my voice raw. “He’s fighting to stay here. You saw him, Bruce—he’s barely awake, and you’re already dissecting him like a lab rat.”

Dick steps in, his voice calm but firm. “Bruce, we’re still analyzing the STAR Labs data. The energy’s tied to Wally’s return, but we don’t know enough to call it a threat. He’s stable, healing.” Barbara nods, her fingers tapping her tablet. “The readings match the Central City rift, but they’re fading in Wally’s system. It’s like… he’s acclimating, shedding whatever held him.” Her eyes meet mine, a silent reassurance, but Bruce’s jaw tightens, his gaze unrelenting.

“We need answers, not theories,” he says, his voice low. “If this force can open rifts, it endangers Earth. We can’t ignore it, not even for Wally.” Barry’s eyes flash, his voice sharp. “He’s my nephew, Bruce. He’s not a case file. He fought to get back, and we’re not locking him away because of some readings.” The room crackles, a rare clash between Flash and Batman, and I’m grateful for Barry’s defense, my anger softening.

Superman’s voice cuts through, gentle but firm. “We’re not suggesting that, Barry. But we need to protect Wally, and that means understanding what he brought back.” His blue eyes meet mine, kind but resolute, and I swallow, my resolve wavering. I want to fight, to shield Wally, but the truth gnaws at me—the hum in his body, the doctors’ puzzled faces, the fear he’s not fully free.

Before I can respond, the intercom buzzes, Iris’s voice bright but insistent. “Barry, Artemis, dinner’s almost ready. Mary’s threatening to send Rudy to drag you both.” Laughter ripples through the room, easing the tension, it's only Bruce that doesn't give an inch, his armor and face as steadfast as always. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow,” he says, a concession, and I exhale, relief flooding me.

Back in the galley, the air’s warm with the scent of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie, the Watchtower’s sterile steel softened by Mary and Iris’s efforts. Wally's bed has been rolled in to be at by the table. He isn't awake, he isn't going to eat, but he's there. The glue holding us all together. Tables are pushed together, covered with mismatched linens, plates piled high. Rudy’s carving the turkey, his gruff voice teasing Dawn and Wallace, who giggle, their auburn curls bouncing. Barry’s beside Iris, already out of his suit, his arm around her, his smile radiant. Bart is there too. He's hardly left Wally's side too, but he's been gone more than the rest of us, continuing to go on missions as Kid Flash. Mary spots me, her eyes bright, and pulls me into a hug, her apron soft against my cheek. “Let's eat,” she says, her voice warm, and I nod, my throat tight, feeling like I belong.

We sit, a family—Wests, Allens, and me—around the table, the twins chattering, Rudy passing rolls, Iris pouring wine. Wally’s presence at the table binds us. “To Wally,” Mary toasts, her glass raised, her voice trembling. “And to Artemis, for bringing him home.” The clink of glasses echoes, their eyes on me, and I blush, my heart full.

I glance at Barry, his nod a silent vow—we’ll protect Wally, Speed Force or not. The drama’s not gone, Bruce’s questions looming, but for now, I’m here, with family, surrendered to a love that’s stronger than any rift. I reach over to grab Wally's hand. “Happy Thanksgiving,” I whisper to him, my voice soft, leaning close, hoping my words reach him through the haze that’s kept him from us since the Gotham rift, and the table hums with warmth.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the haze of unconsciousness, Wally hears her. It’s the first thing he can remember hearing through the endless darkness his mind has thrown him into. Her voice cuts through the Speed Force’s echo, a lifeline in the dark. “Spitfire,” he thinks, her name a pulse in his soul. His heart surges, the rhythm erratic, desperate to reach her, to answer her call.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The heart monitor’s beep shifts, a subtle quickening that snaps my head up, my grip tightening on Wally’s hand. My breath catches, a spark of hope igniting as the numbers climb—120, 150, 180—faster than humanly possible, a rhythm that thrums in my chest. “Wally?” I murmur, my voice trembling, leaning closer, my eyes locked on his face, searching for any sign—a flutter, a twitch, anything. The monitor screeches, the numbers surging—200, 250, 300—impossible, inhuman, a chaotic pulse that drowns the galley’s warmth, the clatter of forks and laughter fading. Barry’s at my side in a heartbeat, a blur of motion, his voice sharp. “Artemis, move!” His hand grips my shoulder, urgent, but I’m frozen, rooted to the chair, my heart pounding, my gaze fixed on Wally, willing him to wake, to stay with me.

The family stills, their faces paling—Mary’s wine glass slips, shattering on the table, Rudy’s knife frozen mid-slice, Iris’s hand covering her mouth, Bart’s eyes widening, the twins’ chatter silenced. Dawn clutches Wallace’s hand, their auburn curls quivering, their eyes wide with fear. The monitor’s wail pierces the air as the numbers vanish, replaced by a flatline, a relentless scream that rips through me like a blade. My chest caves, a scream trapped in my throat, my world collapsing into ash. He’s gone. He’s gone again. The thought is a black hole, swallowing me whole, my vision blurring with tears, my hand clutching Wally’s as if I can pull him back from the abyss. Mary’s sob breaks, raw and keening, her hands reaching for Rudy, Iris’s gasp a choked prayer, Barry’s breath hitching beside me, Bart’s voice trembling—“No, no, no…”

One heartbeat, one moment of soul-crushing pain, and then Wally’s eyes snap open—green, wild, gold-flecked, haunted with a depth that speaks of eternities I’ll never know, eyes too ancient for his young face. They lock on me, a fleeting instant of recognition, of fierce love, and my breath catches, hope surging through the terror. He’s up before I can react, a blur of motion, tearing free of wires, tubes, and bandages, his hospital gown shredding, his body vibrating with an intensity that shakes the table, the floor, my bones. The galley erupts into chaos—plates rattle, glasses topple, Dawn’s drawings flutter to the ground, the air crackling with ozone, a storm of energy that smells of lightning and ash. Wally’s a streak of light, faster than anything I’ve seen, faster than Barry, faster than the force that held him, a comet of raw power that defies the Watchtower’s steel walls.

“Wally!” I scream, my voice raw, lunging from my chair, my hands grasping empty air as he bolts, the door hissing open, the corridor trembling with the force of his speed, a sonic boom rattling the galley. Barry’s after him, a red blur chasing a ghost, his voice echoing—“Wally, stop!”—but I know it’s useless. Wally’s not just fast now; he’s something else, forged in the crucible of that dimension, a being of fire and pain I can’t comprehend. Bart’s on his feet, his Kid Flash speed trailing sparks, but he freezes, his face pale, his voice a whisper. “What… what is he?” Mary’s hands clutch Rudy’s, her sobs muffled against his chest, Iris’s eyes wide with terror and hope, her arms around the twins, Dawn’s voice small—“Where’s Wally going?” Wallace clings to his stuffed lightning bolt, his eyes wet, mirroring my own.

I sink to my knees, my hands empty, my heart a battlefield, tears streaming as the galley’s chaos settles, the monitor’s wail silenced, its screen dark, papers drifting to the floor like fallen leaves. He’s back, he’s alive, but he’s running, and I’m terrified I’ve lost him again—not to death, but to something wilder, something the Speed Force carved into his soul. My breath hitches, my mind replaying his eyes—haunted, searching, locking on me before he fled. He heard me, I’m sure of it, my whisper pulling him through the haze, his heart spiking for me, a fierce beat that overwhelmed the monitor, that shattered its limits and set him free. But where is he now? What has he become?

Iris’s voice cuts through, steady despite her tears, her hand on my shoulder. “Artemis, he’s alive. He woke up. We’ll find him.” Her strength pulls me up, her brown eyes fierce, and I nod, my throat tight, clinging to her words. Mary’s beside me, her face streaked with tears, her voice resolute. “Our boy’s fighting, like he always has,” she says, her hand gripping mine, Rudy’s arm around her, his eyes fierce with determination. “We’ll bring him back.” Bart steps forward, his jaw set, his voice firm. “I’m going after him. He’s my cousin.” The twins huddle close, Dawn’s voice trembling—“Is Wally okay?”—and I kneel, forcing a smile, my voice shaky. “He’s just… running, sweetheart. We’ll get him.”

Barry’s voice crackles through the intercom, breathless, urgent. “He’s on the training deck, moving too fast to track. Superman, J’onn, I need backup!” The words jolt me, a reminder of the League, of Bruce’s earlier warnings about the Speed Force, the energy readings that marked Wally as a potential threat. My anger flares, but it’s drowned by fear, by the need to find him. I stand, grabbing my jacket, my boots echoing as I head for the door, Iris’s hand still on my shoulder, Mary and Rudy behind me, Bart already a blur ahead. The galley’s warmth—spilled wine, untouched pie, the twins’ drawings—fades, but the family’s love follows me, a tether stronger than steel.

I’m running now, not with speed but with purpose, toward the training deck, Barry’s lightning trailing ahead, the Watchtower’s halls vibrating with Wally’s passage. He heard me, his heart beat for me, and I won’t lose him, not to the Speed Force, not to whatever he’s running from.

My boots pound the Watchtower’s sterile corridors, the metallic clang echoing in my ears, a desperate rhythm matching the panic clawing at my chest. The training deck’s doors hiss open, and I stumble in, my breath ragged, the air thick with ozone and the hum of raw energy. The deck is vast, a cavern of reinforced steel and holographic projectors, its walls scarred from countless training simulations. Wally’s a blur, a crimson-gold vortex circling the center, faster than my eyes can track, a whirlwind of light that leaves afterimages burning in my vision. Even Barry and Bart, their red and yellow streaks trailing, can’t match him, their forms smudged against his impossible speed. Superman hovers above, his red cape rippling, his blue eyes narrowed, scanning for an opening to subdue without causing harm. Martian Manhunter, green and serene, floats nearby, his telepathic presence a faint pressure in my mind, probing trying to calm Wally down. Batman stands at the edge, his cowl’s white lenses glinting, his voice clipped over comms. “He’s unstable. We need to contain him before he damages the station, or himself.”

My heart lurches, anger flaring at Bruce’s cold assessment, but it’s drowned by the sight of Barry lunging, a red blur aiming to intercept Wally. “Wally, it’s me!” he shouts, voice strained, his hands outstretched. For a split second, Wally’s form sharpens—tattered hospital gown, wild curls, scarred skin—but his eyes are feral, unseeing, glowing with a manic gold light. He pivots, a motion too fluid, too primal, and his fist connects with Barry’s face, a crack like thunder sending Barry sprawling across the deck, skidding into a wall with a groan. Iris, who’s reached the deck behind me, gasps and runs to him, her voice sharp—“Barry!”—kneeling beside him, her hands checking his face, his chest heaving.

“Wally!” I scream, my voice raw, stepping forward, my hands raised, my legs trembling. The sound cuts through the chaos, a desperate plea that echoes off the steel walls. Wally’s blur falters, slowing just enough for me to see him—chest heaving, sweat-soaked, his body vibrating with an intensity that makes the air shimmer, his hospital gown in shreds. He stops abruptly, a statue in the center of the deck, his breath ragged, his eyes finding mine—green, wild, gold-flecked, haunted by shadows of a place I can’t reach, carrying the weight of eternities he’s endured. They don’t leave mine, a tether pulling him back from the haze, and my breath catches, hope warring with terror.

I stand, my legs shaking, and take a step toward him, the deck’s cold steel grounding me. “Wally?” My voice is small, fragile, like I’m afraid he’ll vanish if I speak too loud. “Is it you? Are you… back?” He doesn’t answer, not with words, his gaze holding mine, raw and searching. I see it—the boy who loved me, who teased me with “Spaghetti” and “Spitfire,” the man who fought to come home. But there’s pain, too, a weight that makes him look older, broken, like the scars on his skin are only the surface of what he’s lost. My heart aches, a fierce love that drowns the fear, and I inch closer, my hands trembling, reaching out. He’s within my grasp, just extended past my fingers reaching for his jaw. “It’s me, Wally. It’s Artemis.” My fingers brush his face, his skin hot, still humming with that impossible speed, a current that tingles against my palms. “Slow down,” I whisper, my voice steady now, my fingers tracing his jaw, grounding him, pulling him back to me. “Just… slow down.”

His eyes begin to focus, his hands slowly reaching up to cover mine, shaking, rough with calluses from battles I’ll never know, and his voice is a rasp, raw from years in the void. “Artemis, I’m so sorry.” His eyes well with tears, green and gold shimmering, and mine do too, spilling hot down my cheeks, because I feel it—the truth that’s always been. My heart is his, has always been his, every moment without him a shadow, a lie. Jason's face flashes in my mind for a moment—his proposal weeks ago, the ring, his quiet hope, his unanswered voicemails—but it’s nothing compared to this, to Wally, to the man who holds my soul. Guilt stabs, but it’s fleeting, washed away by the man before me.

“I love you,” he says, his voice breaking, like sunlight shattering a cave, the first warmth in a world I’d forgotten was dark. “I fought for you, every second, every step. I’m here, Spitfire. It’s me. I’m home.” The words are a vow, a lifeline, and I collapse into him, my arms around his neck, my face buried in his shoulder, his scent—ozone, sweat, and something uniquely Wally—filling my lungs. He’s real, solid, his arms wrapping around me, trembling but strong, and for the first time in years, I’m not numb. I’m alive, and it hurts, but it’s a pain I’d choose a thousand times over.

We sink to the floor, holding each other, my tears soaking his tattered gown, his breath warm against my hair. The deck is silent, the heroes still—Superman lowering, Martian Manhunter’s presence receding, Batman’s gaze unreadable. Iris helps Barry stand, his face bruised but his eyes soft, a smile breaking through. Bart steps closer, his voice choked. “Wally…” Mary and Rudy rush in, their sobs mingling, their hands reaching for their son but hesitating, giving us this moment. Dawn and Wallace peek from behind Iris, their eyes wide, Wallace clutching his stuffed lightning bolt, Dawn whispering, “He’s back.”

Wally’s hand cups my face, his thumb brushing my tears, his eyes still haunted but anchored to mine. “I heard you,” he whispers, his voice raw. “Your voice… it pulled me out.” My heart stutters, the memory of my whisper in the galley a spark that ignited his awakening, his heart beating for me, breaking the monitor’s limits. “I’m never leaving again,” he says, fierce, and I nod, my voice lost, my forehead against his.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

We’re back in the Med Bay, the fright of what happened a mere hour ago still fresh on everyone’s mind. It’s just me and Wally right now. It wasn’t hard for Rudy and Mary to understand that he needed to be with me right now. It was almost impossible for them to not make their presence known to him while we were on the ground in the training room, but Iris convinced them. They all saw how feral Wally was until he heard my voice. They know that whatever he endured in the Speed Force fractured him and putting too much pressure on him right then could shatter him completely. So, quietly, they all backed out of the room, Barry making eye contact with me over Wally’s shoulder, gesturing to the Med Bay, indicating that I need to get him back in there to get checked out. I nod a silent acknowledgement, and that’s how we got back here. Wally’s barely said a word since the training room, only cried in my shoulder and whispered my name like a prayer as I held on to him. He’s pale, but he’s awake, and more importantly, he’s alive.

The door hisses open, and Mary and Rudy step in, their faces a mix of exhaustion and radiant hope. Mary’s red hair, streaked with gray, is pulled into a loose bun, her green eyes glistening as they land on Wally, awake for the first time since his return. Rudy’s broad frame fills the doorway, his freckled face softening, his hands clenching as if to hold back tears. “Wally,” Mary breathes, her voice trembling, rushing to his bedside, her hands hovering over him, afraid to touch, as if he might vanish. Wally’s eyes, those haunted green depths, soften, a faint smile breaking through. “Mom,” he rasps, his voice raw, like sandpaper worn by years in a void. “I’m here.” She sobs, a sound of joy and pain, and collapses into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, careful of his burns. “My boy, my baby boy,” she murmurs, her tears soaking his gown, her hands stroking his curls, now longer, wilder.

Rudy’s beside her, his hand resting on Wally’s head, his voice gruff but cracking. “You scared us, kid.” Wally’s smile widens, a ghost of his old grin, but his eyes flicker with gold, a reminder of what he’s endured. “Sorry, Dad,” he says, his voice soft, strained. “Took me a while to get back.” Rudy chuckles, a choked sound, and pulls Wally into a hug, his broad arms enveloping them both, Mary’s sobs muffled against his chest. I watch, my throat tight, tears prickling, my hand still in Wally’s, anchoring him to me, to them. Their love is a tide, washing over the years of grief, the empty casket, the Arctic night I broke their hearts with news I thought was final.

Barry and Iris enter next, Iris’s brown eyes wet, her sweater rumpled, Barry’s Flash suit traded for jeans, his cheek still bruised from Wally’s feral punch a while ago. The twins trail behind, Dawn clutching a drawing, Wallace holding his stuffed lightning bolt, their auburn curls bouncing, their eyes wide with awe. “Wally!” Iris says, her voice breaking, rushing to him, her hands cupping his face, her thumbs brushing his freckles. “You’re really here.” Wally’s eyes soften, his hand reaching for hers, trembling. “Aunt Iris,” he murmurs, “sorry I kept you waiting.” She laughs, a sob catching in her throat, and pulls him into a hug, her warmth a mirror of Mary’s, a family’s love unbroken by time.

Barry steps closer, his blue eyes glistening, his voice low. “Kid, you had me worried.” He rests a hand on Wally’s shoulder, careful of the bruise he carries, a mark of Wally’s uncontrolled speed. “You’re faster than me now, huh?” Wally’s grin falters, his eyes flickering with that eerie gold, and he shrugs, his voice quiet. “Not sure what I am, Barry.” The admission hangs, heavy with unspoken fears, and Barry’s hand tightens, his smile steady. “You’re my nephew. That’s enough for now.” I feel a pang, knowing Barry’s grappling with the same fear I am—what the Speed Force has made Wally into.

Dawn and Wallace inch forward, their tiny hands clutching their treasures. “Wally, we made this!” Dawn says, her voice bright, holding up a drawing of a stick-figure Wally in red and yellow, lightning bolts around him. Wallace, named for his cousin, offers his stuffed toy, his voice shy. “For you, so you feel better.” Wally’s eyes widen, his smile genuine, softening the haunted edge. “You must be my cousins. Thanks, you two. What are your names?” he says, taking the drawing and toy, his hands shaking slightly, the vibration in his body flaring briefly, making the bed hum. Dawn speaks first, her chin proud as she says gives her name. Then it's Wallace's turn. He looks at Wally and says, "My name's Wallace." Wally takes a hard gulp, looking back to Iris and Barry, "You named him after me?" They both smile and nod. Wally turns back to the twins, “You’re pretty cool, you know that?” The twins giggle, climbing onto Iris’s lap, their chatter a spark of normalcy, and I smile, my chest warm, seeing Wally’s light in their eyes.

The door hisses again, and Bruce Wayne steps in, his Batman cowl casting shadows, his presence a cold draft in the room’s warmth. Superman and Martian Manhunter flank him, their expressions neutral but concerned. My temper flares, remembering his briefing yesterday, his insistence on dissecting Wally’s return, the Speed Force’s energy spikes. “Artemis, Barry, Wally,” Bruce says, his voice precise, “we need to discuss his condition. The training deck incident—his speed, the energy readings—indicates he’s a potential risk. We need tests, immediately, to ensure he’s stable.” His white lenses lock on me, unyielding, and my hand tightens on Wally’s, protective.

“He’s not a risk,” I snap, my voice sharp, rising from my chair, my exhaustion fueling my anger. “He’s Wally, not some experiment. He woke up, he’s here, with his family. He was overwhelmed. Let him breathe.” Barry’s beside me, his jaw set, his bruise a stark reminder of Wally’s power. “She’s right, Bruce,” he says, his voice firm. “He’s my nephew, not a threat. He needs time, not a lab.” Wally’s eyes flicker, gold flaring, and he shifts, his voice low. “I’m not… I’m not dangerous. I just… lost control.” His words are fragile, a plea, and my heart aches, seeing the fear in his eyes.

Superman steps forward, his voice gentle. “We’re not saying you’re dangerous, Wally. But we need to understand what happened, for your safety.” Martian Manhunter nods, his telepathic presence soft, respectful. “Your mind is… turbulent, but familiar. We only wish to help.” Bruce’s jaw tightens, but he relents, his voice clipped. “Twenty-four hours. Then we run non-invasive scans. Agreed?” I glance at Wally, his nod faint, and I sigh, my anger cooling. “Fine,” I say, my voice low, “but he’s not alone in this.”

The heroes leave, the door hissing shut, and the Med Bay settles, the family’s presence a shield against Bruce’s shadow. Mary and Rudy sit closer, their hands on Wally’s, their eyes bright with love. Iris holds the twins, whispering stories of Wally’s Kid Flash days, their giggles softening the tension. Bart lingers, his voice quiet. “You scared me, cuz. You were faster than… anything.” Wally’s smile is strained, his eyes distant. “I didn’t mean to, Bart. It’s… hard to explain.” His gaze meets mine, a silent request, and I nod, squeezing his hand.

“Guys,” I say, my voice soft, “can we have a minute?” Mary smiles, her hand brushing my cheek, and they step out, the twins trailing, leaving us in the Med Bay’s quiet hum. Wally shifts, his eyes locking on mine, green and gold, haunted but warm. “Artemis,” he says, his voice a rasp, “I… I don’t know how to tell you what it was like.” His hands tremble, the vibration flaring, and I lean closer, my forehead against his, grounding him. “Then don’t,” I whisper. “Not all of it, not now. Just… tell me what you can.”

He swallows, his breath uneven, his eyes distant. “It was endless,” he says, his voice low, raw. “Light, everywhere, burning, like running through fire that never stopped. No time, no space, just… motion, and pain. But I heard you, Artemis. Your voice, in Central City, in Gotham, yesterday… it was the only thing that kept me going, kept me fighting to get back.” His eyes well, gold flaring, and my tears spill, my hands cupping his face, his skin hot, still humming. “I saw things,” he continues, his voice breaking, “places, moments, like I was everywhere at once, but it was… too much. I’m scared to tell you, scared it’ll hurt you, scared I’m not… me anymore.”

I shake my head, my voice fierce. “You’re Wally West. You’re my dumbass, and I'm your Spitfire. Whatever happened, whatever you saw, you’re here, with me, with us. We’ll figure it out together.” I press my lips to his, soft, a promise, tasting salt and ozone, his breath hitching. He pulls me closer, his arms trembling but strong, and we hold each other, the monitor’s beep a steady rhythm, a vow he’s alive.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice raw, his eyes searching mine. “I fought for you, every step. I’m not leaving again.” My heart stutters, the years of grief melting under his gaze, and I nod, my voice lost, my forehead against his. “I love you too,” I murmur, my tears falling, a weight lifting. He’s changed, marked by the Speed Force, but he’s mine, and I’m his, forever.

The door hisses, and Mary peeks in, her smile soft. “Sorry to interrupt, but the twins want their cousin.” Dawn and Wallace tumble in, their drawings clutched, their voices bright. “Wally, tell us a story!” Dawn demands, climbing onto the bed, Wallace following, his stuffed toy in hand. Rudy and Mary settle beside them, Iris and Barry joining, their laughter filling the room. Bart grins, his worry easing, and I sit back, Wally’s hand in mine, watching our family—his family, my family—wrap him in love.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I could tell he was getting tired before anyone else noticed. Wally’s always had this look when it hits him — the way his eyes flutter shut for a second too long, the sharp edges of his grin softening, his voice losing that quick, electric energy. Even after everything, even after four years of him being gone, I know him. I never forgot how to read him.

His head tilted toward the pillow, one hand loosely fisting the blanket. I reached out, my fingers brushing against his beneath the covers. He gave a gentle squeeze, almost like a reflex, like his body was remembering me before his mind could catch up. It felt like everything else in the room slowed down in that moment — Iris talking about the twins, Bart cracking a joke, Rudy and Mary sitting so close together they could’ve been the same person. But all I saw was Wally. And the way the spark that usually clung to him like static was dimming.

Iris caught on next. Her voice faltered mid-story, and she smiled that soft, knowing smile I’ve only ever seen her use with him. “You okay, sweetheart?” she asked.

Wally blinked up at her, tried for a grin. It was half there. “Yeah… just… getting a little tired.”

The room let out a collective laugh, but it was tight, like everyone was holding their breath just a little. Bart snorted, wiping at his eyes like he was pretending not to be crying. “Speed naps are a thing, dude,” he teased, though his voice cracked and gave him away.

Barry leaned down and rested a hand on Wally’s shoulder. “You don’t have to push yourself. None of us expect that. Just rest, okay?”

Wally’s parents nodded from their seats. Rudy looked like he wanted to say something else — probably one of those awkward dad things he’s always said at the wrong time — but Mary caught his arm and gave a tiny shake of her head. “Rest, baby,” she murmured, her voice the kind of gentle that makes you ache. “We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

Wally’s gaze skimmed over them all, his expression soft, and for a second, I saw the kid I fell for years ago, not the haunted man who had escaped the Speed Force — the one who talked too fast and flirted too clumsily and made my stomach hurt from laughing. But then his eyes found mine, and everything else in the room sort of bled away.

“You… you’re not leaving, are you?” he asked, his voice small, like a kid afraid of the answer.

My throat tightened. God, four years, and he still thought I’d let him go. I shook my head and gave him a crooked smile. “Not once,” I said, leaning closer. “Not since you came back. I haven’t left your side. And I’m not about to start now.”

I felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on us, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was him. He swallowed hard, then tugged weakly at the blanket beside him. “Could you… I mean… would you get in here? With me?” His voice cracked, and it was barely more than a whisper. “I just… wanna hold you.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it, not because it was funny, but because God, it was so Wally to wait until the last second to ask for what he wanted. “Took you long enough,” I murmured, standing up and kicking off my boots.

Everyone started filing out after that — Iris pressing a kiss to his forehead, Barry giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, Bart giving a smile and hiding misty eyes. Mary kissed one cheek, Rudy the other, and the twins waved sleepily from the doorway before they all disappeared, leaving the room in soft, sterile quiet.

I slid under the blanket beside him, careful of the wires and monitors, but Wally reached out and pulled me in like his life depended on it. His face buried against my shoulder, one arm curling tight around my waist. It was instinct. Like we’d done this a hundred times before, and maybe we had.

“I missed you,” he mumbled, his voice already thick with sleep.

I kissed his temple, my fingers running through his hair. “I missed you more.”

His breathing evened out not long after, his body finally giving in. I stayed awake, just watching him, tracing the line of his jaw, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand stayed tucked against my side like he was still afraid I might disappear.

And for the first time in over four years, I was home.

Chapter 15: Reunions

Watchtower Med Bay, November 27^th, 2020

November 27, 2020, and the Watchtower Med Bay is a soft hum of life, its sterile air warmed by the presence of family and friends who’ve made this space a home. The artificial lights cast a steady glow, a constant reminder we’re orbiting in the void, far from Earth’s rhythms. I’m in my familiar chair beside Wally's bed, my hand clasped around his, his warmth an answered prayer. My leather jacket’s draped over the chair’s back, my hair loose and tangled, my eyes heavy from days of vigil, though last night’s sleep—curled beside Wally, his heartbeat under my ear—was the first real rest I’ve had since his disappearance. Wally’s awake, sitting up, his freckled face brighter today, his green eyes flecked with that eerie gold, a mark of the Speed Force that still hums in his body, a faint vibration that prickles my skin. His burns are healing, the bandages lighter, but his hospital gown can’t hide the scars or the quiet weight in his gaze, a shadow of what he endured. The heart monitor beeps steadily, a comforting rhythm after its flatline scare, but the doctors’ charts note lingering energy spikes, a mystery we’re only beginning to unravel.

The Wests and Allens—Mary, Rudy, Barry, Iris, and the three-year-old twins, Dawn and Wallace—have stepped out to the galley for breakfast, giving Wally a brief respite from their constant, loving presence. Bart’s off on a quick patrol as Kid Flash, his need to move a mirror of Wally’s restless energy. The Med Bay’s quieter now, cluttered with signs of life: Mary’s knitting bag, Rudy’s crossword book, the twins’ drawings taped to the walls, Wallace’s stuffed lightning bolt tucked beside Wally’s pillow. Yesterday’s chaos—Wally’s feral awakening, his sprint to the training deck, Bruce’s demand for tests—lingers in my bones, but his return to me, his whispered “I’m home,” keeps me grounded. I’m still reeling from his brief glimpse into the Speed Force—a timeless void of light and pain, my voice his only tether—and his fear of sharing more, but I’m patient, my love for him a steady flame.

The door hisses open, and I glance up, my grip on Wally’s hand tightening instinctively. Conner Kent steps in, his broad frame filling the doorway, his black T-shirt and jeans a far cry from his Superboy suit, his blue eyes bright with relief. M’gann follows, her green skin catching the light, her auburn hair loose, her amber eyes glistening with joy. Barbara Gordon rolls in next, her wheelchair gliding smoothly, her red hair pulled into a ponytail, her green eyes sharp but warm behind her glasses. Dick Grayson lingers at the back, his Nightwing mask off, his dark hair mussed, his blue eyes shadowed with emotion he’s holding tight. The Team—my Team, Wally’s Team—is here, their presence a spark of the past, a reminder of the kids we were, fighting side by side. This moment is for us, for the family we built in the shadows of heroes.

“Wally!” M’gann exclaims, her voice bright, floating forward, her hands clasped with excitement. “You’re awake! You’re really here!” Wally’s grin lights up, a ghost of his old charm, and he leans forward, his voice raspy but warm. “Hey, M’gann. Missed your cookies.” She laughs, a musical sound, and perches on the bed’s edge, her hand brushing his arm, careful of his scars. “I’ll bake you a batch, promise. Chocolate chip, extra gooey.” Her smile is radiant, and I feel a pang, remembering her apology days ago, the forgiveness I offered, the bond we’re rebuilding.

Conner steps closer, his arms crossed, a rare smile softening his gruff features. “You look like hell, man,” he says, his voice low, teasing. Wally chuckles, wincing slightly, the vibration in his body flaring briefly. “Thanks, Conner. Feeling pretty hellish, too.” Conner’s smile fades, his eyes serious. “You scared us. Thought we lost you for good.” Wally’s gaze drops, his hand tightening in mine, and I squeeze back, anchoring him. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “thought I was gone, too. But… I’m back.” Conner nods, his hand resting on Wally’s shoulder, a silent vow, and I see the brotherly bond they’ve always shared, unbroken by time.

Barbara rolls closer, her wheelchair stopping beside me, her tablet resting on her lap, her voice crisp but warm. “You’ve got some catching up to do, West,” she says, her smile wry. “The world didn’t stop while you were… away.” Wally’s eyes meet hers, his grin softening. “Babs, you’re still running the show, huh?” She laughs, a sound that eases the room’s quiet, and I notice the strength in her posture, the way she carries herself despite the wheelchair—a mark of the 2018 fight that changed her life, a story I know but Wally doesn’t yet. “Someone’s gotta keep these idiots in line,” she says, glancing at Dick, who smirks from the back.

The Team settles in, pulling chairs close, their voices overlapping in a familiar chaos that feels like home. M’gann takes the lead, her hands animated, her smile bright. “So much has happened, Wally! Conner and I… we got married, just a couple months ago, in September.” She holds up her left hand, a simple silver band glinting, and Conner blushes, a rare sight. Wally’s eyes widen, his grin genuine. “No way! You two tied the knot? That’s awesome!” He leans forward, wincing slightly, his voice warm. “Tell me everything. Big party? Did Conner cry?” M’gann giggles, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, he totally cried. It was at the beach, sunset, just family and friends. Kaldur officiated, and Artemis was my maid of honor.” Her glance at me is soft, grateful, and I nod, my throat tight, remembering the joy of that day, tempered by my grief for Wally.

Conner grunts, his ears red. “I didn’t cry that much,” he mutters, but his arm around M’gann betrays his pride. “It was… good. You would’ve loved it, man. Open bar, bad dancing.” Wally laughs, a sound that warms my chest, but his eyes flicker with gold, a shadow crossing his face, and I know he’s thinking of the years he missed. “I’ll make up for it,” he says, his voice quieter. “You guys got pics?” M’gann pulls out her phone, scrolling through photos—her in a flowing white dress, Conner in a suit, laughing under a canopy of stars—and Wally leans in, his smile bittersweet, my hand in his a steady anchor.

Barbara clears her throat, her voice steady but gentle. “My turn, I guess.” She adjusts her glasses, her gaze meeting Wally’s, unflinching. “I’ve been Oracle full-time since 2018. Got in a bad fight—my spine took a hit, slashed pretty deep. Been in the chair since.” Wally’s face falls, his eyes widening, guilt flashing. “Babs, I… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head, her smile firm. “Don’t be. I’m still kicking ass, just from a different angle. Built a network that’d make your head spin, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.” Her hand rests on his arm, her voice softening. “You being back? That’s the best news I’ve had in years.” Wally nods, his eyes glistening, and I feel a surge of pride for her, for the strength she’s forged from pain.

Dick’s been quiet, standing at the back, his arms crossed, his blue eyes fixed on Wally with a raw intensity that makes my chest ache. He’s giving everyone space, letting Conner’s gruff humor, M’gann’s bubbly stories, Barbara’s steady updates fill the room, but I see the tremor in his hands, the way his jaw clenches, holding back a storm. The Team’s laughter rises—Conner teasing Wally about his old Kid Flash suit, M’gann recounting a mission where she shapeshifted into a dinosaur, Barbara joking about hacking Wayne Enterprises for fun—and Wally’s grin grows, his vibration easing, his eyes brighter, but I catch Dick’s gaze, the pain he’s hiding, and I know this reunion means more to him than anyone.

M’gann glances at Dick, her empathy catching his turmoil, and she nudges Conner, her voice soft. “We should let Wally rest a bit,” she says, standing, her smile warm. “We’ll be back with those cookies, okay?” Conner nods, his hand on Wally’s shoulder, a silent promise. Barbara rolls back, her tablet humming, her voice teasing. “Don’t go running off again, West.” They file out, the door hissing shut, leaving Dick behind, his silhouette sharp against the Med Bay’s glow.

Wally’s eyes meet Dick’s, and the room shifts, the air heavy with unspoken years. “Hey, man,” Wally says, his voice soft, strained, his grin faltering. Dick steps forward, his boots scuffing the floor, his hands unclenching, his blue eyes glistening. “Wally,” he says, his voice cracking, and stops, swallowing hard, his composure fraying. He closes the distance, sitting on the bed’s edge, his hands gripping the railing, his head bowed. “I… I missed you, man. So damn much.” His voice is raw, a wound laid bare, and my throat tightens, tears prickling, my hand still in Wally’s, feeling his tremor.

Wally’s eyes well, gold flaring briefly, and he reaches out, his hand on Dick’s arm, trembling. “I missed you too, Dick. I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to leave you.” His voice breaks, and Dick shakes his head, his laugh choked, tears spilling. “Don’t apologize, you idiot. You’re back. That’s all I care about.” He pulls Wally into a hug, fierce and unyielding, his shoulders shaking, and Wally hugs him back, his scarred arms tight, their bond a lifeline across years of grief. “I thought I lost my best friend,” Dick murmurs, his voice muffled, “but you’re here, and I’m so happy, Wally. So damn happy.”

They pull back, Dick wiping his eyes, his grin shaky but real, Wally’s smile mirroring his, a spark of their old banter. “You got all sappy on me, Grayson,” Wally teases, his voice raspy, and Dick laughs, a sound that fills the room, easing the weight. “Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me now,” Dick says, his hand on Wally’s shoulder, his eyes bright. “No more disappearing acts, okay?” Wally nods, his gaze distant for a moment, gold flickering, but he squeezes Dick’s arm, a vow. “Deal.”

I watch, my heart full. Dick’s pain mirrors mine, the years he spent searching, hoping, breaking apart without Wally. His return is a miracle, a light in the dark, and this reunion—Conner’s gruff love, M’gann’s joy, Barbara’s strength, Dick’s raw relief—heals a piece of us all. Wally’s hand tightens in mine, his eyes meeting my own, green and gold, haunted but warm, and I smile, my voice soft. “You’ve got a lot of people who love you, dumbass,” I murmur, and he chuckles, wincing, his vibration flaring briefly. “Yeah, Spitfire,” he says, his voice raw, “and you’re at the top of the list.”

The door hisses, and Mary peeks in, her smile soft, the twins trailing behind, their drawings clutched. “Hope we’re not interrupting,” she says, and Dick stands, his grin steady, wiping his eyes. “Nah, just catching up,” he says, stepping back, giving space but staying close, his bond with Wally unshaken. The Med Bay fills again, the twins’ chatter, Mary’s warmth, the Team’s laughter lingering in the air, a family rebuilt around Wally’s bed. I lean my head against his shoulder, his heartbeat under my ear, and surrender to this moment, to the love that brought him home, to the Team that’s always been ours.

Chapter 16: Closure of Heart

Notes:

Felt like this one was needed. Artemis finally goes and talks to Jason. Let's just hope Wally isn't too changed by the things he saw in the Speed Force when he learns about Jason (not gonna happen in this chapter, gotta keep you on your toes)

The Watchtower, November 28^th, 2020

As I sit near Wally's bed, his hand in mine, I find my mind a blur of emotion. Bruce will be back soon, wanting to do the scans, and I'll be damned if they do anything without me being there. But the weight of unfinished promises still presses against my chest, a quiet ache amidst the soft hum of the Watchtower’s orbit. I’m beside Wally, my hand in his, his green eyes flecked with gold watching me with a warmth that makes my heart stutter. Yesterday’s laughter with the Team—Conner’s gruff stories, M’gann’s wedding photos, Barbara’s sharp wit, Dick’s tearful relief—still lingers, a spark of the life we’re rebuilding. But Jason's voicemails, his proposal months ago, his unanswered hope, haunt me, a shadow I can’t ignore now that Wally’s back. I love Wally, with every fiber of my soul, but Jason deserves truth, closure, a chance to find the love I couldn’t give. I’m not ready to tell Wally yet, not when his scars and the Speed Force’s hum remind me how fragile he is, but I need to do this, to free us both from my guilt.

“Wally,” I say, my voice soft, leaning closer, my thumb tracing his knuckles. “I need to run an errand. Something I’ve gotta take care of.” His brow furrows, gold flickering in his eyes, but his smile is easy, trusting. “Everything okay, Spitfire?” he asks, his voice raspy, warm. I nod, my chest tight, hating the omission but not ready to burden him with my guilt. “Yeah, just… something I need to do. I’ll be back in an hour, tops. Way before Bruce gets here.” He squeezes my hand, his vibration flaring briefly, a spark against my skin. “I’ll be here,” he says, his grin teasing. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.” I lean in, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his curls soft against my lips, and stand, my boots scuffing the floor, my resolve hardening. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The zeta-tube hums in the Watchtower’s transport bay, its blue light casting shadows as I step into the portal, the automated voice intoning, “Recognized: Tigress, B-07.” The world blurs, a rush of light and static, and I step out into Star City’s STAR Labs annex, the air crisp with autumn chill, the scent of wet leaves and city asphalt grounding me. My jacket’s zipped tight, my boots crunching on the sidewalk as I head to Jason’s apartment, a modest brownstone a few blocks away. The city’s alive, post-Thanksgiving shoppers bustling, holiday lights twinkling, but my heart’s heavy, a knot of guilt and determination. Jason’s been nothing but kind, his proposal a moment of hope I couldn’t accept, not when half my heart was with Wally, lost in a void I thought was forever. Now, with Wally back, I owe Jason the truth, no matter how much it hurts.

The brownstone looms, its steps worn, the buzzer panel glinting under a streetlamp. I hesitate, my finger hovering over Jason’s name—Bard, J.—my breath clouding in the cold. I press it, the buzz sharp, and wait, my pulse racing, my hands stuffed in my pockets. The door clicks, and Jason opens it, his dark hair mussed, his brown eyes widening with surprise, then relief. “Artemis?” he says, his voice warm but edged with worry, stepping forward. Before I can speak, he pulls me into a hug, his arms strong, his sweater soft with the scent of cedar and coffee. “God, you’re okay. I haven’t heard from you since the Gotham storm. I called, texted… I was worried sick.” His embrace is genuine, and guilt stabs me, sharp and deep, for leaving him in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, pulling back, my voice hoarse, meeting his eyes. “Can we talk? Inside?” He nods, his brow furrowing, and gestures me in, holding the door. “Yeah, of course. Come on.” His apartment is warm, inviting, a cozy clutter of books, vinyl records, and framed photos—a life I could’ve shared but never could have fully embraced. The living room glows with lamplight, a half-finished crossword on the coffee table, a mug of tea steaming beside it. I linger near the door, my boots rooted, unable to step deeper into a space that feels like a lie I’ve been living. Jason notices, his smile fading, his hands in his pockets. “What’s going on, Artemis? You look… shaken.”

I swallow, my throat tight, my hands clenching in my jacket. “Jason, I… I owe you an apology,” I start, my voice trembling, forcing myself to meet his eyes, brown and kind, searching mine. “You’re a wonderful person, so full of love, life, so deserving of someone who can give that back to you, completely. But I haven’t been that person, and I’m so sorry for letting you think I could be.” His face shifts, a flicker of pain, but he stays quiet, letting me continue, and I take a shaky breath, the words spilling out, raw and honest.

“When Wally disappeared, I… I became a shell of myself,” I say, my voice cracking, tears prickling. “He took half my heart with him, and I tried to move on, to build something with you, because you’re amazing, because you made me feel like I could be whole again. But it was selfish, Jason. I was never fully here, never able to give you what you deserve, because I was still holding onto him, even when I thought he was gone forever, even when I pretended to be okay.” I pause, my chest aching, his silence heavy but patient, his eyes glistening with understanding he’s trying to hold back.

“I should’ve told you this before,” I continue, my voice steadier now, “but I was scared, scared of hurting you, scared of admitting I couldn’t let him go when I thought he was just a ghost. I feel awful, Jason, for keeping this from you, for trying to force a future that was never mine to give.” I swallow, my hands trembling, and take a step closer, needing him to hear the rest. “Wally came back. That night in Gotham, the storm, the rift—that was him. He’s alive, and I’ve been with him ever since, at the Watchtower, not leaving his side. It’s a long story, and I can’t tell it all, but… I can’t leave him, Jason. I never could, and I know now I never will.”

His eyes widen, shock mixing with pain, and he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Wally’s… back?” he says, his voice low, processing. I nod, tears spilling, my voice soft. “Yeah. He’s back, and he’s my everything. I’m sorry, Jason, so sorry for hurting you, but I need to be honest, for both of us.” I brace for anger, for resentment, but his face softens, a sad smile breaking through, and he steps closer, his hand resting on my arm, gentle.

“Artemis,” he says, his voice steady, raw, “I always knew you were carrying something deeper, something you couldn’t share. I saw it in your eyes, the way you’d get quiet, like you were somewhere else. I don’t blame you. I just… I wish you’d told me sooner, but I get it. You were trying to find your way, and I’m glad you have, even if it’s not with me.” His smile is bittersweet, his eyes glistening, and my chest aches, gratitude and guilt colliding. “Wally’s a lucky guy,” he adds, his voice soft, and I shake my head, my laugh shaky, tears streaming.

“No, Jason,” I say, my voice firm, “I’m the lucky one. He fought to come back, and I… I don’t deserve him, or you, but I’m trying to be better, to be honest. You deserve someone who can love you with their whole heart, and I know you’ll find her.” He nods, his hand squeezing my arm, a silent acceptance, and steps back, his smile steadier now. “I hope you’re happy, Artemis,” he says, his voice genuine. “Take care of yourself, okay?” I nod, my throat too tight to speak, and turn to the door, my hand on the knob, pausing.

“Thank you, Jason,” I whisper, my voice breaking, “for everything.” I open the door, the cold air rushing in, and step out, not looking back, my boots echoing on the steps, my heart heavy but lighter, a weight lifted. The city hums around me, holiday lights blurring through my tears, but I’m not grieving anymore. I’m alive, excited, my pulse racing with the promise of Wally, waiting for me in the Watchtower, his green eyes, his grin, his love my home. The zeta-tube’s light swallows me, a rush of static and hope, and I’m ready to return, to surrender fully to the man who holds my heart, no shadows left behind.

Chapter 17: Scans and Secrets

Watchtower, November 28^th, 2020

The Watchtower’s zeta-tube spits me out into the transport bay, the blue light fading as the automated voice drones, “Recognized: Tigress, B-07.” The air is cool, sterile, tinged with ozone, a stark contrast to Star City’s autumn chill, where I just left. My boots echo on the polished floor, my leather jacket zipped tight, my heart racing with the promise of Wally waiting in the Med Bay, his green eyes, his grin, my home. But the weight of my half-truth with him earlier presses heavy, a secret I’m not ready to share: Jason. My half-hearted attempts to move on, the truth I owe Wally but can’t yet voice. Not when he’s still scarred, his body humming with the Speed Force’s strange energy, his mind fractured by years in a void I can’t fathom. I need time, but time feels like a luxury we don’t have, not with Bruce’s scans looming, a shadow of scrutiny that threatens Wally’s fragile recovery.

The Med Bay’s corridor stretches ahead, its steel walls glinting under artificial lights, the faint hum of machinery a constant pulse. My steps quicken, driven by the need to see Wally, to feel his hand in mine, to anchor myself after the raw honesty of facing Jason. But as I near the door, it hisses open, and Dick Grayson steps out, his dark hair mussed, his blue eyes sharp with concern. He’s in civilian clothes—jeans, a black sweater—but his posture is tense, like he’s been waiting for me. My stomach twists, a flare of defensiveness rising before he even speaks.

“Artemis,” he says, his voice low, crossing his arms, blocking the door. “Where’ve you been?” His tone isn’t accusing, not yet, but it’s probing, and I bristle, my hands clenching in my pockets. “It’s not like you to leave Wally’s side, not now.”

I force a shrug, my voice tight, trying to sidestep. “Had things to do, Dick. I’m back, okay?” I move toward the door, but he doesn’t budge, his eyes narrowing, baffled, searching mine. “What things?” he presses, his voice sharper now, a hint of frustration. “You’ve been glued to him since Gotham, and now you vanish for an hour? What’s going on?”

My temper flares, a spark igniting the guilt I’ve been carrying, and I step closer, my voice low, biting. “It doesn’t matter right now, Dick. Let me through.” I try to push past, but his hand grips my arm, firm but not rough, his eyes intense, holding me in place. “We agreed, Artemis,” he says, his voice steady, cutting. “No lies, no secrets. Not when we were getting Wally back, not ever. You owe me that much.”

I wrench my arm free, my anger surging, a hot rush that drowns the guilt for a moment. “We agreed to no lies when we were fighting to save him,” I snap, my voice low but fierce, glancing at the Med Bay door, terrified Wally might hear. “He’s back now, Dick. Back, and broken, and I’m trying to hold it together for him. So back off.” My chest heaves, my hands trembling, but Dick doesn’t relent, his jaw set, his eyes searching mine, piecing it together.

“Was it Jason?” he asks, his voice quieter now, but pointed, and my breath catches, my defensiveness spiking. “Keep your voice down,” I hiss, stepping closer, my eyes blazing. “I haven’t told Wally about Jason yet, and I’m not letting him hear it from you, or anyone else. It’s my mess, Dick, and I’ll handle it.” My voice shakes, a mix of fear and fury, the thought of Wally’s haunted eyes, his fragile trust, twisting my heart.

Dick’s expression softens, but his stance doesn’t waver, his voice firm. “You need to tell him, Artemis. Sooner rather than later. He deserves to know, especially now, with everything he’s been through.” His words sting, a truth I’m dodging, and I laugh, a sharp, sarcastic sound, my hands throwing up in frustration.

“Oh, great advice, Grayson,” I say, my voice dripping with venom. “How should I do it, huh? When’s the perfect time? Before Bruce’s insane tests, when they’re poking and prodding him like a lab rat? During, while he’s hooked up to machines, with that foreign energy coursing through him like it never has before? Or maybe after, when he’s exhausted, his mind already fractured from whatever hell he saw in that void?” My voice cracks, tears prickling, and I step closer, my finger jabbing at his chest. “Should I tell him in some absurd moment, like when he’s laid up in that sick bed, barely holding himself together? No, Dick, I’ll tell him, but I don’t know when, and I don’t know how. He’s fragile, and I’m scared—scared of his response, scared he’ll think I betrayed him more than I already have when I gave up on him, when I stopped believing he could come back.” My breath hitches, my tears threatening to spill, and I swipe them away, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll do it, but I’m terrified, and I need you to let me figure this out.”

Dick’s eyes widen, his resolve faltering, and he steps back, his hands raised, his voice soft. “Okay, Artemis. Okay. I’m sorry, I just… I don’t want you to lose him, not when you just got him back.” His gaze is raw, mirroring my fear, and I nod, my throat tight, my anger ebbing into exhaustion. “I know,” I murmur, my voice hoarse. “Thanks for the opinion, Grayson. Now move.”

He hesitates, then steps aside, his hand brushing my shoulder, a silent apology, but before I can reach the door, a shadow falls across the corridor. Bruce Wayne—Batman—rounds the corner, his cowl casting sharp angles, his cape a dark ripple, his white lenses glinting under the lights. His presence is a cold draft, a reminder of the scans he demanded, the tests Wally agreed to under pressure. Behind him, a medical tech pushes a cart of equipment—scanners, probes, monitors—its wheels clattering, a sound that sets my teeth on edge. My heart lurches, my hand pausing on the door, my resolve to protect Wally surging.

“Artemis,” Bruce says, his voice precise, clipped, stopping beside me. “It’s time. The scans begin now.” His lenses lock on me, unyielding, and I feel Dick tense behind me, his worry mirroring mine. My jaw clenches, my anger at Dick redirecting to Bruce, to the League, to the threat of turning Wally into a specimen.

“Fine,” I say, "Dick, get Barry. He needs to be here." My voice is low, sharp, pushing the door open, my boots echoing as I step into the Med Bay, my heart racing with the need to be at Wally’s side, to shield him from whatever comes next. Dick nods and silently moves off.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Med Bay is a soft glow, Wally’s bed the center of its orbit, his freckled face turning toward me, his green eyes brightening despite the gold flecks, the faint hum of his body a quiet undercurrent. He’s sitting up, his T-shirt loose, his curls wild, Dick’s jacket slung over a chair from their earlier talk. “Hey, Spitfire,” Wally says, his voice raspy, warm, his grin easing the knot in my chest. “Miss me?”

I force a smile, my throat tight, crossing to him, my hand finding his, warm and steady, grounding me. “Always,” I murmur, leaning down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, my lips lingering, hiding the turmoil from my clash with Dick, the fear of Bruce’s tests. Barry zips to the door, Dick following behind. Dick's eyes are on us, soft but wary, and I feel his warning—tell him soon—like a weight I can’t shake. Barry speaks up with an easy smile, "Don't worry, Kid. I'm here, you're gonna be fine."

Bruce steps in, the tech setting up equipment, monitors beeping, cables snaking across the floor. Wally’s grin falters, his eyes flickering with gold, his hand tightening in mine, sensing the shift. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice quieter, glancing at Bruce and Barry, then me, a flicker of fear in his gaze.

“Scans,” Bruce says, his voice flat, moving to the tech’s side, adjusting a monitor. “To understand your condition, the energy in your system. Non-invasive, as agreed.” His lenses meet Wally’s, unreadable, and I feel Wally’s vibration flare, a spark against my palm, his fear mirroring mine.

I squeeze his hand, my voice fierce, leaning close. “I’m right here, just slow down.” I whisper, my eyes locked on his, green and gold, haunted but trusting. “We’re doing this together, okay?” He nods, his smile strained, and I sit beside him, my heart a drum, ready to face Bruce’s tests, to protect Wally, to hold onto the love that brought him back, no matter what truths I still need to face.

Batman stands resolute in the center of the room, his cowl’s white lenses unyielding, his cape a dark curtain as he directs the medical tech, a young woman in a white coat whose hands tremble slightly under his scrutiny. The scanner, a sleek device with glowing panels, hums as it sweeps over Wally, projecting holographic data onto a screen above—graphs, waveforms, numbers that mean nothing to me but everything to Bruce. My jaw clenches, my stress from the corridor clash with Dick simmering, fueled by Bruce's insistence on these tests, his cold pragmatism threatening to reduce Wally to a specimen. I squeeze Wally’s hand, my voice a whisper, fierce. “We’re in this together, okay?” He nods, his smile strained, gold flickering in his eyes, and I hold his gaze, grounding him, shielding him from the weight of Bruce’s stare.

The tech adjusts the scanner, her voice hesitant. “Preliminary results are… mostly normal, sir. Heart rate, oxygen levels, neural activity—all within expected parameters for a speedster recovering from trauma.” She pauses, her eyes flicking to the screen, where a jagged red waveform spikes wildly, dwarfing the others. “Except… the energy output. It’s off the charts, unlike anything we’ve recorded, even from other speedsters.” My stomach twists, a flare of fear mixing with defiance, and I glance at Wally, his expression unreadable, his incessant vibration flaring briefly against my hand.

Bruce steps closer to the screen, his voice precise, cutting through the hum. “Specify,” he says, his lenses fixed on the data. The tech swallows, tapping the screen, zooming in on the waveform. “It’s not just electromagnetic or kinetic energy,” she says, her voice steadier now. “It’s… multidimensional, resonating at frequencies we can’t fully measure with current tech. It’s tied to his physiology, like it’s part of him.” Barry’s brow furrows, his voice sharp. “What does that mean, Bruce? Plain English.” Bruce’s jaw tightens, but he answers, his tone flat. “It means that this Speed Force, as you kids called it, has altered Wally’s biology more than we anticipated. His energy output suggests capabilities beyond what we’ve seen, even from you or Bart.”

Wally’s hand tightens in mine, his eyes distant, gold flaring, and I feel a pang, remembering his whispered confession yesterday—endless light, burning pain, a void that broke him. Before I can speak, Bruce turns, his voice clipped. “I want a blood sample.” The words land like a stone, cold and heavy, and my temper ignites, my body tensing, ready to argue. Barry beats me to it, stepping forward, his voice firm, his bruise stark under the lights. “Hold on, Bruce. Why? What’s the blood sample for? Wally’s my nephew, and I’m a tenured member of the League. You’re not getting a drop without telling me why.”

Dick pushes off the wall, his eyes narrowing, his voice low but pointed. “Yeah, Bruce. Transparency, now.” I glance at Wally, his expression guarded, his vibration steady but intense, and I squeeze his hand, my anger simmering, ready to erupt. Bruce’s lenses meet Barry’s, his jaw clenching, a rare crack in his composure, but he relents, his voice measured. “Tachyons,” he says, the word unfamiliar, sharp. “I want to test his blood for Tachyon levels.”

I blink, confusion cutting through my anger, and Barry’s frown deepens, his voice skeptical. “Tachyons? Like the STAR Labs project in the 70s? What the hell are those?” Dick’s gaze shifts to Bruce, wary, and Wally’s eyes flicker, gold flaring, his silence heavy. Bruce steps closer, his voice clinical, detached. “Tachyons are theoretical particles that move faster than light. They’re the source of a speedster’s abilities, embedded in your biology. I’ve studied them over the years—your blood, Barry, Bart’s, even Wally's before he vanished. Tachyons multiply with training, maturity, experience, which is why older speedsters grow faster. Wally’s energy readings suggest his Tachyon levels are unprecedented, likely amplified by his time in the Speed Force. We need to know what he’s capable of, what these levels indicate, because they won’t diminish. They’ll only enhance.”

My anger surges, a hot rush that drowns the confusion, and I stand, my voice sharp, cutting through the hum. “You’re treating him like a villain, Bruce,” I snap, my hand still in Wally’s, protective, fierce. “Like he’s some threat you need to dissect. He’s Wally, not a weapon!” Barry nods, his jaw set, his voice low. “She’s right. Wally’s good, Bruce. He’s a hero, not a case study.” Dick steps closer, his voice calm but firm. “You’re pushing too hard, Bruce. He just got back. Give him a chance to breathe.”

Bruce’s lenses lock on me, silent, his judgment a weight I’ve felt before, and he speaks, his voice even, unyielding. “I’m treating him like I would any member of the League or the Team. Knowledge is preparation, Artemis. What happens if Wally’s in the field and falls under mind control? What if someone exploits his speed against us? We need to know his capabilities to prepare for the worst-case scenario, to protect him, and others.” His words are logical, cold, a blade that cuts through my defiance, and I falter, memories of yesterday’s training deck flashing—Wally’s feral blur, his punch sending Barry flying, his haunted eyes.

I shake my head, my voice fierce, refusing to yield. “He’s not going bad, Bruce. He’s Wally West, the best of us. He’d never hurt anyone, not like that.” Barry’s hand rests on my shoulder, his voice steady, but the bruise on his cheek stands out in the fluorescent glow. “Artemis is right. Wally’s heart is bigger than his speed. We don’t need to treat him like a ticking bomb.” Dick’s eyes meet mine, a silent agreement, but Wally’s voice cuts through, soft, broken, a rasp that silences us all.

“Do it,” he says, his eyes on Bruce, green and gold, haunted but resolute. My head snaps to him, my heart lurching, and I see Barry and Dick staring, their faces mirroring my shock, like Wally’s grown a third head. “Wally, what?” I say, my voice cracking, leaning closer, my hands gripping his, desperate. He meets Barry’s gaze, his voice steady despite the tremor. “You saw what happened yesterday, Barry. On the training deck. I… I lost control. I don’t know what I’m capable of, not anymore. If something bad happens, if I hurt someone, we need to know how to stop me.”

My anger flares, not at Bruce now, but at Wally, at the fear in his eyes, the self-doubt that breaks my heart. “No, Wally,” I say, my voice fierce, almost angry, pulling his hands closer, my eyes locked on his. “You’re not going to go bad. You’re good, the best person I know. We don’t need to do this, to treat you like a threat.” My voice shakes, the thought of him doubting himself, of him fearing his own power, tearing at me.

He pulls my hands to his chest, his vibration flaring, a warm hum against my skin, and his voice is soft, broken, raw with a pain I can’t reach. “Artemis,” he says, his eyes searching mine, “you haven’t seen what I’ve seen. The things in that void… the places I went, the power I felt. It’s still in me, and I’m scared. If something happened to you, because of me, if I hurt you...oh God" He takes a breath, "or Barry, or Iris, or anyone we love, and there was no way to stop me fast enough… I’d never forgive myself.” His voice cracks, tears glistening, and my breath hitches, my anger crumbling under the weight of his fear, his love.

I shake my head, my voice a whisper, fierce. “You’re a good person, Wally West. I’ll defend that forever.” My hands trembling in his, and I lean closer, my forehead against his, grounding him, refusing to let him see himself as a danger. Barry steps closer, his voice low, pained. “Kid, you don’t have to do this. We trust you.” Dick nods, his eyes glistening, his voice soft. “Wally, you’re our family. We know you.”

Wally’s smile is strained, his eyes on me, then Barry, then Dick, a silent plea. “I trust you guys, too,” he says, his voice raspy. “That’s why I need to do this. For you, for me, for everyone.” He glances at Bruce, his nod firm. “Take the sample.” My heart sinks, a mix of fear and respect for his courage, but I can’t agree, can’t accept the idea of preparing to stop him. I pull back, my hands still in his, my voice low. “I don’t like it, Wally. I’ll never believe we’ll need it.”

Bruce gestures to the tech, who approaches with a syringe, her hands steady now, her voice soft. “It’ll be quick, Mr. West.” Wally rolls up his sleeve, his scars stark under the lights, and I watch, my chest tight, as the needle pierces his skin, crimson filling the vial, a piece of him surrendered to Bruce’s questions. The tech labels it, placing it in a secure case, and Bruce nods, his voice flat. “We’ll analyze it at the Batcave. Results in twenty-four hours.” He turns, the cart’s wheels clattering as they leave, his cape a dark ripple, the door hissing shut behind them.

The Med Bay settles, the hum softer now, but the tension lingers, a shadow over us. Barry rests a hand on Wally’s shoulder, his voice gentle. “You didn’t have to do that, kid.” Wally’s smile is faint, his eyes on me, gold flickering. “Yeah, I did.” Dick steps closer, his hand on Wally’s arm, his voice quiet. “We’ve got your back, always.” I lean against Wally, my head on his shoulder, his heartbeat under my ear, my voice a whisper. “You’re good, Wally. Don’t ever forget that.” His arm wraps around me, trembling but strong, and I hold on, my love for him a shield against the fears we can’t yet name, the secrets the Tachyons might reveal.

Chapter 18: Fragile Promises and Confessions

The Watchtower, November 29^th, 2020

Wally West’s heartbeat thrums under my fingertips, a rhythm I’ve memorized through years by his side, curled up against him in Palo Alto and before. I’m curled beside him now on the narrow Med Bay bed, my head against his chest, his warmth seeping through the soft cotton of his T-shirt, his curls brushing my forehead. His hand rests on my back, trembling with that faint vibration, a ghost of the Speed Force that’s changed him, gold flecks glinting in his eyes even in the dimness. The blood sample he gave hours ago—surrendered to Bruce’s relentless scrutiny—hangs between us, a silent fear he won’t voice but I feel in every shudder of his breath. My own secret, Jason and all that entails, burns in my chest, a confession I almost spilled earlier, stopped only by the haunted weight in Wally’s gaze, the fear he carries from a void I can’t reach. I want to tell him, to be honest, but not now, not when he’s barely holding himself together, his goodness my anchor against the storm of doubts Bruce stirred.

I shift, my feet brushing against his leg, my hair strewn on the pillows like a halo. My mind is everywhere, and I don't know how to get it to go where I need it to be. Wally’s voice, raspy and soft, breaks the quiet. “You okay, Spitfire?” His green eyes search mine, his grin faint but real, and my heart aches, love and guilt colliding. “Yeah,” I lie, my voice low, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, rough with scars. “Just… thinking.” His brow furrows, sensing my unease, but he doesn’t push, his hand tightening around mine, a promise we’re in this together. I want to confess, to tell him about Jason, but the words stick, trapped by the fear of breaking his fragile trust, of adding to the shadows he’s carrying.

“Artemis,” he murmurs, his voice raw, his eyes distant, gold flaring briefly. “I keep seeing it. The light, the endless running. What if it’s still in me, waiting to claim me again?” His words are a confession, a crack in his armor, and my throat tightens, my hand cupping his face, grounding him. “It’s not you, Wally,” I say, my voice fierce, steady. “You’re here, with me. That’s what matters. It won't take you again.” I lean closer, my forehead against his, breathing him in—ozone, sweat, Wally—a tether to the present. “You’re a good person, Wally West. Don’t let Bruce, or anyone, make you think otherwise.” His laugh is soft, strained, but his arms pull me closer, trembling but strong, and I hold on, my confession about Jason hovering, unspoken.

I swallow, my voice a whisper. “Wally, I…” The words falter, my guilt surging, the image of Jason’s sad smile flashing, his acceptance of my truth a weight I haven’t shared. Wally’s eyes meet mine, trusting, haunted, and I can’t do it, can’t add to his pain, not now. “I love you,” I say instead, my voice breaking, tears prickling, and he smiles, his thumb brushing my cheek, his vibration easing. “Love you too, Spitfire,” he rasps, his kiss soft, a promise, and I cling to it, my secret buried for another day.

The door hisses open, and Mary West peeks in, her red hair loose, her green eyes warm but shadowed with worry. “Hope we’re not interrupting,” she says, her smile soft, Rudy behind her, his freckled face gruff but kind, carrying a tray of sandwiches. Barry and Iris follow, Iris balancing a thermos of coffee, the three-year-old twins, Dawn and Wallace, trailing with Bart, who’s juggling a stack of board games, his Kid Flash energy barely contained. The family’s presence fills the room, a tide of love that washes over the tension of the scans, Bruce’s cold demands, my clash with Dick in the corridor.

“Thought you two could use some food,” Rudy says, setting the tray on a table, his voice gruff but warm, glancing at Wally, his eyes glistening. “Can’t have our boy wasting away.” Wally’s grin widens, a spark of his old charm, but his eyes flicker gold, unsettlingly bright, and I see Mary’s hand tighten on Rudy’s arm, a shared fear. “Thanks, Dad,” Wally says, his voice raspy, sitting up, wincing slightly, his vibration flaring, making the tray rattle. Dawn and Wallace climb onto Iris’s lap, their auburn curls bouncing, Dawn waving a drawing—a stick-figure Wally with lightning bolts. “For you, Wally!” she chirps, and Wallace offers his stuffed lightning bolt, his voice shy. “So you don’t feel scared.”

Wally’s eyes soften, his smile genuine, his hands trembling as he takes the drawing, the toy. “You guys are the best,” he says, his voice thick, gold flaring in his eyes, and I feel a pang, seeing the effort it takes to hide his fear. “What’s this one about, Dawn?” he asks, pointing to the drawing, and she launches into a story about Wally racing a dragon, her giggles filling the room. Iris pours coffee, her brown eyes warm but watchful, passing a cup to me, her hand brushing mine, a silent reassurance. Barry sits beside Wally, his bruise fading but stark, his voice light but strained. “You holding up, kid?” he asks, his hand on Wally’s shoulder, and Wally nods, his smile faltering. “Trying, Barry.”

Bart drops the games on the table, his grin wide but his eyes darting to Wally, sensing the change. “Come on, cuz, when you’re back on your feet, we’re racing to Keystone, right?” he says, his voice bright, but Wally’s laugh is soft, his eyes distant, gold flickering. “Maybe, Bart. We’ll see.” The words are quiet, heavy, and I catch Mary’s worried glance, Rudy’s jaw tightening, Iris’s hand pausing mid-pour. The family’s love is a shield, but Wally’s changed demeanor—quieter, haunted, his gold-flecked eyes unsettling—casts a shadow, a reminder of the blood sample, the Tachyons, the unknown waiting in Bruce’s lab.

We move to the lounge next door, Wally needs to stretch his legs, and it's not a far walk. We're still by the Med Bay in case something happens. The lounge is a cozy space with couches and a viewport, the family settling in, sandwiches passed around, the twins’ chatter a spark of normalcy. Mary fusses over Wally, tucking a blanket around him, her hands lingering, as if afraid he’ll vanish. Rudy tells a dad joke—something about speedsters and traffic tickets—that makes Bart groan, Iris laugh, and Wally’s grin flicker, brief but real. I sit beside him, my hand in his, his vibration a steady hum, my heart aching with love and fear. The twins climb onto Wally, Dawn demanding a story, and he obliges, his voice raspy but warm, spinning a tale of Kid Flash outrunning a comet, his eyes softening, gold dimming for a moment.

Dick slips in, his dark hair mussed, his blue eyes softer than in our corridor clash, carrying a tray of cookies—M’gann’s recipe, he claims, though his baking skills are questionable. He catches my eye, his nod subtle, and I tense, knowing he’s thinking of Jason, of my secret. After the twins devour the cookies, Dick pulls me aside, near the viewport, his voice low, gentle. “Artemis, you okay?” he asks, his eyes searching mine, no judgment, just concern. I nod, my throat tight, my hands in my pockets. “Yeah, just… a lot.”

He glances at Wally, laughing softly at Dawn’s insistence on a sequel story, then back to me. “You need to tell him about Jason,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Not to push, but… he’s strong, and his love for you is unshakable. Secrets could hurt more than the truth.” His words echo my fear, and I sigh, my voice low. “I know, Dick. But he’s barely holding on. I saw it today, after the sample. His mind’s fractured, and I can’t break him now.” Dick’s hand rests on my shoulder, his smile sad but warm. “You won’t break him, Artemis. You’re his anchor. Just… don’t wait too long.” I nod, my chest tight, gratitude easing the tension from our earlier fight, his friendship a steady light.

The lounge settles, the family’s laughter fading into quiet chatter, I walk back to Wally and sit by him. He rests his head on my shoulder, his vibration softer now, his eyes heavy. I stroke his curls, my heart full, my fear for him, for us, a quiet undercurrent. The intercom buzzes, Bruce’s voice cutting through, clipped and cold. “Flash, Tigress, Kid Flash—report to the briefing room at 0800 tomorrow. We have preliminary findings.” My heart lurches, my hand tightening in Wally’s, his eyes opening, gold flickering, a shared fear passing between us. The Tachyon results loom, a shadow over our fragile promises, but I lean closer, my voice a whisper, fierce. “Together, Wally. Always.” His smile is faint, his hand squeezing mine, and I hold on, my love for him a shield against the truths we’ll face, my secret about Jason a weight I’ll carry a little longer.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Wally’s hand stays in mine, his grip warm and steady despite the faint tremor of his vibration, a silent vow that we’ll face Bruce’s findings together. We slip away from the lounge, the family’s soft chatter fading behind us, Mary’s laughter mingling with Dawn’s giggles, Rudy’s gruff teasing of Bart. The corridor to the Med Bay is a quiet stretch, our footsteps soft on the polished floor, the hum of the Watchtower a low pulse around us. Wally’s pace is slow, his body still weak from days in a coma, his T-shirt loose on his frame, his curls wild, catching the dim light. My heart aches with love, with fear, the weight of my unspoken secret burning in my chest. I hold his hand tighter, my thumb tracing his knuckles, rough with scars, grounding myself in him, in us, as we push through the Med Bay door, its hiss a soft welcome.

The room is a familiar haven, cluttered with signs of life—Mary’s knitting bag, the twins’ drawings taped to the walls, Wallace’s stuffed lightning bolt on a chair. Wally eases onto the bed, wincing slightly, his vibration flaring, making the frame hum faintly. I kick off my boots, my leather jacket already slung over a chair from earlier, and climb in beside him, the mattress dipping under our weight. He shifts, opening his arms, and I curl into him, my head against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under my ear, his warmth seeping through me. His arms wrap around me, trembling but strong, his curls brushing my forehead, his scent filling my lungs. “Hey, Spitfire,” he murmurs, his voice raspy, soft, his grin audible in the quiet. “This feels like old times, huh?”

I smile, my hand resting on his chest, feeling the faint hum of his energy, gold-flecked eyes glinting in the low light as he looks down at me. “Yeah,” I whisper, my voice thick, memories of our Palo Alto nights flooding back—tangled sheets, his teasing laugh, the world shut out. “Missed this.” My fingers trace his collarbone, careful of his healing burns, and he catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm, his lips warm, soft, a spark that sends my heart racing. His eyes meet mine, green and gold, haunted but warm, and I lean up, my breath catching, needing him closer.

Our lips meet, slow and gentle, a kiss that’s more than a touch—it’s a promise, a homecoming, a surrender to the love that brought him back. His mouth is warm, tasting faintly of coffee from Iris’s thermos, his hand cupping my cheek, trembling, his vibration a soft hum against my skin. I deepen the kiss, my fingers threading through his curls, pulling him closer, my heart swelling with love, with fear, with the need to hold him forever. He responds, his kiss soft but fervent, a quiet intensity that speaks of years apart, of fights to return, of love unbroken. We pull back, breathless, foreheads pressed together, his breath warm against my lips, his eyes searching mine, gold dimming, green shining through.

“Love you, Artemis,” he whispers, his voice raw, breaking, and I feel tears prick, my throat tight. “Love you too, Wally,” I murmur, my voice trembling, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his skin warm, rough with stubble. We settle back, my head on his chest, his arms around me, his vibration easing, a steady hum that lulls me. His breathing slows, his hand stroking my hair, his body relaxing, and I listen, counting his heartbeats, a rhythm I thought I’d lost forever. The Med Bay’s quiet wraps around us, the monitors’ soft beeps a distant lullaby, the world narrowed to us, to this moment.

His hand stills, his breath deepening, and I glance up, his eyes closed, his face serene, gold flecks hidden, his curls falling over his brow. He’s asleep, his chest rising and falling, his vibration a faint whisper, and my heart aches, love and guilt colliding. I shift, my lips brushing his forehead, my voice a whisper, so soft it’s barely sound. “I betrayed you, Wally,” I confess, tears spilling, hot against his skin. “I tried to move on, and I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself. But I hope… I hope you can forgive me.” He doesn’t stir, his breathing steady, my words lost to his dreams, and I cling to him, my tears soaking his shirt, my heart raw with fear, with hope, with love that’s always been his.

I curl closer, my legs tangling with his, my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, a vow to tell him soon, to be honest, to trust his love as he trusts mine. The Med Bay’s quiet holds us, a fragile peace before tomorrow’s briefing, Bruce’s findings, the Tachyons that might change everything. I close my eyes, my breath syncing with Wally’s, his warmth my anchor, and surrender to this moment, to the love that’s my home, praying it’s strong enough to carry us through the truths we’ll face.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, the Watchtower’s briefing room looms, its steel walls a stark contrast to the Med Bay’s warmth. I sit beside Wally, his hand in mine, his T-shirt swapped for a hoodie, his eyes tired but alert, gold flecks glinting under the lights. Barry’s on his other side, his jaw set, his bruise almost fully faded by now, Iris beside him, her brown eyes steady. Dick leans against the wall, his arms crossed, his blue eyes watchful, our earlier conversation—his gentle push to tell Wally about Jason—lingering in his glance. Bruce stands at the head of the table, his cowl casting shadows, a holographic screen behind him displaying data—graphs, waveforms, numbers that make my stomach twist.

“Preliminary findings,” Bruce begins, his voice clipped, tapping the screen, a red waveform spiking wildly, echoing the scan results. “Wally’s Tachyon levels are exponentially higher than Barry’s or Bart’s, confirming the energy readings. His connection to the Speed Force has amplified his potential speed, durability, and energy output beyond known limits.” My grip on Wally’s hand tightens, his vibration flaring, a spark against my skin, his eyes distant, gold brightening.

Barry leans forward, his voice sharp. “What’s that mean, Bruce? Get to the point.” Bruce’s lenses meet Barry’s, but he continues, his tone flat. “It means Wally could outpace any speedster we’ve recorded, with unpredictable effects on his physiology and mental state. The Tachyons are stable now, they will increase over time. Prolonged use of his speed in the state he is in right now could destabilize them, risking physical burnout or… other anomalies.”

My fear and anger flare, my voice cutting through. “You’re saying he’s a danger to himself? After everything he’s been through?” I stand, my hand still in Wally’s, protective, fierce. Wally’s voice, soft but firm, stops me. “Artemis, let him finish.” His eyes meet mine, haunted, trusting, and I sit, my heart racing, fear and love colliding.

Bruce taps the screen, a new graph appearing—projected Tachyon growth. “These levels will increase with use, training, maturity,” he says. “We need to monitor him, develop protocols to manage his speed, to prevent catastrophic outcomes—like a rift, or worse.” Barry’s jaw tightens, his voice low. “You’re talking containment, aren’t you? Like he’s a threat.” Dick steps forward, his voice calm but pointed. “Bruce, he’s one of us. We don’t cage our own.”

Wally’s hand trembles in mine, his voice raspy, breaking the tension. “What do you suggest, Bruce?” His eyes are on the screen, gold flaring, his fear palpable. Bruce’s lenses meet his, his voice steady. “Regular scans, controlled training, a failsafe protocol if your speed becomes uncontrollable. We prepare for every scenario, Wally, to protect you and others. We get you healthy, and you train hard. You need to learn to control your speed because it would be very easy for you to attain speeds never seen before with almost no effort.” The words are logical, cold, and I feel Wally’s vibration spike, a hum that rattles the table, his fear mirroring mine.

I shake my head, but before I can speak, Dick's voice cuts through, “He’s not a weapon, Bruce. He’s still Wally, and he’s good. We don’t need failsafes. You can't put him through what you put me and... Jason through.” Barry nods, his hand on Wally’s shoulder, his voice firm. “He’s my nephew, Bruce. We trust him.” Iris’s eyes meet mine, her nod subtle, her strength a quiet anchor. Dick’s gaze is steady, his resolve strong to not put Wally through Bruce's insane regimens, and I feel a surge of gratitude, our family a shield against Bruce’s pragmatism.

Wally’s voice, soft but resolute, cuts through. “I want the training,” he says, his eyes on Bruce, then me, green and gold, haunted but determined. “I need to understand this… thing in me. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I can handle what he throws at me.” My heart sinks, my anger flaring, but his gaze holds mine, pleading. “Artemis, please. I need to do this, for us.” I swallow, my throat tight, my hand squeezing his, my voice low. “Okay, Wally. But I’m with you, every step.”

Bruce nods, his voice clipped. “We start tomorrow. Controlled environment, full monitoring.” He shuts down the screen, his cape rippling as he leaves, the door hissing shut. The room settles, the tension lingering, but Wally’s hand in mine is steady, his vibration easing. Barry claps his shoulder, his voice warm. “You got this, kid.” Iris smiles, her hand on Barry’s, and Dick nods, his eyes soft but still haunted by the mention of Jason Todd, a silent promise.

We return to the Med Bay, Wally’s steps slow, his hoodie loose, his eyes tired but warm. I curl beside him, my head on his chest, his heartbeat under my ear, his arms around me. “We’ll figure this out, Spitfire,” he murmurs, his voice not so raspy anymore as it was, his kiss soft against my hair. I nod, my tears silent, my secret about a different Jason a weight I’ll carry until the moment’s right, my love for Wally a light that guides us through the shadows of his speed, his fears, our future.

Chapter 19: Trials of Speed and of the Heart

Watchtower, December 1^st, 2020

Wally West’s breath is a soft rhythm beside me, his warmth a quiet anchor as I sit cross-legged on the floor of the Med Bay, sorting through a box of mementos I’ve gathered to make this sterile room his. The walls are bare, the machines’ steady beeps a constant pulse, but I’m determined to carve out a piece of home for him, a shield against the cold reality of scans, Tachyons, and the training he’ll face today with Bruce. A photo of us at a Central City fair—Wally’s grin wide, cotton candy smeared on his cheek—leans against a monitor, its colors vivid against the white. His old Kid Flash goggles, scuffed from countless missions, dangle from a hook I rigged by the bed, catching the faint hum of his vibration when he shifts. A stack of dog-eared comics, courtesy of Dick, sits on a tray table, their pages curling like memories of simpler days. These are fragments, stitches in a tapestry of the life he’s fighting to reclaim, and I arrange them with care, my hands steady despite the fear knotting my chest.

Wally’s awake, propped against pillows, his red hoodie loose on his frame, his freckled face paler than I’d like, his green eyes staring at the ceiling, gold flecks glinting like embers. His burns have faded to faint scars, tracing his arms and neck, but the deeper wounds—the ones the Speed Force carved into his mind, his soul—linger, visible in the way his hands twitch, his vibration flaring erratically, a hum that makes the photo frame rattle. I pause, my fingers brushing the goggles, and glance at him, my voice soft, testing the quiet. “You’re quiet today, Wally. Penny for your thoughts?”

He flinches, just a fraction, a reflex that stabs me, because my Wally was never cautious, his touch always easy, his laughter a spark that warmed me through. This Wally is different, haunted, his body a vessel for a power he doesn’t trust, his mind a battlefield I can’t reach. His gaze shifts to me, green softening through the gold, and his lips twist into a smile that’s more shadow than light. “Just… feeling it,” he says, his voice rough, like gravel worn by years in a void. “It’s loud, Artemis. In here.” He taps his temple, his fingers trembling, his vibration spiking, a faint buzz against the bed frame.

My heart clenches, a surge of love and fear, and I climb onto the bed, settling beside him, my hand brushing his, careful not to startle. “What’s loud?” I ask, my voice steady, willing him to let me in, to share the weight he’s carrying before Bruce’s training tests him. He swallows, his eyes distant, gold flaring, and his voice drops, a quiet confession that chills me. “The lightning in my veins. It’s always there, burning, pushing me to run, to… lose myself. It hurts, every second, like I’m fighting to stay still, to stay me.” His words are raw, a wound laid bare, and I feel my throat tighten, my fear for him rising, the training looming like a storm.

I squeeze his hand, my fingers lacing through his, grounding him, my voice fierce despite the ache. “You’re here, Wally. You’re Wally West, not some cosmic force. You don’t have to fight alone.” I lean closer, my forehead against his, breathing him in—that ever-present scent of ozone, mixed with sweat, and the faint scent of his hoodie—a tether to the present. His eyes meet mine, haunted but warm, and he nods, his smile faint, his vibration easing, a soft hum against my skin. “I’m scared, Artemis,” he whispers, his voice breaking, raw with a terror that mirrors my own. “Not just of the training, or Bruce, or the Tachyons. I’m scared of myself, of what this lightning could do if I let it out.”

My chest aches, love and resolve surging, and I pull him closer, my arms around him, his head resting against my shoulder, his curls soft against my cheek. “You’re not alone in this,” I say, my voice steady, a vow. “The lightning’s part of you, but it’s not all of you. You’re the guy who saved kids from burning buildings, who ate my terrible cooking and still smiled. You’re mine, Wally, and I’m not letting you lose yourself.” My voice cracks, my fear slipping through, the thought of him slipping away, consumed by the Speed Force, a nightmare I’ve lived too long. His arms tighten around me, shaky but strong, his vibration a steady pulse, and we hold each other, two hearts fighting to stay whole.

“I’m trying, Spitfire,” he murmurs, his voice soft, his lips brushing my temple, a spark that warms me through. “For you, for us. I want to be me again.” I nod, my throat tight, my hand stroking his back, feeling the faint hum of his energy, my love for him a shield against the fear, the training, the unknown. We stay like that, curled together, the Med Bay’s quiet wrapping around us, a fragile peace before the storm of Bruce’s tests.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The training deck looms, a cavern of steel and scars, its holographic projectors humming, monitors blinking with data I don’t understand. Wally stands beside me, his training suit—red and yellow, a nod to his Kid Flash days—fitting loosely over his wiry frame, his green eyes bright but wary, gold flecks glinting under the harsh lights. My hand’s in his, his vibration a steady hum, his fear palpable as we face Bruce, his cowl casting shadows, Oliver, Dinah, Superman and Martian Manhunter at his side, their presence a quiet weight of support. Barry’s here, his Flash suit traded for jeans, his jaw set, his bruise gone but his worry etched in his eyes. Dick leans against a wall, his blue eyes watchful, his nod to me a silent support. The techs adjust scanners, their screens glowing with graphs, ready to track Wally’s speed, his Tachyons, his control.

Bruce steps forward, his voice clipped, his white lenses locked on Wally. “We start slow,” he says, gesturing to a marked track, its holographic barriers shimmering. “Ten laps, controlled pace, no faster than Mach 1. We monitor your vitals, Tachyon output, and energy stability. If anything feels off, you stop. Understood?” Wally nods, his grip on my hand tightening, his vibration flaring. I squeeze back, my voice a whisper, fierce. “You’ve got this, Wally. Just be you.”

He glances at me, his smile strained but real, green shining through the gold, and he steps onto the track, his suit catching the light. I move to the observation platform, Barry and Dick beside me, my heart racing, my fear for him a drumbeat. Bruce signals the techs, the scanners whirring, and Wally takes a breath, his vibration spiking, a faint glow around him, gold flecks bright in his eyes. “Ready,” he says, his voice resolute, and Bruce nods, his voice cold. “Begin.”

Wally moves, a blur of red and yellow, his speed controlled but electric, the air crackling as he laps the track, the scanners beeping, data flooding the screens. My breath catches, awe and fear colliding, his grace a reminder of the hero he’s always been, his power a shadow of what he fears. The techs murmur, their voices tense, one noting, “Tachyon levels steady, but rising… energy output at 120% of baseline.” Barry’s hand rests on my shoulder, his voice low. “He’s holding it together, Artemis. He’s strong.”

Wally completes the laps, slowing to a stop, his chest heaving, his vibration intense, a hum that rattles the platform. His eyes meet mine, gold flaring, a flicker of pain crossing his face, and I rush to him, my hands on his arms, careful of his scars. “You okay?” I ask, my voice urgent, searching his eyes. He nods, his breath ragged, his voice rough. “Feels like… fire in my blood, burning. But I’m here.” His smile is faint, his hand finding mine, trembling, and I hold on, my love for him a shield against the fear.

Bruce approaches, his lenses on the screens, his voice flat. “Stable, but your Tachyon output spiked 30% higher than projected. We need to test higher speeds, stress conditions, to map your limits.” My temper flares, my voice sharp. “He’s not a machine, Bruce. He’s hurting.” Barry steps forward, his voice firm. “She’s right. Give him a break.” Dick’s eyes narrow, his voice low. “Push too hard, Bruce, and you’ll break him.”

Wally’s voice cuts through, soft but resolute. “I can do it,” he says, his eyes on Bruce, then me, green and gold, haunted but determined. “I need to know what I’m capable of, what this lightning can do. For you, for everyone.” My heart sinks, my fear surging, but his gaze holds mine, pleading, and I nod, my throat tight, my hand squeezing his. “Okay, Wally. But I’m right here.”

Bruce gestures to the track, the barriers shifting, a new course forming—tighter turns, holographic obstacles. “Mach 3, five laps,” he says, his voice clipped. “Focus on control, not speed.” Wally nods, his vibration flaring, a faint glow around him, and I step back, my heart racing, Barry and Dick beside me, their worry mirroring mine. Wally takes his mark, his eyes meeting mine, a silent vow, and I whisper, “Be you, Wally,” my love for him a light against the storm of his speed, his fear, our future.

He runs, a streak of light, the air crackling, the scanners screaming with data, his speed a dance of grace and power, gold flecks trailing like sparks. My breath catches, awe and terror colliding, his heart my anchor, his lightning a force we’ll face together.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

My hands grip the observation platform’s banister, knuckles bone-white, the metal cool and unyielding under my palms as I watch Wally West blur across the training deck below, a streak of red and yellow against the scarred steel. Hours have bled together since this morning’s first run, periodic breaks too brief to ease the knot in my chest, my nerves frayed to snapping. Wally’s struggling, his every step a battle to leash the lightning in his veins, the Speed Force’s power surging with an ease that terrifies me. Bruce was right—Wally hits speeds now with less effort than he ever did as Kid Flash, his Tachyon levels amplifying his potential into something raw, untamed. My breath catches, my heart a drumbeat, each lap a prayer that he stays in control, that he stays him. The deck hums with energy, scanners beeping, holographic obstacles shifting, and I feel the weight of every eye—Barry’s, Dick’s, the techs’—locked on Wally, a hero fighting to prove he’s more than his power.

Wally’s on the Cosmic Treadmill now, a sleek machine rigged with sensors, its belt a blur under his feet, the air crackling with static as Bruce stands at the controls, his cowl’s white lenses fixed on the data screens. Wally’s suit clings to his wiry frame, sweat-soaked, his curls plastered to his forehead, his green eyes bright with gold flecks, a mix of determination and pain. The techs’ voices murmur, tense, one noting, “Tachyon output at 150% of baseline, vitals elevated but stable.” My grip tightens, the banister creaking, my fear a living thing as Bruce’s voice cuts through, clipped and cold. “Mach 5, ten minutes. Maintain control, Wally. Focus.”

Wally nods, his jaw set, his vibration spiking, a faint glow around him as the treadmill accelerates, the belt’s hum rising to a whine. His steps are steady at first, a rhythmic blur, but I see the strain—his fists clenched, his shoulders tense, his eyes flickering gold, like the Speed Force is clawing at him, urging him to run faster, to lose himself. My throat tightens, memories of his quiet confession this morning—lightning in my veins, I’m scared of myself—echoing, a wound I can’t heal. I lean forward, my breath shallow, willing him to hold on, to be the Wally I know, the hero who’s always fought for us.

A hand rests on my shoulder, warm and steady, and I glance to see Dinah beside me, her blonde hair loose, her blue eyes soft with understanding. Oliver stands behind her, his green jacket open, his bearded face gruff but kind, his nod a silent anchor. “He’s strong, Artemis,” Dinah says, her voice low, soothing, cutting through the deck’s hum. “He’s got this, and you’re here for him.” Oliver’s hand squeezes my arm, his voice rough but warm. “Kid’s tougher than he looks. Always has been.” Their words are brief, a lifeline in the storm of my fear, and I nod, my throat too tight to speak, my eyes back on Wally, my heart with him.

Bruce taps the controls, his voice unrelenting. “Mach 15, ten minutes. Now.” The treadmill’s whine sharpens, the air shimmering with heat, Wally’s speed a blazing streak, gold trails sparking behind him. My breath catches, my knuckles aching, the banister groaning as he pushes harder, his face a mask of effort, pain etched in every line. His vibration is intense, rattling the platform, the scanners screaming, a tech shouting, “Tachyon spike, 180%! Vitals critical but holding!” Barry steps closer, his jaw clenched, his voice low. “Come on, kid, you can do this.” Dick’s beside him, his blue eyes locked on Wally, his hands fists, his worry mirroring mine. Superman and Martian Manhunter watch from the sidelines, their faces unreadable, their presence a quiet weight.

Wally stumbles, just for a fraction, his step faltering, gold flaring in his eyes, and my heart lurches, a gasp escaping. “Wally!” I whisper, leaning over the banister, my fear spiking, but he catches himself, his fists tightening, his speed stabilizing, a blur of control. His chest heaves, sweat dripping, his vibration a storm, but he’s holding on, fighting the Speed Force’s pull. My eyes burn, pride and fear colliding, my love for him a flame that burns through the terror. He’s struggling, yes, but he’s Wally, my Wally, the hero who’s always come back to me.

The timer beeps, ten minutes at Mach 15, and Bruce’s voice cuts through, sharp. “End of session.” The treadmill slows, its whine fading, Wally staggering to a stop, his hands on his knees, his breath ragged, his vibration intense, a hum that shakes the deck. The scanners quiet, the techs exhaling, one muttering, “He maintained control… Tachyon levels stable post-run.” My gratitude surges, a wave that nearly buckles me, and I’m moving before I think, rushing down the platform’s stairs, my boots pounding, my heart racing.

I reach Wally, his training suit soaked, his face pale, his green eyes meeting mine, gold dimming, exhaustion etched deep. I throw my arms around him, pulling him close, his warmth, his heartbeat, a miracle under my touch. “You did it,” I whisper, my voice breaking, tears prickling, my hands cupping his face, careful of his scars. “I’m so proud of you, Wally.” He leans into me, his arms shaky but tight, his breath hot against my neck, his vibration easing, a soft hum against my skin. “Tried, Spitfire,” he rasps, his voice raw, his grin faint but real, a spark of the Wally I love. “Tried for you.”

I pull back, my hands on his shoulders, searching his eyes, green shining through, and I smile, my voice fierce. “You’re amazing, you know that? You controlled it, all of it.” He laughs, a soft, tired sound, his hand finding mine, trembling but strong, and I hold on, my love for him a shield against the exhaustion, the fear, the Tachyons that define him now.

Barry’s beside us, his hand on Wally’s shoulder, his brown eyes warm, his voice steady. “You killed it, kid,” he says, his smile wide but his worry lingering. “Mach 15, and you held it together. I’m damn proud.” Dick steps closer, his blue eyes bright, his grin teasing but genuine. “Not bad, West,” he says, ruffling Wally’s curls, his voice soft. “You’re still the fastest guy I know, and you proved it today.” Superman approaches, his red cape a quiet ripple, his voice calm but resonant. “Your control was impressive, Wally. You’ve got a strength that’s rare, even among us.” Martian Manhunter’s amber eyes meet Wally’s, his voice a low hum. “Your mind is resilient, Wally West. Today was a victory over the forces within you.”

Wally’s eyes widen, his smile shaky but growing, gold flecks dimming, green shining through, and he nods, his voice hoarse. “Thanks, guys. I… I didn’t think I could do it, not after yesterday. Felt like the lightning was gonna take me.” His hand tightens in mine, his vibration soft, and I squeeze back, my heart swelling with pride, with love. “But I had you all,” he adds, his eyes on me, then Barry, Dick, the others, a quiet vow. “That helped more than anything. You guys believing in me.”

Dinah and Oliver join us, Dinah’s smile warm, her hand brushing Wally’s arm. “You’re tougher than any of us, Wally,” she says, her voice soothing. “Today was proof.” Oliver nods, his voice gruff. “Hell of a show, kid. You’re back, and stronger than ever.” Wally’s laugh is soft, his exhaustion clear, but his eyes are brighter, his posture easing, the support lifting him.

Bruce steps forward, his lenses unreadable, his voice flat but not unkind. “You exceeded expectations, Wally. We’ll analyze the data, adjust tomorrow’s session. Rest now.” He turns, his cape a dark ripple, the techs packing up, and I feel a flicker of gratitude, tempered by wariness, his push today proving Wally’s strength but at a cost.

I guide Wally to a bench, his steps slow, his body heavy with fatigue, and he sits, leaning against me, his head on my shoulder, his vibration a faint hum. “I’m dead tired, Spitfire,” he murmurs, his voice soft, his grin audible. “But… I did it, right?” I stroke his curls, my voice fierce, my tears silent. “You did, Wally. You maintained control at hypersonic levels. You’re incredible.” Barry sits beside us, his hand on Wally’s knee, Dick across from us, his smile warm. The deck quiets, the scanners off, the air settling, and we stay there, a family bound by love, by hope, by Wally’s triumph over the lightning demanding he let go of his control.

I hold Wally close, his heartbeat under my hand, a rhythm I’ll never take for granted, my fear easing, my pride for him a light against the challenges ahead—tomorrow’s training, the Tachyons, the Speed Force that’s part of him now. “We’re in this together,” I whisper, my lips brushing his temple, and he nods, his hand in mine, his exhaustion a badge of his strength, our love a tether that holds us through the storm.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Wally’s hand is warm in mine, his steps slow but steady as we weave through the Watchtower’s corridors, the hum of the training deck fading behind us. His training suit—red and yellow, a nod to his Kid Flash days—clings to his sweat-damp frame, his curls plastered to his forehead, his green eyes bright with exhaustion but glowing with triumph. The air smells of metal and ozone, his vibration a soft pulse against my palm, a reminder of the lightning he wrestled today, Mach 15 and under beginning to be tamed under Bruce’s relentless gaze. My heart swells with pride, but my nerves are still raw, frayed from watching him push past pain, past fear, to prove he’s still Wally, still mine. We reach the Med Bay, the door hissing open, revealing a spread of food on a tray table—Mary’s meatloaf, Iris’s mashed potatoes, a pile of sandwiches from Rudy, and a thermos of soup, a family’s love laid out to replenish what the training session took out of him.

Wally’s grin sparks, a flicker of his old charm, as he eases onto the bed, wincing slightly, his vibration flaring, making the tray rattle. “They’re trying to fatten me up,” he teases, his voice weary but warm, reaching for a sandwich, his hand trembling from exhaustion. I sit beside him, my boots kicked off, my hoodie cast aside and slung over a chair, the photo of us at the Central City fair catching my eye—his cotton candy-smeared grin, my laugh frozen in time. I smile, passing him a plate, my voice soft. “Eat, Wally. You burned through a city’s worth of energy today.” He laughs, a tired sound, and digs in, his appetite fierce, the meatloaf vanishing in bites as I sip coffee, grounding myself in his presence, his warmth.

He finishes, leaning back against the pillows, his green eyes meeting mine, gold flecks dim but present, his smile soft, real. “I only got through that session because of you, Spitfire,” he says, his voice low, earnest, his hand finding mine, his vibration a gentle hum. “Knowing you were there, watching, ready to have my back if Bruce went too far… it kept me grounded. You’ve never let me down, Artemis.” His words are a compliment, a vow, but they hit like a punch to the gut, my breath catching, my chest tightening. The guilt I’ve carried—my betrayal, my attempt to move on—surges, a wave that leaves me winded, my heart racing with shame.

I turn away, unable to face him, my hands clenching in my lap, my eyes burning. The room blurs, the photo, the goggles, the comics fading, my guilt a weight I can’t carry anymore. Wally’s voice shifts, confused, concerned. “Artemis? Hey, what’s wrong?” He leans forward, his hand reaching for my shoulder, but I pull away, a violent flinch, my voice sharp, raw. “I don’t deserve your trust, Wally.” The words spill out, a confession I can’t hold back, my heart breaking under the weight of what I’ve hidden.

He freezes, his hand hovering, his green eyes wide, gold flickering, his voice soft but urgent. “What are you talking about? Artemis, look at me.” I shake my head, my throat tight, tears prickling, but I turn, my eyes meeting his, heartbroken, raw, the truth clawing its way out. “I let you down, Wally,” I whisper, my voice cracking, tears spilling. “You didn’t know, but I did. I betrayed you.”

His brow furrows, confusion deepening, but he stays silent, his eyes searching mine, waiting, and I take a shaky breath, the words pouring out, a flood of grief and regret. “I thought you were dead, Wally. For years, I thought you were gone, lost in that vortex. I was too weak to hope you’d come back, too scared it’d crush me if you didn’t. I pretended, buried myself in missions, in the Team, trying to outrun the pain.” My voice trembles, my hands shaking, but I push on, needing him to know. “It was over two years before I even tried to move on, to live again. Dick had theories, wild ones, about you being alive, but I wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t. I was drowning, Wally.”

I swallow, my tears hot, my voice raw. “M’gann and Zatanna… I asked them to help me, set up this ritual to reach you in limbo, to give me closure. But it was a lie, a vision they faked to ease my pain. I only recently found out a few weeks before you came back. I forgave them, but it broke something in me at the time, convinced me you were gone for good. So I tried to let you go. I started dating, someone kind, someone who wanted to build a life with me. Jason. He even...he even proposed to me...I let him take me to Paris...But it was a lie, too, because my heart was still yours. I never let him closer than a kiss, never gave him what was yours, but that makes it worse. I was lying to myself, to everyone, pretending I could move on when I couldn’t. I betrayed you, Wally, and I hate myself for it. I didn't search for you, that was Dick. I didn't even give myself the chance to believe you could be alive until I had a dream of you in the Speed Force, screaming my name. That's what led me to the truth about Zatanna and M'gann's lie. The dream felt too real, too different from the limbo I'd 'seen' you in. I didn't chase after you, or try to save you, or even attempt to believe you could be alive until months ago. And the entire time you're suffering, running to get back to me, back here, I'm trying to move on with my life. I'm trying to open my heart up to someone else. I betrayed you, Wally. I betrayed us, what we had, what we built, and I'll never forgive myself for that.”

My voice breaks, my head bowing, tears dripping onto my hands, my chest heaving with regret. The Med Bay is silent, the beeps distant, Wally’s vibration still, his shock a weight in the air. I brace for anger, for hurt, for the fracture of the trust he gave me, but before I can speak, his hand is on my chin, gentle but firm, lifting my face. His green eyes meet mine, gold dim, raw with emotion, and I start to say, “I understand if you can’t forgive me—” but he cuts me off, his lips crashing into mine, a kiss strong, passionate, hard, a fire that awakens something deep inside me, a spark I’d forgotten, burning brighter than the Speed Force, brighter than the rift in Gotham that brought him back.

I melt into him, my hands gripping his hoodie, his kiss fierce, claiming, a vow that drowns my guilt, my fear. His vibration hums against me, warm, alive, his hands cupping my face, trembling but sure. He pulls back, my lips still pursed, my breath ragged, and I open my eyes, his green gaze steady, his smile soft, real. “I forgive you, Artemis,” he says, his voice low, raw, his thumb brushing my cheek, wiping away tears. “Thank you for telling me. But come on, let’s get under the covers.” His grin sparks, teasing, and I blink, shocked, my voice trembling. “Wally, I… what?”

He laughs, a soft, tired sound, pulling me toward the bed, his hand in mine. “What’re you waiting for, Spitfire?” he says, his eyes warm, his vibration easing. “I forgive you. Hell, you don’t even need forgiving, but I know you need to hear it, so I’m saying it. I know what it’s like to think you’re gone, to grieve that hard. That year I thought you were dead, it tore me apart, and that was just months. You carried it for over four years, with me vanishing into thin air in that vortex. I get it, Artemis. I know what that grief does, how it breaks you. You fought to live, and I’m proud of you for it.”

His words hit me, a wave of relief, of love, and I shake my head, tears falling, my voice a whisper. “But I betrayed you, Wally. I tried to move on.” He pulls me onto the bed, his arms around me, his heartbeat under my ear, his voice steady, fierce. “You didn’t betray me. You survived. Neither of us can change what happened, but we can write what happens now, together. I love you, Artemis, and that’s what matters.” He kisses my forehead, his lips warm, his vibration a soft hum, and I cling to him, my tears soaking his hoodie, my heart lighter, my love for him a flame that burns through the guilt, his love for me a cleansing flood that washes away my regret.

We slide under the covers, his arms around me, my head on his chest, his heartbeat a rhythm I’ll never take for granted. The Med Bay’s quiet wraps around us, the photo, the goggles, the comics a testament to our life, our love. His breathing slows, his vibration steady, and I hold him close, my voice a whisper. “Together, Wally. Always.” He murmurs, sleepy but warm, “Always, Spitfire,” and we settle, our love a shield against the Tachyons, the training, the future we’ll face, hand in hand, our hearts whole, our story ours to write.

Chapter 20: Call to Duty

Notes:

I felt like it was time for Artemis to finally address what she would probably feeling around this point. The relief that Wally is awake and alive is strong, but so is her desire to do something other than be a bedside nurse. No doubt she loves him, but she also loves what she does. I think that pull would be intoxicating for her, leaving her restless.

The Watchtower, December 2^nd, 2020

Wally’s hand brushes mine, his fingers warm, his vibration a faint hum as we linger in the Med Bay, the remnants of another one of Mary’s fantastic meals cleared away, the tray table now holding only a photo of us at the Central City fair—his grin wide, my hair tangled in the wind. His red hoodie is swapped for a loose T-shirt, his curls wild, his green eyes bright but shadowed, gold flecks glinting as he leans against the pillows, his body stronger but still marked by scars, a map of his fight to return home. Three days have passed since his training triumph, and since my confession, his forgiveness a balm to my guilt. But my heart’s caught in a tug-of-war—stay by his side, where he needs me, or reclaim my place as Tigress, where the Team needs me. He's getting better, but I can't deny the pull to action. The strain of watching him train the last few days under Bruce is creating a demand for action of my own. The Watchtower’s hum is a quiet pulse, the air sharp with antiseptic, but Wally’s presence, his steady heartbeat, grounds me, even as I feel the call of duty.

“You’re staring, Spitfire,” Wally teases, his voice warm, his grin sparking, a flicker of the boy who stole my heart. He shifts, wincing slightly, his vibration flaring, making the photo frame rattle. “What’s on your mind?” His green eyes search mine, that gold in them dim but ever present, and I see the effort, the fight to stay tethered to the here-and-now, to keep the Speed Force’s whisper at bay.

I sit on the bed’s edge, my hand finding his, my thumb tracing his knuckles, rough with scars. “Just… you,” I say, my voice soft, a half-truth. “You’re looking better, Wally. Stronger.” It’s true—his burns are nearly healed, his steps steadier—but his eyes betray him, the gold flecks a reminder of the lightning he fears, the power that could pull him away. My other truth, the Team’s call, hovers unspoken, a weight I’m not ready to share. I’ve been his anchor since Gotham, but Tigress is stirring, her crossbow itching to be in my hands, the world beyond this room calling.

He squeezes my hand, his smile strained but real. “Thanks to you,” he says, his voice low, his vibration easing. “But I know that look, Artemis. Something’s up. Spill.” His teasing tone softens, his eyes searching, and I swallow, my throat tight, caught between love and duty. “I just miss the field, the missions. I love you, and I will gladly stay with you forever, but even all those years ago, we retired and I still missed it.” I try to be honest with him, I want him to know my heart. “You don’t need to stay for me, babe. I know you love me, but I also know you love protecting other people. What are you afraid of?”

Before I can answer, the intercom buzzes, Dick’s voice cutting through, calm but urgent. “Tigress, Kid Flash, report to Briefing Room C, 2000 hours. We’ve got a situation.” My heart lurches, my grip on Wally’s hand tightening, his vibration spiking, a hum that prickles my skin. His eyes flicker gold, his brow furrowing, and I see the restlessness, the fear of being left behind. “Go,” he says, his voice steady despite the strain, his smile forced. “The Team needs you, babe. Be Tigress. I’ll be fine.” His words are a gift, his pride in me a light, but his trembling hand betrays his anxiety, the Speed Force’s pull a shadow in his gaze. How do I tell him that I’m afraid that he’ll disappear from under my fingers without it sounding like I don’t trust him? I don’t have an answer to that question, and I’m expected in the briefing room now. So, I say nothing.

I lean forward, kissing him softly, his lips warm, tasting faintly of soup, his vibration a gentle hum against me. “I’ll be back soon,” I murmur, my forehead against his, my heart torn. “Stay put, okay?” He nods, his grin faint, his eyes gold-flecked, and I stand, my boots soft on the floor, my resolve firming but my worry for him a knot in my chest.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The briefing room is a steel-walled chamber, holo-screens glowing with data, the Team gathered around a table—Conner, his arms crossed, his blue eyes sharp; M’gann, her green skin catching the light, her smile warm but tense; Zatanna, her dark hair pulled back, her fingers tracing runes absently; and others, their faces a mix of focus and concern. Dick stands at the head, his Nightwing suit clinging tightly against a rigid posture, his blue eyes meeting mine as I enter, Bart zipping up beside me, his casual stride belying his worry. Batman looms at a console, his cowl casting shadows, his presence a cold weight. The air hums with tension, the screens flashing images—Gotham’s underbelly, grainy footage of enhanced mercenaries, and a figure I recognize with a chill: Vandal Savage, his bearded face a mask of menace.

Dick clears his throat, his voice steady. “Tigress, welcome back,” he says, his nod formal but warm, his eyes holding mine, a silent acknowledgment of my time away. “You’ve been missed, Artemis. The Team’s not the same without you. You’re reinstated, effective immediately.” My heart swells, pride mixing with guilt, my thoughts flickering to Wally in the Med Bay, his encouragement echoing. Conner nods, his voice gruff. “About time. We need you out there with us.” M’gann’s smile widens, her voice soft. “It’s good to have you back, Artemis.” Zatanna’s eyes meet mine, a flicker of understanding—our history with the limbo ritual unspoken but felt—and she adds, “You’re where you belong.”

I nod, my resolve firming. “Thanks, guys,” I say, my voice steady, my hand brushing attaching the quiver on my back, a comfort I’ve missed. But my heart tugs, Wally’s gold-flecked eyes flashing in my mind, his restless vibration a warning I can’t shake. Barry’s at my side without me realizing, his hand rests on my shoulder, his voice low. “He’ll be okay, Artemis. Let’s do this.” I nod, my focus sharpening, Tigress rising for the mission, but my love for Wally a steady pulse in the background.

Batman steps forward, his voice clipped, tapping a holo-screen, footage zooming in on Gotham’s docks—mercenaries with glowing implants, weapons crackling with energy. “Vandal Savage is mobilizing enhanced operatives,” he says, his white lenses unreadable. “They’re targeting Gotham’s infrastructure—power grids, transport hubs—to destabilize the city. Intelligence suggests Savage is planning a larger strike. We need a surgical operation to neutralize his lieutenants before they escalate. Tigress, your infiltration and leadership skills are critical. Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Zatanna—you’ll form the core team. Kid Flash, you’re where you’re needed. Flash, you’re on support with me.”

Barry nods, his jaw set, but his eyes flicker to me, a shared worry for Wally. I lean forward, my voice sharp. “What’s Savage’s endgame? He doesn’t move without a plan.” Batman’s lenses meet mine, his voice flat. “Power. Control. He’s testing metahuman enhancements, likely to build an army. We stop his lieutenants, we disrupt his timeline.” The screen shifts, showing a warehouse at Gotham’s edge, a red marker pulsing. “You move tonight, you have two hours before you need to go. Infiltrate, neutralize, extract. No collateral damage.”

My heart races, my mind already mapping the mission—sightlines, cover, arrow types—but Wally’s face lingers, his encouragement, his trembling hand. I nod, my voice firm. “I’m in.” Dick’s eyes meet mine, his nod supportive, but I see the question—Can you leave him?—and I push it down, I’m strong enough, and he’s safe here.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Back in the Med Bay, Wally’s pacing, a restless blur, his T-shirt loose, his scars faint under the soft light. The photo, the goggles, the comics are untouched, but his vibration hums, a steady pulse that makes the air shimmer. He stops when he sees me, his green eyes bright, gold flecks glinting, his grin sparking but strained. “Team got you back, huh?” he says, his voice warm but edged with something—fear, maybe, or the Speed Force’s whisper. “Knew they would, Spitfire. You’re too good to stay sidelined.”

I cross to him, my hands on his arms, careful of his scars, my voice soft. “You sure you’re okay with this, Wally? I don’t want to leave you, not when you’re still…” I trail off, his gold-flecked eyes holding mine, his vibration spiking, a hum against my palms. He pulls me close, his arms shaky but strong, his lips brushing my forehead. “Go be a hero, Artemis,” he murmurs, his voice steady despite the tremor. “The Team needs you, and I’m proud of you. I’ll be here, cheering you on.” His grin is real, but his eyes flicker gold, his hand trembling, and I see the restlessness, the urge to run that he’s fighting.

I kiss him, slow and deep, his warmth, his vibration, a promise I cling to. “I’ll be back before you know it,” I say, my voice fierce, my forehead against his. “Stay put, Wally. Please.” He nods, his smile strained, his eyes gold-flecked, and I feel a pang, fear that he won’t stay, that the Speed Force will call him back while he’s not under my eyes. “Hurry back, Spitfire,” he says, his voice soft, his hand squeezing mine, trembling, a hint of the recklessness I dread.

I step back, my quiver slung over my shoulder, my crossbow a familiar weight, Tigress ready but Artemis aching. The Med Bay door hisses shut behind me, Wally’s silhouette pacing, his vibration a faint glow, and my heart clenches, my love for him a tether pulling me back, my duty to the Team pushing me forward. Tonight, Gotham awaits, Savage’s threat looms, and I step into the corridor, my resolve firm, my fear for Wally a shadow that follows, his restless heart a spark that might ignite before I return.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Gotham night wraps around us, mist curling through neon-lit alleys, the docks heavy with the tang of salt and rust as I crouch on a warehouse roof, my crossbow gripped tight, my quiver a steady weight against my back. My Tigress suit—black and orange, silent as shadow—melds with the darkness, my blonde hair tucked under a hood, my eyes scanning the chaos below. The Team moves with me: Nightwing to my left, his escrima sticks holstered, his blue eyes sharp; Superboy beside him, his leather jacket stretched tight, his senses primed; Miss Martian hovering invisibly above, her telepathic link a soft pulse in my mind; Zatanna at my right, her dark hair loose, her fingers poised for magic; and Kid Flash—Bart Allen—vibrating faintly at my flank, his red suit a blur, his grin barely contained. We’re here to stop Vandal Savage’s lieutenants—enhanced mercenaries with glowing implants, their weapons humming with stolen tech—before they sabotage Gotham’s power grid. My heart races, not just for the mission, but for Wally, left in the Watchtower, his gold-flecked eyes and restless vibration haunting me. I told him to stay put, but his encouragement to be Tigress burns, a fire that fuels me, even as I fear his impulsiveness.

I signal Nightwing, my voice a hiss through our comms. “Perimeter check. Two guards north entrance, three inside. Conner, what’s the tech look like?” Superboy’s eyes narrow, his x-ray vision piercing the warehouse walls. “Basement’s got a power core,” he grunts, his voice low. “Wired to a pulse device, ready to blow.” M’gann’s voice echoes telepathically, urgent but calm. Two lieutenants in the control room, armed. They’re talking to someone remote—Savage, I think. Zatanna’s fingers twitch, her voice a whisper. “I can short the device with a spell, but we need line of sight.” Bart fidgets, his vibration humming, his voice eager. “I can zip in, scope it out, be back in a sec.” I shake my head, my crossbow raised, a bolt notched. “Negative, Kid Flash. We stay quiet—stealth first. Neutralize guards, secure the core, grab the lieutenants. No alarms.”

The mission is precision, not speed—my bolts, Conner’s strength, M’gann’s telepathy, Zatanna’s magic, Nightwing’s agility, and Bart’s quickness as backup. Speed would be reckless, disarming guards in a flash without any plan, but with Bart here, we don’t need it, not yet. Speed should be our last resort here. I push Wally’s face from my mind, his promise to stay put a fragile thread, and lead the descent, dropping to a lower ledge, my crossbow trained on a guard, his blue implant glowing under his hood. My bolt flies, a tranquilizer striking his neck, and he slumps. Nightwing takes the second guard, a silent strike with his stick, and Bart zips forward, catching the body before it hits, his grin flashing. “Told ya I’m handy,” he whispers, and I glare, hissing, “Stay on plan.”

We slip inside, the warehouse a labyrinth of crates and humming machinery, the air thick with ozone. M’gann cloaks us telepathically, Zatanna’s murmured spell muffling our steps. The control room looms ahead, its glass walls revealing two lieutenants—hulking figures with glowing implants, rifles charged. The pulse device hums below, cables snaking through the floor, a ticking threat. I signal Conner, who nods, ready to breach, when a third mercenary rounds a corner, his implant flaring, rifle raised. My bolt hits his shoulder, but his finger grazes the trigger, a blast scorching a crate, the alarm shrieking, red lights pulsing. My heart lurches, my voice sharp. “Go loud!”

Conner smashes through the control room door, his fist sending one lieutenant crashing into a console, sparks flying. M’gann phases in, her telekinesis pinning the second, his rifle clattering. Zatanna chants, “Ecalpsid rewop!”, her magic flaring, the pulse device flickering. Nightwing vaults over a crate, his sticks cracking a mercenary’s implant, disabling it. Bart zips through, a red blur, snatching weapons from two guards, piling them in a corner, his voice gleeful. “Got ‘em, Tigress!” I fire bolts, each finding a mark—knees, shoulders, non-lethal—my quiver lightening, my focus ironclad. The fight is tight, our teamwork seamless, but the mercenaries are fast, their enhancements sharpening reflexes, and more pour in, boots thundering from the warehouse’s depths. Bart’s speed helps, but the chaos is growing, a swarm we’re containing but not clearing.

We’re closing in, the lieutenants pinned, the device nearly offline, when a new blur streaks through, red and yellow, gold trails sparking, the air crackling with static. My breath catches, my crossbow freezing. Wally. He’s here, his training suit glowing, his speed a force that rips through the mercenaries—rifles torn away, implants shattered, bodies slumped in a heartbeat. The warehouse falls silent, the alarm cut, the pulse device dark, the lieutenants bound by Nightwing’s zip-ties before we can blink. Wally stops, his chest heaving, his green eyes blazing with gold, his grin faint but defiant, his vibration intense, shaking the floor.

Fury surges, drowning my relief, my crossbow lowering as I storm toward him, my quiver bouncing, my voice a snarl. “Wally, what the hell are you doing here?” I snap, my hands shaking, fear and anger colliding. “You’re not cleared!” The Team pauses—Conner’s fists unclench, M’gann’s eyes widen, Zatanna’s spell fades, Nightwing’s gaze sharpens, Bart skids to a stop, his grin faltering. “Whoa, Wally? Thought I had speed covered,” Bart says, his voice light but confused. Wally’s grin vanishes, his eyes narrowing, gold flaring, his voice sharp. “I’m not sidelined, Artemis! You were swarmed, and I wasn’t gonna watch you get overrun while I’m stuck in a bed!”

My temper erupts, my voice rising, raw. “Swarmed? We had it handled! Bart was here, Wally! You risked yourself, your control, everything! You promised you’d stay put!” My quiver’s straps dig into my shoulders, my fear for him fueling my rage. He steps closer, his vibration spiking, his voice heated. “I’m not useless, Artemis! I saw the feed, saw those guys closing in. Bart’s fast, but I’m faster, and I ended it! I’m still a hero, not some patient you need to protect!”

His words cut, a knife to my heart, and I flinch, my voice dropping, raw with hurt. “You think I see you as a patient? Wally, I’m terrified you’ll get pulled back into that void! You don’t know what that’d do to me!” My eyes burn, my throat tight, his confession—lightning in my veins, I’m scared of myself—echoing, a wound reopened. He falters, his green eyes softening, gold dimming, but his jaw clenches, his voice stubborn. “I can’t just sit there, Artemis. I’m not built to watch you fight without me. I need to be out here, with you. I thought you’d be happy to see me, a surprise. Like old times.”

I shake my head, my voice breaking. “You want to make me happy? The only way to do that is for you to be alive, Wally.” I turn away, my hands trembling, my crossbow heavy, the Team’s eyes on us, the warehouse silent but for the hum of dying tech. Nightwing steps forward, his voice calm. “Artemis, he’s okay. He helped.” Conner nods, his voice gruff. “Saved us some bruises, Tigress.” M’gann’s telepathic touch soothes, He was trying to protect you. Zatanna’s gaze is steady, her voice soft. “He’s Wally, Artemis.” Bart bounces, his voice bright. “Cuz came through! Total crash move!”

I ignore them, my anger a shield for my fear, my voice low. “Mission’s done. Get the lieutenants to the Watchtower.” I stride toward the exit, my quiver light, my heart heavy, Wally’s vibration a faint hum behind me. He follows, his steps slow, his voice softer, pleading. “Artemis, wait—” I cut him off, my voice sharp. “Not now, Wally.” I push through the warehouse door, Gotham’s cold biting my skin, my anger burning, my love for him a tangled mess.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Watchtower’s briefing room is stark, the lieutenants secured, the pulse device locked away, Batman’s debrief cold and precise. “Objective achieved,” he says, his lenses unreadable, his glance at Wally pointed. “Kid Flash, your presence was unauthorized. We’ll address this.” Wally nods, his eyes down, his vibration subdued, his training suit scuffed. I stand apart, my crossbow on the table, my quiver empty, my anger simmering but fracturing under my fear. The Team disperses, Nightwing’s hand on my shoulder a silent support, Bart zipping past with a “Good job, team!” but I shake it off, my eyes on Wally, his green gaze meeting mine, gold flecks dim but present, his silence heavy.

We return to the Med Bay, the photo of us at the Central City fair a reminder of what we’re fighting for. Wally sits on the bed, his hands clasped, his vibration faint, his voice low. “I’m sorry, Artemis. I couldn’t stay here, watching you fight, knowing I could help. Even with Bart out there, I… I had to.” His eyes plead, but my anger holds, my voice sharp. “You could’ve lost control, Wally. You could’ve been sucked back into the Speed Force. Do you know what that would do to me?” My tears threaten to spill at that horrible thought, my voice breaking, and he stands, reaching for me, but I step back, my heart aching.

“I’m not helpless,” he says, his voice heated, his vibration spiking. “I’m a speedster, Artemis. I’m built for this. You can’t keep me locked away!” His words sting, his frustration mirroring mine, and I snap, “I’m not locking you away! I’m trying to keep you with me!” The room hums, his vibration intense, gold flaring in his eyes, and I see the Speed Force’s pull, the danger I feared. He slumps, his shoulders sagging, his voice soft. “I just wanted to be us again, Spitfire. You and me, fighting together.”

My anger cracks, my fear raw, but I can’t close the distance, not yet. “I need time, Wally,” I whisper, turning away, my quiver over my shoulder, my crossbow in hand. I leave the Med Bay, the door hissing shut, his silhouette a blur of red and yellow, his heart a tether I’m afraid to pull. Gotham’s mission is won, but our fight festers, a wound we’ll carry, his recklessness a spark that could flare again, my fear a shadow that trails me.

Chapter 21: Fractured Bonds

Notes:

Sooo it'd only be reasonable that the strain of the last chapter would manifest itself in some other ways, don't you think? Time to look at that angle! If you like the story, please give kudos, share it, bookmark it, etc. It helps me when I know there are others out there who are looking forward to reading this!

The Watchtower, December 4^th, 2020

The Watchtower’s training deck echoes with the thud of my fists against a punching bag, my knuckles raw despite the wraps, my Tigress suit swapped for a tank top and leggings, sweat beading on my skin. Two days have passed since Gotham, since Wally’s reckless blur through the warehouse, his speed ending the fight but igniting a fire between us. My anger burns, a shield for the fear that’s kept me from the Med Bay, from his gold-flecked eyes and the vibration that hums with the Speed Force’s call. I wanted him safe, made him promise to stay put, but his defiance—his need to prove he’s still a hero—cut deeper than I expected, a wound we haven’t healed. The bag swings, my punches sharp, each one a release for the tangle of love and fury in my chest. I’m Tigress, leader of the Team, but I’m Artemis, too, and she’s terrified of losing him again.

Nightwing’s voice breaks my rhythm, calm but pointed, from the deck’s edge. “You’re gonna break that bag, Artemis.” Dick leans against a railing, his blue eyes steady through his mask, his Nightwing suit scuffed from sparring. I pause, my breath heavy, wiping sweat from my brow. “Good,” I mutter, my voice sharp, but his knowing look softens me, a reminder of the brother who’s seen me at my worst. “He’s okay, you know,” Dick says, stepping closer, his voice low. “Wally’s stronger, but he’s hurting, too. You both are. He’s not built for this inaction. Especially not when you’re out there risking your life.” I clench my fists, my throat tight, the memory of our fight—I’m not useless, Artemis!—stinging. “He risked everything, Dick,” I say, my voice low, raw. “I can’t watch him run himself into the void again.”

Dick’s hand rests on my shoulder, steady. “Talk to him. You’re both too stubborn for your own good.” His grin is faint, teasing, but his eyes hold worry, and I nod, my resolve wavering. I need to face Wally, to bridge this rift, but the fear of what he’s fighting—of the lightning he can’t control—holds me back. Before I can respond, M’gann’s voice brushes my mind, gentle but urgent. Artemis, briefing in ten. We’ve got trouble. My heart lurches, duty pulling me again, but Wally’s face lingers, his promise to let me be Tigress a fragile thread I’m afraid to snap.

The Med Bay is quiet, the photo of us at the Central City fair catching the dim light, Wally’s cotton candy-smeared grin a ghost of simpler days. He’s standing, not pacing for once, his red T-shirt loose, his scars faint, his green eyes meeting mine as I enter, gold flecks glinting, his vibration a low hum that rattles the goggles on the tray. Two days of tense silence stretch between us, and the air feels heavy, our fight a shadow we can’t outrun. “Hey, Spitfire,” he says, his voice soft but strained, his grin forced, a flicker of the Wally I love. “Missed you. You have a good time kicking that bag, pretending it was me?” My heart aches, I dismiss the passive aggression, but my love and anger are colliding, and I cross my arms, my voice tight. “You shouldn’t have gone to Gotham, Wally. You promised.”

His grin fades, his eyes narrowing, gold flaring. “I couldn’t stay here, Artemis, watching you fight, knowing I could help. Bart’s fast, but I’m faster, and you needed me.” His voice is sharp, his vibration spiking, a crackle in the air, and I step closer, my anger rising. “We had it handled! You’re not cleared, Wally. You could’ve lost control, been pulled back into that void. Do you know what that would do to me?” My voice cracks, tears prickling, my fear raw, and he falters, his shoulders sagging, his voice softer. “I’m not fragile, Artemis. I’m a speedster. I can’t be the guy who sits out while you’re in danger. I love you, babe. But I can’t stand by watching you risk your life and do nothing. It’s just not who I am.”

His words echo our fight, a wound reopened, and I shake my head, my voice low. “I’m not caging you, Wally. I’m trying to keep you alive.” He steps closer, his hand reaching for mine, but I pull back, my heart aching, unable to bridge the gap. “I need you to trust me,” I whisper, my eyes burning, and he nods, his green eyes haunted, gold dimming. “I’m trying, Spitfire. I just… I need to be me again.” His vibration hums, unsteady, and I see the Speed Force’s pull, a shadow in his gaze, a warning of what’s coming.

The intercom buzzes, Batman’s voice cutting through, cold and clipped. “Tigress, Kid Flash, Nightwing, Team to Briefing Room A, now.” Wally’s eyes flicker gold, his jaw tightening, and I see the restlessness, the urge to run he’s fighting. “Go,” he says, his voice steady but strained. “Be Tigress.” His smile is faint, his hand trembling, and I nod, my throat tight, my love for him a fire that burns through my anger, my fear.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The training deck is a brief stop before the briefing, a chance for Wally to join a controlled simulation, his first since Gotham, Bruce’s orders to monitor his progress and a chance for him to run off some of this restlessness he’s been feeling. He’s in his training suit, red and yellow, standing on a holographic track, obstacles shifting—walls, drones, energy fields. I watch from the observation platform, my quiver slung over my shoulder, my crossbow at rest, Bart beside me, his red suit vibrant, his grin wide. “Cuz is gonna crush this,” he says, but his eyes are wary, sensing Wally’s strain. Nightwing, Superboy, M’gann, and Zatanna are nearby, their presence a quiet support, the techs’ scanners humming.

Bruce signals, his voice flat. “Mach 10, five laps, navigate obstacles. Maintain control.” Wally nods, his vibration flaring, gold trails sparking as he blurs into motion, weaving through drones, leaping walls, his speed a dance of power. But his vibration spikes, the deck trembling under his feet, gold energy crackling around him, and he stumbles, catching himself, his eyes blazing gold, his breath ragged. “It’s pulling me,” he mutters, his voice low, pained, as he stops, the scanners beeping, a tech noting, “Tachyon output at 200%, unstable.” My heart lurches, my hands gripping the railing, my voice sharp. “Wally, stop!” He looks up, his green eyes meeting mine, gold fading, and he nods, stepping off the track, his vibration unsteady, a warning I can’t ignore.

Bruce’s lenses are unreadable, his voice clipped. “We’ll adjust parameters. Rest now.” Wally slumps, his hands on his knees, his vibration easing, and I rush to him, my hand on his arm, careful of his scars. “You okay?” I ask, my voice urgent, searching his eyes. He nods, his grin faint. “Yeah, babe. I’m peachy. Just… loud in here.” He taps his temple, his voice raw, and I see the Speed Force’s pull, his anger, his frustration, amplifying it. My fear surges, but the briefing calls, and I squeeze his hand, my voice soft. “We’ll figure this out. Together.” He nods, his eyes haunted, as he turns away from me to walk back to the Med Bay alone. I watch him go, my heart heavy, as I turn the opposite way to go to the briefing room, duty pulling me away.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The briefing room is stark, holo-screens glowing with footage of Star City—chaotic constructs of red energy tearing through a metahuman research facility, civilians fleeing. The Team—Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Zatanna, Bart—sits around the table, their faces tense. Batman stands at the console, his cape a dark ripple, his voice cold. “Vandal Savage has allied with Klarion the Witch Boy. They’re targeting a metahuman research facility in Star City, deploying chaos constructs to steal experimental tech and destabilize the region. We need to neutralize the constructs, secure the facility, and capture Savage’s operatives. Tigress, you lead. Your precision and tactics are critical. Kid Flash, containment and evacuation. Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Zatanna—support and extraction.”

My heart races, my mind mapping the mission, but Wally’s absence stings. I can’t deny that I wish he were here, getting briefed for this mission with us, but I can’t forget his almost entirely gold-colored eyes in the simulation earlier flashing in my mind. Bart nods, his grin eager. “Got it, Bats. I’ll zip those constructs to bits.” Nightwing’s eyes meet mine, his nod supportive. “You’ve got this, Tigress.” M’gann’s telepathic touch is warm, We’re with you, Artemis. Zatanna’s gaze is steady, her voice soft. “Klarion’s magic is tricky, but we’ll counter it.” Superboy’s jaw sets, his voice gruff. “Let’s end this fast.” I nod, my resolve firming, but my worry for Wally lingers, his unstable simulation a warning.

Batman taps the screen, a map of Star City pulsing. “You move at soon. No collateral damage. Flash, you’re on Watchtower support.” Barry, standing at the back, nods, his eyes on me, a shared concern for Wally. I stand, my quiver adjusted, my crossbow a familiar weight. “We’ll get it done,” I say, my voice steady, Tigress rising, but Artemis’s fear for Wally a shadow that follows. I walk up to Barry as the team settles to depart. "Barry, I'm worried for him. Watch out for him. Please." My voice is soft, desperate, and Barry recognizes the love I have for Wally as a love so similar to his own. "I will, Kid. Just focus on the mission. I'll be here." I nod back at him, but in my heart, I know there's little anyone can do to stop Wally if he makes up his mind. He's too fast for anyone to contain, even Barry Allen.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Back in the Med Bay, Wally’s pacing, his vibration a low hum, the energy around him a static hum of charged potential and restlessness. His eyes meet mine as I enter, gold flecks bright amongst the green, his grin strained. “Kick Klarion’s ass, babe,” he says, his voice warm but edged, his hand trembling. “Show ‘em why you’re the most bad ass woman on the planet.” I want to bridge our rift, to hold him, but our fight hangs heavy, my anger and fear a barrier. I step closer, my hand brushing his, my voice soft. “Stay here, Wally. Please. I need you safe.” His eyes flicker, the gold deepening in his irises, his vibration spiking, and he nods, his smile faltering. “Hurry back,” he murmurs, his voice raw, his hand squeezing mine, trembling, a hint of the recklessness I dread, and an indication of a fight that's warring inside him constantly.

I turn, my quiver on my back, my crossbow in hand, and leave the Med Bay, the door hissing shut, Wally’s silhouette pacing, his vibration a faint glow, gold energy crackling faintly, unnoticed by the techs. Star City awaits, Klarion’s chaos looms, and my heart pulls in two—duty to the Team, love for Wally, his restless heart a spark that could ignite, his anger a force that might pull him into the void before I return.

Chapter 22: Chaos and Control

Star City, December 4^th, 2020

Star City’s night sky is a bruise of smoke and crimson, Klarion’s chaos constructs—twisted, glowing beasts of red energy—tearing through the metahuman research facility’s perimeter, their roars shaking the asphalt. I crouch behind a shattered wall, my crossbow raised, my quiver heavy against my back, my Tigress suit blending with the shadows. My blonde hair is tucked under a hood, my eyes scanning the battlefield, my heart pounding with duty but tethered to Wally, left in the Watchtower, his gold-flecked eyes and erratic vibration a warning I can’t shake. The Team moves with me: Nightwing to my right, his escrima sticks crackling, his blue eyes sharp; Superboy ahead, his fists clenched, his leather jacket scorched; Miss Martian invisible above, her telepathic link steady; Zatanna beside me, her dark hair whipping, her hands glowing with runes; Bart zipping between constructs, his red suit a blur, his grin strained. Vandal Savage’s operatives lurk inside, stealing tech, but Klarion’s magic is the immediate threat, and I’m leading the charge to stop it.

“Bart, flank left, draw their fire!” I hiss through comms, my bolt notched, aimed at a construct’s glowing core. “Conner, breach the east wall! M’gann, scan for operatives!” Nightwing nods, his voice low. “I’ll cover Bart.” Zatanna murmurs, “Sdnib fo thgil!”, her spell lashing a construct, its limbs slowing. Bart zips in, a red streak, taunting a beast, but Klarion’s cackle echoes, his magic warping the ground, spikes erupting, forcing Bart to skid, his vibration faltering. “Not crash, dude!” he yelps, dodging, but the constructs are fast, their claws grazing his suit. My bolt flies, striking a core, the beast collapsing, but more surge forward, Klarion’s voice taunting from above, his cat Teekl weaving through the chaos.

M’gann’s voice brushes my mind, urgent. Three operatives in the lab, grabbing tech. Klarion’s shielding them. Superboy smashes a construct into oblivion, his voice gruff. “I’m on it!” Nightwing flips over a spike, his sticks sparking, disabling another beast. I fire bolts—explosive, net, tranquilizer—each precise, my shots are blurs in the night, my focus razor-sharp to what must be done. The mission needs precision, not raw speed, but Bart’s struggling, his speed countered by Klarion’s shifting terrain. Bart’s pinned in a corner, barely able to do anything when I look back and we’re only holding ground, not gaining it.

Klarion appears, a flicker of black and red, his grin manic atop a construct, his magic surging, the ground splitting. “Playtime, heroes!” he sneers, Teekl hissing, a wave of crimson energy slamming toward us. Zatanna counters, “Dleihs fo redro!”, her barrier flaring, but it cracks, her breath ragged. “He’s too strong,” she gasps, and I signal Nightwing. “We need to split his focus! Bart, get out of there! Hit and run!” Bart nods, zipping in, but a construct swipes, sending him tumbling, his suit torn, his voice pained. “Okay, less crash now…” My heart lurches, my voice sharp. “Stay down, Bart!”

We’re closing in, Conner breaching the lab, M’gann phasing to intercept operatives, when a red-and-yellow blur streaks through, gold trails crackling, the air electric with static. My breath catches, my crossbow freezing. Wally. He’s here again, his training suit glowing, his speed a whirlwind that shatters constructs in seconds—cores exploding, claws crumbling, Klarion’s shield flickering. Operatives drop, their tech scattered. It’s chaos on the battlefield and it’s over before my heart has even pumped more than twice. Klarion shrieks, “No fair, speedster!” and vanishes, Teekl yowling, the chaos fading, the facility secure.

Wally doesn’t stop though, he keeps running, like he can’t stop. All around us, the atmosphere turns acrid. “Wally!” I scream, desperate to get him under control. He finally seems to lose his footing and stumbles to the ground, his green eyes blazing gold, his vibration intense, shaking the ground and the buildings around us like an earth quake. But the gold flares in his eyes, impossibly brighter, drowning out any green that is there, a rift of lightning begins crackling around him, his body blurring at the edges, his face twisting with pain. “Artemis!” he gasps, his voice raw, his speed surging uncontrollably, he’s beginning to spasm on the ground, his body turning translucent and pale, the golden light around him begins to shine from within him, like light particles escaping from the sun. The Speed Force is pulling at him, it’s electric and golden energy swallowing him. My heart stops, my crossbow clattering to the ground, my quiver bouncing as I sprint toward him, my voice desperate. “Wally, no!” The Team freezes—Nightwing’s eyes wide, Conner’s fists clenched, M’gann’s telepathic cry echoing, He’s slipping! Bart scrambles up, his voice frantic. “Cuz, hold on!”

“Wally!” I scream again, my voice raw, but he doesn’t move, he can’t. His body’s phasing, going intangible, and the Team’s around us now, their voices a desperate chorus.

“Wally, fight it!” Dick yells, his hands outstretched, but he’s not touching him afraid that he’ll disappear into nothingness under the action. “You’re stronger than this!”

“Come back, man!” Conner roars, his fists clenched, his face twisted with fear.

“Wally, please!” M’gann’s voice breaks, her mind reaching out, but she pulls back with a jolt in anguish, terrified of what he’s experiencing in his mind.

Bart’s shaking, his eyes wet, his voice cracking. “Please don’t go, we can’t lose you again.”

But it’s not enough. Wally’s fading, his body a swarm of energy that is fading, and I know, with a bone-deep certainty, that if he goes again, I won’t survive. My heart’s his, always has been, and losing him twice would break me beyond repair. The sting of our fight is fresh in my mind, the fear that fueled it, I’m seeing that manifest in front of me. I can’t lose him again. I step forward, fighting every tormented thought of this happening again, every memory of the Arctic that pummels my brain, of his absence, of the years I lived as a ghost without him.

“Wally,” I say, my voice steady despite the tears streaming down my face. “Look at me. Focus on my eyes.” His gaze finds mine, wild and haunted, but he’s there, he’s still there. “Stay with me. Talk to me. You’re not going anywhere.”

He shakes his head, his voice a broken whisper of the torment he feels. “It hurts, Artemis…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…have came. It’s…pulling me—"

“I know,” I cut him off, stepping closer, my hands hovering over his flickering form. “I know it hurts, but you’re stronger than it. You fought to come back to me, and I’m not letting you go.” My voice cracks, but I keep going. “I love you, Wally. I love you so much it hurts, and I need you here. Remember our dreams—remember the family used to talk about, our life together, the house with the stupid picket fence you always teased me about. Remember that, Wally. Remember us. Don’t run away. Focus on me, hear me!”

His body trembles, the rift surrounding him pulsing, but with every word, he solidifies just a bit, his edges sharpening, his glow dimming. He’s fighting, his face twisted with pain, but he’s focusing on me, on our love, on the life we promised each other. “Artemis,” he gasps, his voice raw, and he’s more solid now, more human than light.

“Keep going,” I say, my hands reaching out, brushing his arms, feeling him become real under my touch. “You’re mine, Wally West. You’re home.”

His eyes flicker, green breaking through, gold dimming, the rift fading, his vibration easing into a soft hum. And finally, after what feels like an eternity of living through my worst nightmare, he collapses against me, his breath ragged, his arms shaky but tight, his voice hoarse, sobbing against my shoulder. He’s in my arms, tangible, solid, and real. His body shakes, not from speed or vibrations but from fear, and from pain. I cradle him to my chest, collapsed on the ground with him, my own tears falling silently as sobs wrack his body. “It hurts,” he chokes out. My throat is tight, but I somehow manage to say, “I know, baby…just hold on we’ll get you back to the Watchtower.”

The rest of the Team around me breathe a sigh of relief that he’s now solid again. Connor bends down, getting eye level with me on the ground, a question on his face, and I nod while swallowing hard. “Connor’s gonna get you back. He’s faster than the rest of us. I promise, I’m right behind you.” Wally nods feebly, he’s completely spent and he’s terrified of what just happened. Connor grabs Wally as gently as he can, and wastes no time in rushing to the nearest zeta-tube. I want to collapse from the whirlwind of emotions warring inside me, but I promised I’d be right behind. “I’m going. The rest of you, get this tech to the Watchtower.” My voice is clipped, strained, and no one says anything to disagree with me.

By the time I make it back, my fear has subsided and made way for rage. My anger is simmering, ready to explode. But I still love that reckless mess of a man. Before anything else, I need to make sure he’s okay, and then, then I’m going to explode, the tide a torrent of fear and anger at his stupidity. I storm into the Med Bay; Barry is already there with fury etched across his face “What were you thinking?!” he practically yells. Wally’s eyes are downcast, guilt all over his expression. I take a second to read the charts I’ve grown accustomed to interpreting by his bedside. They all read normally. He’s fine, a little tired I’m sure, but fine.

Relief crashes through me, but my wrath and fury follow, my hands trembling as I join the fray, my voice a snarl. “What the hell, Wally? You promised you’d stay put!”  Wally’s eyes narrow at my theatrical entrance and proclamation, gold flecks lingering, his voice sharp. “I told you, I’m not useless, Artemis! I wasn’t gonna watch you get hurt!” His vibration spikes, a crackle in the air, and my temper flares, my quiver’s straps digging into my shoulders.

“Losing ground?” I snap, my voice rising. “We had it, Wally! I was fine, we were fine, we didn’t need you! You risked yourself, nearly got pulled into that void! You’re not cleared!” My tears spill, my fear fueling my rage, the memory of that rift forming and his body going translucent a nightmare come alive. His chin rises higher, proud and stubborn, his voice heated. “I’m a speedster, Artemis! I can’t sit on the sidelines while you’re fighting! I ended it, didn’t I?” His words sting, his frustration mirroring our Gotham fight, and I flinch, my voice breaking. “You almost ended yourself, Wally! Do you know what that does to me?”

He falters, his green eyes softening, gold dimming, but his jaw clenches, his voice low. “I’m trying to be me, Artemis. To be us again.” My heart aches, love and anger colliding, and I shake my head, my voice raw. “I need you alive, Wally. Not a hero, not a speedster—just you.” Barry’s eyes linger, fear is the fuel to his anger at Wally, just like it is for me. “I need to go debrief.” I say. “Do not, I repeat, do not get out of this bed, Wally West. Or so help me God.” I finish as I storm out of the Med Bay, refusing to look back and hoping that Barry can talk some sense into the man that I love so fiercely before I get back.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Watchtower’s briefing room is quiet, the stolen tech secured, Batman’s debrief clinical. “Klarion’s retreated, Savage’s operatives detained,” he says, his lenses unreadable. I stand apart, my crossbow on the table, my quiver empty, my anger simmering but softened by the terror that I could’ve lost Wally tonight. The Team disperses, Nightwing’s hand on my shoulder, Bart zipping past with a subdued, “Good work, team.” M’gann’s eyes meet mine, her face full of compassion.

In the Med Bay, Wally sits on the bed, the photo of us at the fair catching the light, his red T-shirt loose, his scars faint. His green eyes meet mine, gold flecks dim, his vibration faint, his voice low. “I screwed up, Artemis. I know that,” he says, his hands clasped, trembling. “I was angry, at you, at me, at being stuck here. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His honesty disarms me, my anger fading, my fear replacing it, and I sit beside him, my hand brushing his, my voice soft. “I thought I lost you, Wally. For over four years I lived in hell without you…you are everything to me, the world could burn tomorrow but as long as you’re still in it, I’d survive. That rift tonight…you were fading, I couldn’t even feel your body when I reached for you at first…I know that you lived in hell for the last four years, I know it left you with scars that I can’t see, but you being in there left me with some you can’t see either. I can’t go through that again. I need you here with me.”

He pulls me close, his arms shaky but strong, his vibration a gentle hum, his lips brushing my forehead. “I’m here. I’m so sorry, I really am.” he murmurs, his voice raw. “I’m trying, Artemis. The Speed Force—it’s louder when I’m mad, when we’re fighting. I need you to keep me grounded, but I’m just so frustrated.” He nods to the picture of us at the fair, and he looks so dejected, “I want that again, babe. I want to not feel like I don’t know who I am. I want to get out of this fucking watchtower, to go to my parent’s house, to see Brucely. I want to see the world, and I want to do every bit of it with you beside me. I missed out on four years of time with you, and it’s time I’ll never get back. So I guess what I’m saying is that I’m just ready to get on with the rest of our lives.” My tears spill, my heart aching at his confessions, his desires a mirror of my own, and I nod, my voice fierce. “We do this together, Wally. No more running off.” He smiles, faint but real, the gold in his eyes almost completely dulled behind a warm, green. “Together, Spitfire.”

We lay down and wrap ourselves around each other. We’re curled tight, the fear of what happened tonight and the love and dreams we share drawing us nearer to each other. I rest my head on his chest, just to hear his heartbeat. I see the many photos I’ve taped up around the room, the goggles, and my discarded mask. They’re all a testament to our life. The one we had, the one we still have, where we are heroes trying to live as normal a life as we can. The terror I feel will probably never go away completely, though I don’t doubt that it’ll fade with time. I’m sure that in my worst dreams, even when I’m old and gray, I’ll wake up reaching for Wally West, making sure he’s still beside me. But I’m comforted by our love and resolve to be together. It is a tether, stronger than the lightning in his veins, stronger than the pull of any Speed Force that tries to lay claim to him. The mission was successful tonight, but our fight’s not over—his limits, our love, the missions and life we’ll have ahead will be a test with no known measure of what we’ll face. But we’ll do it hand in hand, and we’ll do it together. That’s all that matters. Together.

Chapter 23: Balance of Power

Watchtower, December 6^th, 2020

It’s been two days since the rift incident that almost pulled Wally back into the Speed Force. We’ve been nearly inseparable, our shared confessions that night, our shared frustrations and fear helping us bridge the gap from our fight. Wally’s back in the training room today, Bruce is pushing him hard. The whole team is there to observe and support Wally. Bruce told us yesterday that this session would strain him. The training deck hums with energy, the room gleaming under harsh lights, its sensors blinking as Wally steps onto the main floor. His training suit isn't as loose as it was a few days ago, he's beginning to fill it out, new muscle shaping his body and pulling it taut against him. Honestly, it makes my mouth water just a bit and my heartbeat quicken for reasons that have nothing to do with anxiety, but I try not to focus on...that. I stand at the observation platform, my quiver slung over my shoulder, my crossbow holstered, my heart racing as I watch him, his curls damp, his green eyes focused. Barry’s beside me, his Flash suit vibrant, his brown eyes steady. Batman’s at the controls, his cowl’s lenses unreadable, techs murmuring data. Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Zatanna, and Bart linger nearby, their presence a quiet support, Bart’s red suit catching the light, his grin subdued but hopeful.

Bruce’s voice cuts through, clipped. “Mach 18, five minutes. Obstacle course is active, be alert. Maintain control, Wally.” Holographic walls and drones materialize, shifting unpredictably. Wally nods, his vibration flaring, gold trails sparking as he blurs into motion, weaving through obstacles that come at him with hypersonic speed. He is a controlled storm. My hands grip the railing, my breath shallow, memories of Star City’s rift—gold energy, his desperate cry—haunting me. He’s steady, his steps precise, until Bruce amps it up again at the five minute mark. "Mach 18, speed up." It starts off well enough, him picking up speed on the floor fills the atmosphere with a tingle of possibility, it's almost impossible to miss but one of the holographic images slices through his shoulder, moving at almost light speed and though the hit isn't dangerous in any way, Wally seems more tense than before. "Bring it back down, Wally. Settle at Mach 10, control your urges." As frustrating as he is, Bruce is an effective trainer. He knows exactly what to do, but I still hate it. Wally has problems maintaining speed, but it seems he struggles even more with harnessing it and reeling it back in after he's been going so fast. It's like he wants to go fast, can maintain the speed, but bringing it back down is almost as hard as not disappearing into the rift. Another hologram hits him, this time on the leg, and the atmosphere turns acrid. The crackling of the lightning around him intensifies and his vibration spikes. His body beginning to hum at speeds that speak volumes of the control he is exerting. The observation deck is now trembling, another holographic hit, and the gold flares bright as the sun in his eyes. There's a crackle of energy around him, and I know him well enough to know that he's beyond frustrated and that's dangerous right now. “Wally!” I shout, my voice sharp, leaning forward.

His eyes meet mine through the platform’s glass, gold blazing, and I speak into the comm, my voice calm but fierce. “You’re here, Wally, with me. Feel my voice, our hands at the fair. Stay with me. Stay in control. I believe in you, you can do this.” His face is still a mask of frustration, but he doesn't go faster, the physical vibration of his body eases to where it looks less like he's trying to phase through something, the gold dimming in his eyes, and the green breaking through. A few more minutes and he's hit by no less than 8 more holograms, all going decidedly faster than he is, and I know he's only frustrated because he knows he could go faster than them but isn't being allowed. The timer siren blares, the holograms vanish, and he slows to a stop, his chest heaving, his grin faint but triumphant. “Got it, Spitfire,” he rasps, his voice raw, and I exhale, relief flooding me. Barry’s hand rests on my shoulder, his voice warm. “You’re his anchor, Artemis.” Bruce’s voice is flat but approving. “Progress noted. We’ll adjust for Mach 20 tomorrow and bring you back down into sub sonic levels.” Wally's grin falters, but he joins us on the observation deck, his hand finding mine, trembling but strong, his eyes grateful, and I squeeze back, my love a shield against the Speed Force’s pull.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The briefing room is tense, holo-screens glowing with Central City footage—dark alleys, a lab cordoned off, energy signatures pulsing. The Team—Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Zatanna, and Bart, sits around the table. It's just the six of us right now, with the rest of the members of the team still off world, conducting their own missions. I hate leaving Wally in the Med Bay, but we've both talked a lot in the last few days. He hates sitting by, and I hate watching him suffer. But we understand one another again. As I step into the room, it's Barry and Dinah who greet me. Barry speaks up. "Hold up, Kid. We have something we need you to do before the briefing." I'm a little shocked, it's not common that I get asked to do anything other than lead, but I nod my head anyways, signaling him to continue. "Why don't you go give this to Wally for us" Barry says, holding up a Kid Flash suit. My breath catches, "Do you mean..." "Yeah, Artemis." That's Dinah. "Bruce is clearing him for limited action tonight after the progress he's made in controlling himself." I'm stuck between elation and nervousness, but Dinah's hand is on my shoulder. "The only way he'll get better is to test him, and the only way to test him safely is if you're there helping him anchor himself. I believe he'd stay here tonight, especially after last time and the fight you two had, but he's earned this." I feel a bubble of relief washing over me, ready to rise up and burst from the inside, because I know Dinah's right. "Okay" I exhale, the breath that I was holding feeling like a weight leaving my shoulders. If nothing else, I trust Bruce's intelligence. He'd never jeopardize a mission, especially not just to make one of us feel better, and I trust Wally.

I walk back to the Med Bay, the Kid Flash suit in my hands. When I get there, I try to school my face, attempt to keep the grin off of it, so that I milk this surprise for all its worth. The doors hiss open and Wally is lying on the bed reading a comic book. His eyes lift with surprise at my entrance and then settle at my arms and the suit that I'm holding. Before he can utter a word, I've thrown the suit on the bed, doing my best to maintain my leader of the team persona. "You were supposed to be in the briefing room 5 minutes ago, you'd think a speedster could be on time." I say as sternly as I can muster. Wally's eyes are wide, a grin beginning to split his face. "Wait...Artemis, really?" I do my best to not smile, but it's a losing battle, so I roll my eyes fondly and step closer to the bed putting my hand on his leg. His skin is electric, filled with longing and hope, and it makes me so happy that I'm the one who is making him that way. "Yes, you dumbass." I say, my voice soft and with no bite. "So, get dressed, we've got a mission to go on." You would have thought I'd told Wally that he'd just won a lifetime membership card to McDonalds, and he never has to pay for food ever again. I give him a soft smile and rise back up to leave. Before I can take a step though, it's Wally who speaks again. "You sure you don't wanna stay and watch me change? I know time is of the essence here, babe, but you've never had a problem with me taking my time before." My face heats drastically at the insinuation and the flood of memories that wash over me. He's caught me off guard, and I know he's pleased by that, but I can't give him the satisfaction of keeping the upper hand. So, I look back at him over my shoulder as slyly as possible, and I whisper huskily, "How about you remind me tonight." His mouth falls open, and I'm out the door before he's had time to quip back. Walking towards the briefing room with stride and feeling that has very little to do with the mission.

In no time at all, Wally is standing at my side listening to Batman's brief. “Vandal Savage has targeted a Central City lab studying speedster energy signatures, possibly linked to Tachyon emissions. His operatives are deploying a Tachyon disruptor, capable of destabilizing speedsters or amplifying their output for extraction. Tigress, lead the operation—neutralize the disruptor. Kid Flash, civilian evacuation and containment. Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Zatanna—support and extraction. Wally, limited engagement—evacuations only, absolutely no direct combat.”

Wally is humming with excitement, his emotions almost tangible, his face a wide grin. "Aye aye, captain." He says, giving a hard salute to Batman. Batman's face is unamused, as flat as stone, but my heart is leaping at the normalcy of it all. “What’s Savage’s goal?” I ask, my voice sharp. Batman taps the screen, a schematic of the disruptor flashing. “Power. He’s experimenting with dimensional energy, likely to enhance his operatives or himself. We stop the disruptor, we delay his plan.” Nightwing’s blue eyes meet mine, his nod steady. Bart's voice is eager, barely containing his excitement with Wally's reinitiation to the team. “I’ll zip those civvies out, no sweat!” M’gann’s smile is warm, and her eyes are moist looking between me and Wally. Zatanna’s fingers flinch in the air, her voice soft. “I’ll counter any tech enhancements.” Connor's voice is strong but there's a smile on his face when he says, “Let’s smash and grab.”

Wally’s hand brushes mine, his voice low. “I’ll stick to the plan, Spitfire. I promise, and this time, I mean it.” His green eyes hold mine, gold flecks dim, his vibration steady, and I nod, my voice fierce. “I trust you, Wally.” The words are a vow, an understanding of our fight and our struggles, but also of our faith in each other. He smiles, faint but real, his hand squeezing mine, trembling but sure. Batman’s lenses linger, his voice flat. “Move out, 2200 hours. No collateral damage.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

We arrive in Central City later that night. The night is alive with neon lights and a drizzle of rain that chills us all. The cool autumn weather shifting into a bitter winter. We get to the lab without anyone seeing us, and it is a fortress of steel and glass, its perimeter crawling with Savage’s operatives—enhanced with glowing implants, their rifles humming. I crouch on a rooftop, my crossbow raised, my Tigress suit blending with the shadows. The Team moves with me: Nightwing at my flank, his sticks ready; Superboy below, his senses sharp; Miss Martian invisible, her telepathic link steady; Zatanna beside me, her magic primed; Bart zipping through alleys, evacuating civilians; Wally nearby, his new Kid Flash suit glowing faintly with the shine of never being used. His role is limited but his eyes are strong. It's not missed on me that this is the first time we've been on a mission together, one where he was sanctioned to be there, in over four years. The weight of this moment and my pride in him, his strength and his stubbornness is a steady beat in my chest. My heart pounds, my focus shifting back to the mission, but Wally’s vibration hums, a comfort and a reminder of the countless times we've done this before.

“Bart, clear the west block,” I whisper through comms, my bolt notched, aimed at an operative’s rifle. “Conner, breach the south entrance. M’gann, scan for the disruptor.” Nightwing nods, his voice low. “I’ll cover Zatanna.” My bolt flies, disabling the rifle, the operative slumping. Superboy smashes through a gate, his fists a blur, operatives scattering. M’gann’s voice echoes, Disruptor’s in the central lab, guarded. Zatanna murmurs, “Ecalpsid rewop!”, her spell shorting a turret, sparks flying. Bart zips past, a red blur, civilians safe, his voice gleeful. “All clear, Tigress!” Wally gives me a fleeting look, and in a totally Wally West move, gives me a searing kiss before pulling back wearing a brilliant smile on his face and runs like a comet in the night sky. He begins evacuating lab staff, his speed controlled, gold trails faint, and though I can't see his eyes, I know they must be almost entirely that beautiful green that I love, the golden specks dimmed into near nothingness.

We infiltrate, my bolts—explosive, net, tranquilizer—clearing paths, my quiver lightening. Nightwing flips over operatives, his sticks cracking implants. Superboy pins a guard, M’gann telekinetically disarms another, Zatanna’s spells neutralizing tech. The disruptor looms, a pulsing device of wires and crystal, its energy crackling. I fire an explosive bolt, its casing cracking, but an operative lunges, his implant flaring, and Wally blurs in, pulling me back from the attack that would have surely left a least a few bruises, his vibration steady, his voice low. “Got you, Spitfire.” Before he races off again to keep evacuating lab staff. I nod, though I know he can't see it, my heart racing, his restraint a proof of trust as I fire a net at the offending operative, trapping them in my webbing.

Zatanna chants, “Dleihs fo redro!”, disabling the disruptor, its hum fading. Nightwing secures a data pad, his voice sharp. “Got intel—Savage’s after ‘dimensional energy harvesting.’ This is bigger than we thought.” My blood chills, I don't know how much Vandal Savage knows about "dimensional energy", but I wouldn't be surprised if he knew more than we'd like for him to know, he is immortal after all. The Speed Force is my immediate thought, is Vandal Savage looking into that, or is it something else? I don't have an answer, but I'll get one. We extract what we came for, bind the operatives, and secure the lab secure. The police arrive shortly after, and as we watch from the rooftops, Wally’s at my side, his eyes green, his vibration calm, and his hand in mine, a promise kept.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It's past midnight when we return to the Watchtower in high spirits. Nothing went wrong, there was no instability in Wally when he was running, and we got the information we needed to give to Batman without any issues. Barry is there to greet us all, his hug a fierce embrace on Wally, while Dinah and Oliver are there to hug me. I can hear Wally laughing at something his uncle says when Dinah softly turns my head to look into her eyes. "I told you he'd be okay, Artemis. You did wonderful." Oliver is smiling at me as brightly as I've ever seen, and I know that I must be too back at him, because my cheeks hurt something fierce from the strange action. I've not had a lot to smile about in over four years, and I don't know if I've stopped smiling once since the mission ended. Wally is back by my side in an instant, and I can see why. Batman is strolling over to me, his eyes glued on mine. Barry, Dinah, and Oliver stand behind us, my hand in Wally's and my breath held. Bruce stops just in front of us, his eyes going between mine and Wally's, before he says, "Good job." The praise is a shock, but a welcome one. Before I can say anything though, it's Bruce that speaks up again, "Wally, your levels were stable the entire time tonight, no fluctuations, no challenges. Effective immediately, I'm dismissing you from the Med Bay." My breath catches in my throat, and Wally's eyes are as wide as saucers. "Does that mean..." he starts, but Bruce cuts him off with a nod of his head. "Get out of here, keep your suit on you and your comms ready. You are to report back every other day for training, and you will continued to be allowed to go on missions on a limited basis." Wally is over the moon, barely containing his glee, and I see Dick behind Bruce with a smile nearly as big as Wally's. Batman turns, his cape flaring and strides back into the shadows. It's Barry that speaks first, telling Wally how happy his parents will be to not have to keep visiting the Watchtower just to see him. Dinah gives me a kiss on my cheek, Ollie claps my shoulder, and they both walk off, hand-in-hand. Barry is also done with praising Wally, and grins a soft grin at us, before dismissing himself and giving us a bit of privacy. Honestly, I don't even know what to say to the revelation that he can leave the Watchtower, it seems Wally's having a bit of a shock too. But then his lips are on mine and he's kissing me with reckless abandon, and I'm kissing him back like a woman starved. I wrap my arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling him close, and his hands are on the small of my back. I pull away ever so slightly, both of us breathless with heat and excitement pumping through our bodies. "Wally..." I whisper, and his name is reverent on my lips. He's smiling like a cat, before he suddenly seems to get nervous, stuttering over words. "So. Artemis, anyways, uh. Listen, I'm not sure, well, it's kind of dumb, I don't know, it's been four years...anyways, uhh so listen. Well" and I kiss him again, hard, stopping him from his bumbling, because no matter how adorable it is, I want to get out of here, and I know what he's trying to ask me. "Yes, Wally" I say, pulling back again, "You're coming back with me, to my apartment. Now let's go get your things." He's got this dumbstruck look on his face before he splits into another wide grin, and I can't help myself from matching his reaction. He laughs, pulls me in close, hugs me, picks me up, and spins me around like he's won the lottery. I laugh with him, slapping him lightly on the shoulder, "Put you down you brute". He slowly stops spinning me, letting my feet touch the ground again, and he says, "See, now I'm confused, because I know you like it when I pick you up and throw you around." His smile is infectious, his flirting, his adorable face, filled with freckles and green eyes like a forest. He's tried to catch me off guard again, like he did back in the Med Bay, but I just walk my fingers up his chest until I bury them in his ruby red hair, grabbing a handful of it just enough so that there's a sting on his scalp. "I never said I didn't like it. I was just implying that the quicker you stop doing it here, the faster we can get to my apartment, and you can do it there." His Adams apple bobbles with the force of the swallow he takes, and he releases a breath of pent up air, before he whispers, "Then what are we waiting for." And then he's off, a blur on his way back to the Med Bay. I laugh, a sound that echos through the now empty Watchtower, and go to follow him. By the time I've made it there, he's already done, just a cardboard box filled with the things I brought over for him to make this place feel like home, the drawings from the twins inside, folded preciously on top of the pictures of us. He hoists the box up, gives me another grin, and says, "Lead the way, babe." I shake my head at his antics but grab his hand while he holds the box with the other arm, and walk him back to the zeta-tube. His vibration is a gentle hum against my body, filled with excitement and love, and just a little bit of longing. I look over at him and his green eyes meet mine. They're warm and so full of love that it almost takes my breath away. I give him a small smile as we reach the zeta-tube and type in the coordinates to Gotham. He goes in first, the command recognizing him, and I follow. Not wasting another moment.

Chapter 24: Rekindled Flame

Notes:

This chapter wrecked me in the best way. It’s Wally and Artemis’s first time together since he came back — and it’s not just about bodies, it’s about hearts that have been through hell and still choose each other. It’s soft, it’s intimate, and it feels like poetry. A quiet kind of love that says ‘I’m still here.’ If you love angst that turns tender, this one’s for you. 🥀✨

Gotham, December 7^th, 2020

The lock clicks as I twist the key, my fingers steady despite the heat simmering in my veins, and I push open the door to my Gotham apartment, the familiar creak a soft echo in the quiet night. Wally follows, his cardboard box—stuffed with photos, comics, the twins’ crayon drawings, his new Kid Flash suit—cradled under one arm, his presence a spark that lights up the dim space. The air carries the faint scent of coffee grounds and leather, a streetlamp’s glow slipping through the blinds, casting slanted shadows across the clutter—a photo of us in Palo Alto pinned to a corkboard, my spare quiver propped against a wall, a dog-eared book on the coffee table. My heart thrums, not from the adrenaline of a mission, but from him—his green eyes, bright and teasing, his grin crooked, the weight of four years apart dissolving in the warmth of this moment. Tonight, there’s no Speed Force, no looming threat, just us, and the promise of his touch, his laughter, his love, filling the space between us.

I drop my quiver and crossbow by the door, and stride to the bathroom. “I’ll be back soon, make yourself comfortable.” I call out. Wally sets the box down, and walks to turn on the TV as I enter the door to the bathroom, shutting it softly. I look into the mirror and see my reflection under my Tigress mask. I take if off to stare at myself and take a deep breath through my nose, exhaling through my mouth. I begin to strip, removing my suit and donning a faded tank top and a worn pair of jeans. I brush my long, blonde hair out, attempting to loosen the knots that formed in it during the mission. As I lay the brush down, I see myself in the mirror and I look at peace, a soft glow to my tan skin. I step out of the bathroom and my eyes find Wally browsing around the living room. I breeze forward, my blonde hair loose, brushing my shoulders, and Wally turns to face me. His red T-shirt that he changed into at the Watchtower is hugging his toned frame, the scars faint but etched into his skin, a quiet testament to his time in Hell and his battle to return. “Fancy digs, Spitfire,” he quips, his voice warm, his grin sparking, but his fingers twitch, a static tingle brushing my arm as he steps closer, the air crackling with energy. I arch a brow, crossing my arms, my voice playful. “Fancy? It’s a dump, West, but it’s mine.” I pause, my eyes softening, my tone dropping. “And now it’s ours.” The words carry our history—his absence, my sleepless nights, our fights, our reunion, and our love.

He laughs, a sound that warms me like sunlight, and closes the gap, his hand grazing my waist, the static tingle of his touch sending a shiver down my spine. “Ours, huh?” he teases, his green eyes dancing, his grin wicked. “Does that mean I get to mess up your perfect order?” He flicks a finger at the corkboard, nudging the Palo Alto photo askew, and I swat his hand, my laugh bubbling up. “Don’t push it, speedster,” I warn, my voice mock-stern, but I step closer, my hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, the electric hum of his body under my palms. His grin softens, his hands settling on my hips, his touch light but eager. “I’ve missed this, Artemis,” he murmurs, his voice low, raw. “You. Us. Just… being here, together.”

My throat tightens, my fingers tracing the edge of a scar on his collarbone, the rough texture grounding me. “I missed you too, Wally,” I whisper, my voice fierce, my eyes locked on his, their green depths clear, free of the gold that haunts him, this moment ours alone. “Every day, every night. I thought I’d lost you forever.” He leans in, his forehead against mine, his breath warm, the static tingle of his skin a soft spark. “I’m here now, Spitfire,” he says, his voice a vow, his hands tightening on my hips. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

I tilt my head, brushing my lips against his, a teasing graze, and pull back, my grin challenging. “Prove it, West,” I murmur, my hands sliding up his chest, tugging at his shirt. He laughs, his eyes flashing, and he yanks the shirt off in a blur, tossing it onto the couch, his toned chest bared, scars catching the light. “Your move, babe,” he taunts, his hands hovering, daring me. I step back, peeling off my tank top with deliberate slowness, my sports bra tight against my frame, my muscles taut, my eyes holding his. His breath catches, his grin fading to awe, the static tingle of his fingers brushing my arm as he steps closer. “You’re gonna kill me, Artemis,” he groans, his voice husky, and I laugh, shoving him playfully, my strength sending him stumbling toward the couch.

He catches himself, pulling me with him, and we tumble onto the cushions, my knees straddling his hips, my hands pinning his shoulders, my blonde hair a curtain around us. “Not so fast, speedster,” I tease, my voice low, my lips grazing his jaw, the electric shock of his skin sparking against mine. He grins, his hands sliding up my thighs, his touch light, teasing, the static tingle igniting heat in my core. “You’re playing dirty, babe,” he murmurs, his lips finding my neck, kissing a trail that makes me gasp, the spark of his energy a delicious jolt. I tug his hair, pulling his face back, my eyes fierce. “You love it,” I whisper, kissing him, slow and deep, savoring the taste of him—mint, warmth, Wally.

Our banter fades, the playfulness giving way to a deeper hunger as our lips explore each other. It’s not enough though, I need to feel his body pressed against mine, I need to be closer. I stand, bringing him with me and guide him to the bedroom, lips never separating, hands exploring each other, the creaky bed waiting, its faded quilt a soft promise. His hands are on my jeans, his fingers deft but careful, the static tingle of his touch making me shiver as he slides them off, my skin bared to the cool air, causing goosebumps to erupt. I push him down, my strength guiding him, my hands exploring his chest, his scars, the heat of his skin a map I’ve longed to trace. He pulls me close, his lips on mine, his hands peeling away my sports bra, his touch reverent, the electric shock of his fingers sparking across my skin. “Artemis,” he breathes, his voice raw, his green eyes holding mine, clear and deep, his love a fire that burns through us.

We shed the last barriers, his pants discarded, my underwear gone, until it’s just us, skin to skin, our bodies pressed close, the static tingle of his energy a constant spark, binding us. I straddle him, my hands framing his face, my lips kissing him softly, fiercely, a promise of forever. “I love you, Wally,” I whisper, my voice a sacred vow, my resolve steady, my heart open. “I love you, Artemis,” he murmurs, his hands on my hips, his eyes green, his touch electric, his love a mirror to mine. In a moment etched in time, we join together. He slides into me slowly and it's both the most tortuous and wonderful thing I've ever felt, finally whole again with him. Two bodies, two hearts, made for this, made to be with each other, together again, whole. We move together, a passionate embrace, our bodies entwined, our souls reaching across the years we lost, reclaiming each other in a dance of light and shadow. Our panting fills the air with sounds of worshiped love and whispered names, spoken to each other.

Our union is unhurried, a tapestry woven of longing and trust, each touch a verse, each kiss a stanza, our breaths a rhythm that sings of love unbroken. His hands trace my curves, the static tingle of his fingers a spark that ignites a blazing trail across my skin, my muscles trembling under his care. I guide him, my strength anchoring us, my voice a soft chant—“Slow down, Wally”—and he listens, his movements deliberate, his embrace fierce, holding me as if I’m his lifeline. My fingers dig into his shoulders, my lips on his neck, his chest, tasting the salt of his skin, the electric shock of his energy a pulse that syncs with my heart. We rise together, a tide of passion and love, our bodies locked in a sacred rite, our souls entwined, the world fading until it’s just us, whole, eternal.

We crest, a starburst of light and heat, our gasps mingling, our embrace unyielding, the bed creaking under our weight, the quilt tangled around us and sweat beading our skin. I collapse against him, breathing heavy, my head on his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum beat keeping time in my head, the static tingle of his skin a soft afterglow and the vibration of his body a warm comfort, his arms wrapping me close, secure and strong. The Gotham night buzzes outside, a distant siren fading, the room filled with our quieting breaths, our shared peace. I trace a scar on his chest, my fingers gentle, my voice soft. “No running off now, speedster. You're mine.” I murmur, teasing but warm, my blonde hair spilling over his skin. He chuckles, his lips brushing my forehead, his voice husky. “Never, Spitfire. You’re my home.” His hand strokes my back, the electric shock of his touch faint, his green eyes warm in the dim light, clear of any shadow, ours alone. I lift my head to look at his face, and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. His freckles are a map that is more beautiful than the stars in the sky, his lips are plump and swollen with the heat of our kisses, his eyes are crinkled and wholly green, no gold present for the first time since he came back. They shine with love and I surrender to their embrace. I lean down, kissing him softly, a silent agreement and reciprocation to his statement. He’s home, he’s my home. The kiss is sweet, filled with promises too bold to be said aloud, but they’re promises I know he’ll keep. Because Wally West always keeps his promises. Visions of red-haired babies with my eyes streaking through a backyard swim behind my eyelids, a house in some quiet suburb with a white picket fence, shouts of joyful laughter and glee filling my heart, Wally barbequing on a midsummer afternoon. Our friends there, our family there. These are promises that we share in private with only each other, but ones I’m ready for. After four years without him, I’m tired of waiting. My life was put on hold when he left, and I’m ready for that new life with him, the one we always dreamed about. I’m a long way away from being ready to put down the crossbow for good, to leave my Tigris suit hanging in the closet, but I am ready for the next step. He’s back, and he’s not going anywhere, but that doesn’t mean I want to take my time. We have four years and nearly six months of life to catch up on. And if being with Wally West has taught me anything, it’s that life moves fast, and I refuse to do a single second of it without him again.    

The TV drones in the living room, a faint murmur of news—something about energy anomalies, a whisper of the threat we’ll face together—but I tune it out, my focus on Wally, his warmth, his breath syncing with mine. We drift, tangled in sheets, our laughter softening as drowsiness claims us, our banter returning, light and familiar. “You owe me a rematch, I can hold out longer than that” he teases, his grin wide, his fingers tracing my arm, the static tingle a gentle spark. “I let you win this round, because I knew you were just dying to have me again.” I roll my eyes, my voice playful. “Keep dreaming, West.” But my heart is full, our love a tether stronger than any distance or any force, and as we curl closer, the world fades, leaving just us, our flame rekindled, our future a path we’ll walk together.

Chapter 25: Ten Thousand Lifetimes

Notes:

Okay, this is an amazing chapter in my opinion. I had so much fun writing it, as this is the first time we really hear Wally talk about what the Speed Force is like. Coincidentally, this chapter also has a SUPER smutty section, so, read at your own discretion haha. I really wanted to embrace the lived-in normalcy that Wally and Artemis are getting and to give you a glimpse into their private life while also detailing Wally's struggles a bit. I hope you like it! As always, please give kudos and comment if you love it, I love hearing your comments, it makes the writing so much more enjoyable knowing I'm sharing it with people who love reading it as much as I love writing it!

Gotham, December 7^th, 2020

My laughter spills into the morning air, bright and unguarded, as Wally’s fingers dig into my sides, his playful wrestling pinning me to the tangled sheets of our Gotham apartment’s bed. The quilt is a mess, half-draped on the floor, the room bathed in soft December light filtering through the blinds, carrying the faint hum of Gotham’s waking streets. His red curls are tousled, his green eyes sparkling with mischief, his bare chest warm against mine, the static tingle of his speedster skin sparking where we touch. “Admit it, Spitfire,” he taunts, his voice low and teasing, his grin wide as he holds my wrists loosely above my head. “I’m too strong for you now.” His muscles flex, newly toned from weeks of training, but his grip is gentle, his laughter mingling with mine, the joy of this moment—us, together, after four years apart—a fire that warms every corner of my heart.

I narrow my eyes, a challenging glint flickering, my lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, you think you’re tough, West?” I purr, my voice playful, my archer’s strength coiling. In a swift move, I twist my hips, flipping him onto his back with a thud, the bed creaking under us. I straddle him, my long blonde hair cascading over my shoulders, grazing his chest, my bare breasts brushing his skin, sending a shiver through us both. My hands pin his wrists above his head, my grip firm but teasing, my body leaning close, the heat of our closeness electric. “If you ever ‘beat’ me,” I whisper, my voice low, seductive, my lips hovering over his, “it’ll be because I let you.” His green eyes widen, his breath hitching, the static tingle of his skin intensifying, a soft spark that makes my pulse race.

I lean down, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, fierce and hungry, pouring every ounce of love and desire into it, my tongue teasing his, my hands tightening on his wrists. He groans into my mouth, his body arching beneath me, the electric shock of his skin a delicious jolt, and for a moment, I’m tempted to let it go further, to lose myself in him again, round six of the morning's passion calling. But I pull back, my grin wicked, and leap out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cool hardwood, my hair swinging as I stand, naked and unashamed, the morning light catching my curves. Wally’s left sprawled on the bed, his chest heaving, his green eyes dazed, his lips parted in a pout that’s equal parts adorable and frustrated. “You’re a minx, Artemis,” he groans, his voice thick, his hand raking through his curls, the static tingle fading as he props himself on an elbow.

I laugh, bright and free, tossing my hair over my shoulder, my hands on my hips. “As much as I’d love to stay in bed and go for round six, speedster,” I say, my voice teasing, my smirk growing, “you know how to work up a girl’s appetite.” I give him a pointed look, my eyes dancing, and his pout melts into a wide smile, his grin lighting up the room, the boy I fell for shining through. “I can fix that,” he offers, sitting up, his voice eager, his green eyes bright. “Give me ten seconds, I’ll run to that diner on Fifth, grab those pancakes you love—maple syrup, extra bacon.” His fingers snap, a playful blur, the static tingle of his skin sparking faintly, a reminder of his speed.

I pause, my smirk softening, my heart swelling with a quiet ache. I cross the room, sitting on the bed’s edge, my hand resting on his knee, the electric shock of his skin warm under my palm. “No running, Wally,” I say, my voice soft, sentimental, my eyes holding his. “I’m glad you’re back, that you can run and keep control, but… I want this. The normal stuff, the mundane. Walking to the diner, arguing over who pays, just being us.” My throat tightens, the memory of his absence, the Speed Force’s pull, the years I thought I’d lost him forever, lingering. “I don’t want to zip through life right now. I want to live it with you.”

His green eyes soften, his grin fading to a tender smile, his hand covering mine, the static tingle a gentle spark. “I get it, Spitfire,” he murmurs, his voice warm, his thumb brushing my knuckles. “Mundane sounds perfect with you.” He leans in, kissing my forehead, his lips soft, his touch grounding, and I lean into him, my heart full, our love a steady flame after last night’s blaze. I stand, stretching, my body loose from sleep and love, and glance back at him, my voice playful but firm. “Come on, West. We need to shower before we head out.”

I turn toward the bathroom, my naked body catching the light, and pause, glancing over my shoulder, my hair spilling down my back. “You gonna lie in bed all day, or you coming to join me?” I ask, my tone teasing, my eyes glinting. Wally’s eyes widen, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face, his green gaze trailing over me, the static tingle of his skin crackling faintly. I turn my head back, striding toward the bathroom, my voice sharp but playful. “Just showering, speedster. Don’t get any funny ideas.” My hips sway, a deliberate tease, and I hear his heavy exhale, his voice low, muttered under his breath. “Minx.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and familiar, and calls after me, his tone mock-innocent. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, babe. It’s you I’m worried about.” I shake my head, my laughter echoing in the small bathroom, the tiles cool under my feet, the steam already rising as I turn on the shower. The door creaks, and I glance back, catching Wally’s silhouette in the doorway, his grin boyish, his green eyes sparkling, his bare frame leaning against the frame, the static tingle of his skin a quiet promise. “Keep dreaming, West,” I quip, stepping into the spray, the water hot against my skin, my heart racing with love and laughter, the mundane morning a treasure I’ll hold close.

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The shower is far from quick or innocent, our banter spilling over the steam, our touches starting as teasing but restrained, and he was right. Damn him. It's me who pounces. Wally’s hands are brushing my back when it happens, he's just passed the shampoo, his quips about my “fancy” conditioner making me laugh, when he steps close to me, using his hands to rub the shampoo into my hair, I can feel him pressing against me, and he's not even hard. It's an insult to my figure, even though I know it's not. The heat I start feeling being a far cry from being caused by the heat of the water. He leans forward as I duck under the spray to wash out the conditioner, and starts nibbling on my ear, when I pull away and tell him it's my turn to wash his hair.

I grab the shampoo bottle and deposit a generous dab of the sweet-smelling tonic to my hand. As I begin to rub it into his head, massaging his scalp, he moans in appreciation, which makes the heat at my center intensify. I love being in control, and I'm in complete control right now. I pull him under the spray, and grab some soap, lathering my hands and rubbing them across his shoulders, down his chest. I reach his hips and his breath stutters; I peak below and his body's finally responding to my ministrations. It's with a sultry voice when I say, "Can't forget the legs" and drop to my knees. His breath catches, as my fingers gently scratch at his skin, starting low and moving up to his thighs. His eyes are closed and his breathing is labored, and it spurs me on. I inch closer to his erect member with my face, the hot water indistinguishable from the heat of my breath. "Wally, look at me." I say in my most seductive voice. His eyes fly open, and he's staring at me with an intensity that steals my breath. I take my tongue and gently rub it on the underside of his shaft, eliciting a tremor through his body, a shudder of desire. He's breathing hard, and I know he's already close to coming undone, he just needs a little shove. So, feeling as if I've tortured the poor man long enough, I kiss his tip, never breaking eye contact and then gently take him into my mouth. He's hard and pulsing and throbbing, the sensation against my tongue and throat driving me insane with want creating a wetness below me that has nothing to do with our shower. I swirl my tongue, making sure I hit all the most sensitive spots, and he's groaning, his hands spread out on the walls of the shower to support himself. "I'm...close, keep...going" he breathes out. The admission fueling the fire raging in me. I speed up, using one hand to stroke him in rhythm with my mouth and using the other hand to explore his body, scratching lightly against his legs and ass. Within no time at all, his hips are thrusting forward erratically, and he's exploding in my mouth, warm and salty and I swallow greedily, not stopping even when his body begins to quiver with the sensations I'm instilling in him. His eyes are a lust-filled green, dark and as deep as a forest as he stares at me, gently removing my mouth from him and pulling me to my feet for a searing kiss. His hands begin to roam my body, the static shock contained in his cells setting my skin on fire. He's kissing me with hunger, his hands roaming to my ass and squeezing, eliciting a soft moan that escapes my mouth that he swallows with his own. He moves his hands across my hips, moving one hand up to my breast that he gives a gentle squeeze as the other moves to my center. He brushes his finger up my slit, causing a shudder to shake through my body as he finger graces my clit. His other hand is toying with my taut nipple as he begins to move his other finger in a rhymical circular pattern against my clit. I feel the heat pool low in my stomach, like a wildfire building, ready to explode when he stops, his lips pulling away from mine. I want to scream in frustration, but I can't because he's down on his knees before I know it, his face between my legs, and he's licking and kissing me in a way that makes spots dance behind my eyelids. My breathing becomes irregular as his mouth and tongue dance, driving me further to the edge. My hands grip into his hair, grounding me, but he's relentless, the predictable pattern he's creating with his tongue makes my knees begin to shake. His hands reach around to grab my ass, and he squeezes. The sensations coursing through me are wild and electric, the vibration of his body, his hands, his tongue acting as an additional layer of pleasure against the things he's doing to me. He commands my spirit, I'm at his mercy, and I'm nearly there. He flicks his tongue again and the fire in me is so close to bursting, so ready to be released that it's nearly painful. Another flick, and I'm sure every neighbor can hear my moans, gasps, and screams. A final flick, and I come undone completely. Stars burst behind my eyelids as I gasp and stutter his name, and all coherent thought leaves my mind. I'm struggling to stand against this wall anymore, but he's not done, helping me ride out my orgasm by gently kissing my center as I ride the torrent of pleasure. He pulls away and my legs are shaking, I wrench my eyes open, and I'm uncertain if I can keep standing, but he gently supports my body against the shower wall. I look into his eyes and they're mischievous and so full of love and a whole new ache forms because I'm so helplessly in love with this adorable, kind, amazing man. He helps me settle to the ground, gently guiding my body that is already sliding down the wall until I'm sitting. He turns around to turn off the shower, the lack of warmth from the water and the cool air on my wet skin causing goosebumps to momentarily arise across my body, but he's got a towel in his hand before I know it, covering me, drying me off while I continue to attempt to get my breathing under control. "By the way" he says, a smile gracing his lips, "I told you, I'd be a perfect gentleman. I gotta take care of my lady." He winks at me and I laugh a breathless laugh, a short huff that turns into a snort, and then we're both full belly laughing, he's on the ground now with me now, his eyes full of mirth and he gives me a chaste kiss. "You good to move, babe?" He's smirking but not unkindly. I nod my head, and he stands, reaching out a hand to help me up as he grabs his own towel. We step out of the shower, both of us drying off, when I break the companionable silence, "I said no funny business, I'm starving, Wally." His mouth drops open, turning to face me, his hand dragging the towel through his hair when he laughs and says, "You started that!" I feign ignorance, sticking my chin high in the air, "I have no idea what you mean." He's shaking his head now, a rueful smile on his lips as he returns, "Whatever you say, Spitfire."

We dry off quickly, easy banter back and forth, his hand never long to go without gracing my skin. It's little touches like these that set my heart on fire, small ones that are done absentmindedly without any intention other than to be close, even subconsciously. We step out of the bathroom, his towel slung low, the static tingle of his skin sparking when I nudge him out of the way, my own towel wrapped tight, my damp hair clinging to my neck. I pull on a pair of fresh underwear and throw a faded t-shirt on over my head and I walk into the kitchen. There, I rummage through the fridge—eggs, bread, a questionable tomato—while Wally comes out of the bedroom and leans on the counter, a faded T-shirt of his own on, his curls still damp, his green eyes watching me with a warmth that makes my chest ache. “You sure about cooking?” he teases, his grin sparking. “Last time, if I remember correctly, you burned toast.”

I roll my eyes, tossing a dish towel at him, my voice playful. “That was one time, speedster. Keep it up, and you’re eating cereal.” He catches the towel, laughing, and steps closer, his hand on my hip, the electric shock of his skin a soft spark. “Cereal with you? Deal, just as long as it's Cinnamon Toast Crunch” he murmurs, kissing my temple, his touch light but grounding. We move together, cracking eggs, toasting bread, our banter easy, the mundane of this moment a gift after years of chaos, his laughter a melody I thought I’d lost.

We eat at the small table, the photo of us in California catching the light, the twins’ drawings pinned nearby, a reminder of the life we’re rebuilding. The TV hums in the background, some cartoon program, but I tune it out, my focus on Wally, his grin as he steals a bite of my toast, my mock-glare making him laugh. “You’re impossible,” I say, my voice warm, my foot nudging his under the table. “And you love it,” he retorts, his green eyes bright, his hand finding mine, the static tingle a gentle spark.

The morning stretches, lazy and perfect, our touches lingering—a brush of fingers, a stolen kiss, the electric shock of his skin a constant thread. We clear the dishes, his quips about my “archer aim” missing the sink making me shove him playfully, his laughter filling the space. I glance at the clock, the hour is still early, barely 11:00 in the morning, but I pause, turning to him, remembering the promises that were told in our kisses from last night, my voice soft. “This is what I want, Wally,” I say, my hand on his chest, his heartbeat steady. “Us, like this, forever.” He smiles, his green eyes warm, his arms pulling me close, the static tingle of his skin a spark that binds us. “Me too, Spitfire,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine, a promise of forever.

We head out, my jacket zipped, his hoodie loose, our hands linked, the Gotham morning crisp against my flushed skin, the diner on Fifth’s neon sign a beacon. We just ate, but we're going to go eat again. Because there's a lot of mundane activity to catch up on, and I'm done waiting around. Right now, it’s just us, walking slow, laughing over dumb jokes, soft touches and kisses lingering on our cheeks and our lips, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, my arm curled upwards holding his hand, a steady hum that vibrates through my body with his touch, our love a light that burns bright, a life unhurried, ours.

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The Gotham diner hums with the clatter of plates and the low murmur of conversation, its neon sign flickering outside, casting a warm glow over the cracked vinyl booths. Wally and I sit tucked in a corner, our table littered with empty coffee mugs and plates of half-eaten pancakes, the air thick with the scent of maple syrup and bacon. My jacket’s slung over the booth, my faded t-shirt loose, my blonde hair tied back, while Wally leans forward, his hoodie unzipped, his green eyes sparkling with that boyish mischief I’ve missed for four years. His fingers, quick as a flash, dip into the syrup pooling on his plate, and before I can react, he smears a sticky drop on my nose, his speedster blur leaving me blinking. “Gotcha, Spitfire,” he teases, his grin wide, his voice warm with laughter.

I narrow my eyes, feigning anger, my lips twitching as I snatch a blueberry from my pancake and flick it at him. “You’re dead, West,” I growl, but he’s too fast, his head tilting to catch the berry in his mouth, chewing with exaggerated delight. “Mmm, delicious,” he says, winking, his green eyes dancing. “You’ve got terrible aim, babe.” I roll my eyes, wiping the syrup off with a napkin, my laughter bubbling up, free and light, the kind of joy I thought I’d lost when he vanished. “Keep talking, speedster,” I retort, kicking his shin under the table, my foot lingering against his, the static tingle of his skin a soft spark that makes my heart race.

We linger over coffee, our banter easy—arguing over who gets the last strip of bacon (he lets me win), stealing bites from each other’s plates, our hands brushing, the electric shock of his touch a quiet thrill. The diner fades, the world narrowing to us, to this moment of being together, mundane and perfect. We pay the bill—splitting it after a mock argument that ends with his grin and a stolen kiss—and step into Gotham’s crisp afternoon, the December air sharp against my flushed cheeks. Our hands link, his fingers warm, the static tingle a gentle pulse, and we walk, no destination in mind, just happy to be side by side. Gotham’s streets unfold around us—graffiti-streaked walls, honking cabs, the distant wail of a siren—our steps unhurried, our laughter weaving through the city’s noise.

Wally’s voice breaks the rhythm, his tone curious but soft. “Where’s Brucely, anyway? I miss that slobbering mutt.” I glance at him, my smile softening, my hand squeezing his. “When you came back from the Speed Force,” I say, my voice quiet, “Barry went to my place, got him, and took him to his and Iris’s house in Central City. I was at the Watchtower with you, and… I couldn’t leave.” My throat tightens, the memory of those weeks—Wally unconscious, his scars fresh, his survival uncertain—stinging. Wally’s grin fades, his green eyes clouding, and he nods, his fingers tightening around mine. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Thanks for that, Spitfire.”

We keep walking, without meaning to, we find ourselves at Gotham Harbor staring at the scene of his return, the air is salty here, the city’s pulse fading to the lapping of waves. Yellow police tape flutters ahead, cordoning off a stretch of cracked pavement, asphalt shattered from the night Wally tore through the Speed Force rift, his return a burst of lightning that broke the world and brought him back to me. He stops, his hand slipping from mine, his gaze fixed on the spot, the air heavy with memory. The tape sways in the breeze, the cracks like scars in the earth, and Wally’s silence is a weight, his green eyes distant, his shoulders tense. I step closer, my hand brushing his curls, my fingers gentle, lingering, offering comfort without words. I hope that my warmth grounds him, the static tingle of his skin a soft spark against my palm, and I wait, sensing the storm in him, the words he needs to share.

He breaks the silence, his voice a whisper, barely audible over the waves. “It was Hell, Artemis.” I nod, silent, my heart aching, my hand still in his hair, urging him to continue. He keeps staring at the sky, at the empty space where the rift once burned, his eyes haunted, seeing something I can’t. “From the moment I vanished, when that Vortex sucked me in, I never got to stop running,” he says, his voice raw, trembling. “I don't know how I knew, but I knew if I stopped, I’d never get out. I wasn’t fast enough at first, not strong enough.” His breath catches, and I step closer, my body brushing his, my hand sliding to his shoulder, grounding him as he speaks.

“The Speed Force... it’s not just a place. It’s everything. Every moment, every timeline, every version of reality, all at once, I could have easily gone mad in there, and no one should have been surprised.” I'm briefly thrown back to his awakening on Thanksgiving, the feral and unhinged look in his eyes. He swallows then, his hand tightening around mine, bringing me back to the present. "The physical pain was bad,” he continues, his voice cracking, and I know that's an understatement after seeing the new scars that line his body, “it was like my body was tearing itself apart, every atom and molecule ripping itself to shreds, every step burning beyond comprehension, every muscle and nerve being frayed by fire...but the emotional pain…that was worse of all” He swallows, his eyes fixed on the horizon, his hands clenching. “It was torturous, worse than anything physical, worse than jumping through that rift. I lived ten-thousand lives, Artemis, in ten-thousand different lifetimes, across an infinite span of universes. Every one of them was a new layer of pain, of hurt.” I hold my breath, my chest tight, silent tears spilling down my cheeks, the weight of his words crushing me.

He turns to me, his green eyes meeting mine, raw and vulnerable, and the confession pours out, a flood he can’t stop. “I saw worlds where you died, where I couldn’t save you, and that version of me went mad with grief, tearing himself apart. I saw worlds where the Team fell—Dick, Conner, M’gann, everyone—gone in ways I can’t unsee, the world reduced to ash in others, everyone I loved destroyed. I saw worlds where I died, really died, and you…” His voice breaks, his hand reaching for my cheek, the static tingle sharp with his emotion. “You succumbed to grief, turned into a monster in some, a broken woman in others, hollowed out. And more, I saw worlds where you moved on, had a family, a life, where I was just a memory, a gravestone, a name lost to time.”

My tears fall faster, my hands trembling as I grip his, my heart shattering at the thought of him enduring this, living countless nightmares. He steps closer, his voice softer but urgent. “And then I saw other worlds, where I made it back, where we reunited, where we had a family, a future, like we always talked about. I saw every possible outcome, most I can’t remember, don’t want to. But I felt it all—every pain, every grief, whether it was my death or yours, or the world’s end, they were all as real as if I was experiencing them as they happened. It never left me.” His eyes search mine, his voice a whisper. “The only thing that kept me sane, kept me running, was you. Your name, your face, my promise to get back to you, to this reality, to the life we dreamed of. I never stopped saying your name, Artemis, never stopped thinking of you. I couldn't. Because if I did, I'd never make it back to you.”

I’m shaking, my tears silent rivers, my hand cupping his face now, my thumb brushing his cheek of the stray tears that are falling there, the static tingle of his skin a faint spark under my touch. The horror of what he endured for years—living so many lives, each a new wound, each bringing a new pain, his love for me his only anchor—overwhelms me, but his strength, his devotion, fills me with awe. I can’t fathom the weight he endured, alone, without anyone to share this with. “Wally,” I whisper, my voice breaking, my forehead against his, my blonde hair mingling with his curls. “You came back. You fought through Hell for me, for us. I can’t…” My words falter, my love for him a fire that burns through my grief of what he endured, and I pull him close, my arms wrapping around him, his warmth enveloping me, his heartbeat steady against my chest. “I can’t know what that felt like, but I know what it was like without you here.” He looks at me, his eyes searching, and I take a breath, baring my soul the way he’s baring his. “I know I told you some, that day in the Watchtower, but let me tell you all of it. When you were gone, it was like the world forgot how to breathe. I lived, I fought, I tried to move on, but it was all a lie. Every smile, every mission, every moment with someone else, no matter who it was—it was empty. The goodness, the light, the laughter—they were foreign, like words in a language I couldn’t speak anymore. Because you weren’t there, Wally. You took my heart with you, and I was just... a shell, pretending to be whole. I might not have ever thought it possible before you vanished, but I can absolutely see how you would’ve seen me turn into a monster in some of those realities at your death. I was already a shell of myself, and I was quickly heading into that realm of possibility. I…I almost killed someone on a mission, and then Bart got him before I could…and I was so angry at Bart, I wanted to inflict my rage and pain on that stranger.”

He’s still silent, letting me spill my secrets, but he pulls me in closer, his forehead resting against mine, his hands on my face, at the base of my neck and in my hair, comforting me, as I cling to his body to comfort him in return. My voice breaks at my next admission, but I need to tell him everything. “I did date someone for a while too. His…his name is Jason. And Wally…” I hiccup now, the shame I’ve felt over my lack of a confession bubbling intensely, “I tried to love him…He…he even proposed to me a few weeks before you returned…and I…I wanted to accept.” His tears are unabashed now, streaming down his face as they mix with mine on the cold ground. “I couldn’t…please don’t think I could…some part of me may have wanted to, just to try to move on because I was so afraid of thinking you could be alive and then being crushed when it turned out you weren’t… but it was never enough, he was never enough. Because it wasn’t you. You’re my home, my everything, and I was lost without you.” He’s crying now, sobs tearing through his throat, tears tracking down his cheeks, but his hand cups my face harder, his thumb brushing my tears away, and his eyes are a bright green, no golden flecks present when he says, “Artemis,” his voice raw, “I’m here now. I fought through every timeline, every hell, to get back to you. And I’d do it again, a thousand times over, just to be here, like this.”

I nod, own my tears falling onto his hand, and pull him into my arms to fully embrace him, our bodies pressed close, like we could merge into one. “We’re here,” I whisper, my lips against his hair. “Right now, together. That’s all that matters. You’re here now.”

He holds me tightly, his breath ragged, his hands in my hair, the static tingle a soft pulse. “I’m here, Spitfire,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice raw but steady, his lips brushing my temple. “And I’m never leaving again. Never.” I nod, my tears soaking his hoodie, my hands gripping his back. We stand there, by the harbor’s edge, the police tape fluttering, the cracked pavement a silent witness to his return, our love a tether stronger than any void.

The Gotham sky darkens, clouds rolling in, the air heavy with salt and memory. We don’t move, our hands linked, his static tingle a gentle spark, my heart full of him, of us. The world falls away, it waits beyond this moment, a cacophony of uncertainty and limitless possibilities. But for now, it’s just us, standing together here where he returned to me, his confession a burden on him that I will gladly help him carry, my confession a weight I’ve carried alone for too long, and our love a light that burns through the echoes and reaches of the darkest void.

Chapter 26: Dinner at the Wests'

Notes:

A little life-filler chapter, felt like you all my need a break from the heaviness for a second

Central City, December 11^th, 2020

The Central City evening wraps around us like a soft blanket, the sky a deep indigo as Wally and I step out of the zeta-tube’s glow, our hands linked, his static tingle a gentle spark against my palm. My jacket’s zipped against the December chill, my blonde hair loose, catching the breeze, while Wally’s hoodie hangs open, his red curls tousled, his green eyes bright with a quiet excitement. We’ve left Gotham behind for the night. It's been a few days since our shared confessions at the harbor. We didn't do much, just tried to fill our time with normal, everyday things. Wally and I still go back every other day to the Watchtower so that he can train with Bruce, and his control has gotten impressive. He's much more comfortable than he was, and I'm still in awe of his raw speed. It trembles the Watchtower but his form is steady, his figure never blurring like it did that awful day he came to Central City during that mission and ran too fast. We've spent the last few days in Gotham, simply enjoying our time with each other. There have been no missions, and nothing to do beyond reacquainting ourselves with each other, a lot. But now, we’re here, on the familiar street leading to Mary and Rudy's house, the promise of a family dinner pulling us forward. It’s the first since he was released from the Watchtower, the first in four years where we can just be us, not heroes, not survivors, just Artemis and Wally, craving the normalcy of his spending time with his parents.

The Wests’ house looms ahead, a cozy two-story with peeling white paint, a porch light casting a warm glow over the front yard, the scent of roasted chicken and rosemary drifting through a cracked window. Brucely’s bark echoes before we reach the door, deep and eager, and I feel Wally’s hand tighten, his grin widening. “That mutt’s gonna tackle me,” he murmurs, his voice warm, and I laugh, nudging his shoulder, the static tingle of his touch sparking. “You better believe it, speedster,” I tease, my heart light, in the glow of this moment.

Mary opens the door before we knock, her auburn hair streaked with gray, her eyes crinkling as she pulls Wally into a hug, her voice thick. “My boy,” she whispers, her hands framing his face, and I see the relief in her, the same I felt when he woke in the Watchtower. Rudy’s behind her, his glasses fogging slightly, his smile broad as he claps Wally’s shoulder, his voice gruff. “About time you showed up, kid.” Brucely barrels through, his form fur a blur, his tail wagging as he leaps at Wally, nearly knocking him over. Wally laughs, a bright, unguarded sound, dropping to his knees to wrestle the dog, Brucely’s slobbering tongue swiping his cheek. “Easy, big guy,” Wally says, ruffling his fur, and I smile, my heart swelling at the sight, the normalcy of it grounding us both.

Mary turns to me, her hug warm, her hands soft but strong. “Artemis, sweetheart,” she says, her voice warm, “you kept him safe.” I nod, my throat tight, my hand brushing hers. “He’s stubborn, but he’s worth it,” I murmur, my eyes flicking to Wally, who’s grinning up at me, Brucely’s paws on his chest. Rudy ushers us inside, the house a familiar chaos—photos of Wally as a kid on the walls, a faded couch, a dining table set with mismatched plates, the air rich with the smell of dinner. Brucely bounds after us, his tail thumping, and I feel a pang of home, a place I haven’t had since Palo Alto, since before Wally vanished.

We sit at the table, Wally beside me, his knee brushing mine, the static tingle of his skin a quiet comfort. Mary passes a platter of roasted chicken, golden and crisp, while Rudy scoops mashed potatoes, steam curling in the air. Brucely sprawls under the table, his head resting on my foot, his warmth a steady presence. “So,” Mary starts, her eyes twinkling, “you two finally out of that space hospital?” Wally chuckles, cutting into his chicken, his voice light. “Yeah, Mom, they got tired of my charm.” I roll my eyes, nudging him, my voice teasing. “More like your bad jokes.” Rudy laughs, his fork pausing. “He gets that from me, Artemis.”

The meal unfolds with easy chatter—Mary talking about her work, Rudy recounting a story about Wally’s childhood, how he once ran circles around the backyard pretending to be the Flash, nearly digging a trench. Wally’s grin is sheepish, his hand finding mine under the table, the static tingle sparking, and I squeeze back, my heart full. Brucely whines for scraps, and Wally sneaks him a piece of chicken, earning a mock-glare from Mary. “Don’t spoil him, Wallace,” she scolds, but her smile betrays her, and I laugh, the sound mingling with theirs, the table a bubble of warmth, of family.

After dinner, we clear the plates, Wally and I moving in sync, his shoulder brushing mine, the static tingle a soft spark as we stack dishes in the sink. Mary waves us off, insisting we sit, but Wally grabs a dish towel, drying as I wash, our banter light—him claiming I’m too slow, me flicking suds at him, his laugh bright as he dodges with a blur. Rudy and Mary watch from the living room, their smiles soft, and I catch Mary’s eye, her nod a quiet acknowledgment of what we’ve fought for. Brucely follows us, his tail wagging, and when we finish, he flops onto the couch, his head in Wally’s lap, his snores a low rumble.

We settle in the living room, the TV flickering with a muted sitcom, the couch creaking under our weight. Wally’s arm drapes over my shoulders, his fingers tracing circles on my arm, the static tingle warm, familiar. Mary sits across from us, knitting, her needles clicking, while Rudy flips through a newspaper, his glasses slipping. “You two look good together,” Mary says, her voice soft, her eyes warm. “Always did.” I blush, leaning into Wally, my head on his chest, his heartbeat steady. “Thanks, Mary,” I murmur, my voice quiet, my hand resting on his knee, the soft vibration of his body grounding me.

Wally’s fingers pause, his voice low, thoughtful. “Feels like I never left, you know?” he says, his eyes on his parents, on Brucely, on me. “Like the last four years were just… a bad dream.” Rudy looks up, his eyes softening. “You’re home now, son,” he says, his voice gruff but warm. “That’s what matters.” I feel Wally’s breath hitch, his hand tightening on mine, and I know he’s thinking of the harbor, of his confession, the countless lives he lived in the Speed Force. I brush my thumb over his knuckles, my touch steady, and he glances at me, his green eyes clear, his smile faint but real.

We talk late into the evening, the stories flowing—Mary recounting Wally’s first school race, how he tripped but still won; Rudy joking about the time Brucely chewed his favorite shoes just a few weeks ago; me sharing a vague version of a mission, keeping it light. Brucely stirs, nudging my hand for pets, his fur soft, his eyes soulful, and I laugh, scratching his ears, the normalcy of it a balm after years of chaos. Wally’s hand stays in mine, his static tingle a constant spark, his laughter a melody that weaves through the room, tying us together.

As the night deepens, Mary brings out dessert—apple pie, warm and fragrant, the crust flaky, the filling sweet. We eat on the couch, Brucely eyeing the crumbs, and Wally steals a bite from my plate, his grin mischievous. “Thief,” I mutter, swatting his arm, but I lean into him, my shoulder against his, the static tingle of his skin a soft thrill. Rudy chuckles, Mary rolling her eyes, and the moment feels eternal, a snapshot of the life we’re rebuilding, piece by piece.

When it’s time to go, Mary hugs us both, her embrace fierce, her voice thick. “Come back soon,” she says, her hand lingering on Wally’s cheek. Rudy claps my shoulder, his smile warm. “Take care of him, Artemis,” he says, and I nod, my throat tight. “Always,” I murmur, my eyes meeting Wally’s, his green gaze steady, his love a quiet fire. Brucely follows us to the door, his tail wagging, and Wally kneels, ruffling his fur, his voice soft. “See you soon, big guy.” I pet Brucely’s head, his warmth grounding, and we step into the night, the zeta-tube waiting.

The Central City air is cool, the stars faint above the city’s glow, and Wally’s hand finds mine, his static tingle sparking, his grin soft. “That was perfect, Spitfire,” he says, his voice warm, his eyes on me. I nod, my heart full, my blonde hair catching the breeze. “Yeah, Wally,” I murmur, leaning into him, his arm wrapping around me. “Just what we needed.” We walk to the zeta-tube, our steps slow, savoring the normalcy, the family, the life we’re building together, and the love that binds us, our future bright.

Chapter 27: Shadows of Speed

Gotham, December 12^th, 2020

The Gotham morning is quiet, the soft hum of the city seeping through our apartment’s window as I lean against the kitchen counter, coffee mug warm in my hands, the scent of roasted beans mingling with the faint leather of my Tigress gear nearby. Wally’s across from me, his red curls a mess, his green eyes bright as he teases Brucely with a piece of toast, the dog’s tail thumping against the floor. It only took Wally a few hours to go back to Mary and Rudy's to bring our boy back home with us, where he belongs. Wally's hoodie’s unzipped, his scars faint but visible, a reminder of his fight to return. “You’re gonna spoil him, West,” I say, my voice playful, my blonde hair loose, brushing my shoulders. He grins, the static tingle of his skin sparking as he nudges my arm. “Says the one who sneaks him bacon,” he retorts, and I roll my eyes, my laugh light, the normalcy of this moment—us, together, after four years—a treasure I hold close.

My comm buzzes in my suit mask by the door, shattering the peace, Batman’s voice cutting through, clipped and urgent. “Tigress, Kid Flash, Watchtower, now. Savage is hitting a Keystone City Tachyon lab. Move.” My heart lurches, my mug clattering to the counter, and Wally’s grin fades, his eyes steady but sharp. We’re out the door in minutes, Brucely’s whine fading as Wally picks me up and speeds us to the Gotham zeta-tube. The feeling is something that I had forgotten, and the disorientation takes a second to get used after four and a half years. He grins at me as he puts me down and says, "Too fast?" I give him a small glare as I fight to keep the contents of my stomach where they belong. "No, just rusty, jack ass,” I mutter. He gives me a wink and says, "Babe, we'll do that whenever you want to. Just tell me when." I shake my head but turn to the zeta-tube and punch in my code to get to the Watchtower.

I arrive, Wally behind me, and the sterile halls are a stark contrast to our cozy morning. The briefing room is tense, holo-screens glowing with Keystone footage—dark warehouses, energy pulses, Savage’s operatives swarming. Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Zatanna, and Bart are already there, their faces grim. Batman’s cowl is unreadable, his voice flat. “Savage’s forces have a Tachyon amplifier. It destabilizes speedsters and amplifies energy output. A secondary control station in Coast City, 1,900 miles west, powers the main grid for the amplifier. But it also is tied directly into the defensive grid protecting the lab. Disabling the Coast City grid is paramount, you need the main amplifier’s energy disabled or Bart and Wally’s speed will be obsolete, moreover, the amplifier’s bursts of energy can wreak havoc on non-speedsters too. It has to be turned offline, but the amplifier will still be active, powered by a separate generator inside. It will still be powerful enough to cause some issues, but it won’t be an impossible scenario. Once the Coast City station grid goes down, it will trigger an alert at the Keystone lab, activating enhanced defenses. Tigress, lead the assault—neutralize the amplifier. Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Zatanna, containment and support. Kid Flash, perimeter security. His lenses fix on Wally. “You’re our asset, Wally. Run to Coast City, disable the control station, and return. Speed is critical, but don’t lose control. You’ll have to maintain Mach 20 to make the 1,900 miles in 10 minutes time. Your team can’t afford any heroics in Coast City, they’ll need you back for the enhanced defenses.”

Wally nods, his jaw tight, his green eyes meeting mine, a silent promise. I nod back, my faith in his ability to run that fast and not lose control is solid. He’s done it in the training room a few times now, I trust him to do it again. My quiver is slung over my shoulder, my crossbow ready, my voice firm. “Let’s move.” The Team mobilizes, the zeta-tube’s hum carrying us to Keystone City.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

We arrive in Keystone City, the mist in the air clings to us like ghosts who won’t let go. Wally is standing beside me as the rest of the team moves away to give us a second of privacy. “Be safe, please, Wally. Hurry back, and don’t do anything until you get the okay that we’re in position. You heard what Bruce said, as soon as that control station is down, the lab will go into overkill defense mode, and we still won’t be completely safe from the amplifier,” I tell him. He grins, though it’s weighted by the seriousness of what he’s been asked to do, “I’ll only be gone a second, babe, but you got it. Just tell me over the comms when you’re in position.” He turns towards Coast City, but before he takes off, I stop him, “Hold on,” I grab his wrist before he can vanish into the mist. His skin is warm beneath my glove, the gentle vibration of his body grounding me to this moment. I give him a searing kiss, memorizing the texture of his lips to mine. We pull away from each other after a moment, he gives me a wink, and then he’s gone, a streak to the west coast, his sonic boom echoing over the waters, cutting through the mist like a knife.

“Let’s move,” I tell the team. For 15 minutes we sneak our way into position. The mist clings to everything out here, thick and unrelenting, a damp veil that’s turning the treetops and buildings into looming shadows. I keep my hand near my quiver, scanning the perimeter through the grainy green of my goggles. Every step forward feels like a bad idea, the kind where your instincts crawl up your spine and gnaw at the back of your mind, but you keep moving anyway because stopping would be worse. The Tachyon amplifier was somewhere ahead. We didn’t have eyes on it yet, but the readings had started spiking only a few minutes ago. I tap my comm twice, signaling Dick to tighten formation, and felt more than heard Conner shifting off to my right.

“Wally,” I whisper into the comms, “We’re ready.” “Roger that, fair lady,” comes the reply, a small smile coming to my mouth at the typical Wally response, my heart just a little lighter at the proof that he was able to maintain Mach 20 unscathed.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The night air of Keystone City blurred around Wally West as he launched himself west, a streak of crimson and gold tearing across the landscape, his Kid Flash suit glowing faintly under the December moon. Wally’s heart pounded, not from the run—his speed was a living pulse, steady and controlled—but from the weight of the mission, the Team’s safety, and Artemis, her fierce gray eyes lingering in his thoughts. The static tingle of his skin crackled, a soft electric hum as he pushed his velocity into Mach 20, nearly 15,000 mph. The world slowing to a smear of light and shadow. Coast City waited, a glittering beacon on the horizon, and Wally ran, driven by love, duty, and the promise of returning to her.

The landscape shifted—Keystone’s industrial sprawl gave way to rolling plains, then coastal cliffs, the salty tang of the Pacific sharpening the air. Wally’s mind raced faster than his feet, replaying the Watchtower briefing. The Tachyon amplifier in Keystone could cripple speedsters, its pulse designed to cause mayhem, and the control station in Coast City was its lifeline, a fortified hub feeding power to a grid of speed-dampening defenses. Disabling it was critical to let the Team strike the lab, but Savage’s intel warned of an alert: the moment the station went offline, the Keystone lab would know. Wally was the only one fast enough to hit Coast City and return before the Team was overwhelmed, his role as an asset clear, his combat clearance a trust he wouldn’t betray. Yet the distance, even at his speed—gnawed at him, a gap between him and Artemis, her voice in his head a steady anchor helping him maintain control: Be safe, please, Wally.

Coast City’s skyline loomed, its glass towers reflecting the moon, the harbor’s lights a constellation against the dark. Wally slowed, his boots skidding on a cliff overlooking the city, his breath steady, the static tingle of his skin sparking faintly. The control station was a squat, fortified building on the city’s edge, its perimeter ringed with automated turrets, their barrels glinting, and drones patrolling in precise arcs. Holo-displays flickered above the entrance, projecting schematics of the Tachyon grid, guarded by Savage’s operatives—hulking figures with glowing implants, their rifles crackling with energy. Wally crouched, his green eyes narrowing, his mind mapping the layout. The station’s core was underground, a power relay feeding the Keystone lab, protected by speed-dampening fields that pulsed faintly, a low hum that tugged at his senses. He gritted his teeth, Artemis’s face flashing—her blonde hair spilling over their Gotham couch, her laugh bright—and steeled himself. For her. For them.

“Wally,” he hears Artemis whisper into the comms, “We’re ready.” “Roger that, fair lady,” comes the reply, a smile on his lips as he thinks of her reaction. He moves like lightning, a blur too fast for the drones’ sensors, weaving through the dampening fields, their pulses grazing his skin like static shocks, slowing him just enough to make his muscles burn. He vaults a turret, its barrel swiveling too late, and phased through a steel gate, the tingle of his molecules a familiar thrill. Inside, the station is a maze of corridors, lit by harsh fluorescents, the air thick with ozone. Operatives patrolled, their implants pulsing, and Wally’s speed carried him past, a ghost in their midst, no heroics. He follows the hum of power, descending a stairwell to the core—a chamber dominated by a glowing reactor, its cables snaking into the floor, feeding the grid. A control panel blinked, its screen displaying Keystone’s lab, the amplifier’s pulse synced to this hub. Wally’s fingers twitched, his mind racing. Disable the relay, trigger the alert, get back to Artemis.

An operative rounded the corner, rifle raised, and Wally reacted, his fist blurring, connecting with a crack that sent the man sprawling. Alarms blared, red lights flashing, the dampening fields intensifying, a weight on his limbs. They know I’m here. He darted to the panel, his hands a flurry, bypassing security with a trick Dick taught him—shorting circuits with a precise jolt of his static tingle. The screen flickered, warning: Grid Disruption Imminent. Keystone Alert Activated. Wally’s heart lurched. The Team would move now, Artemis leading, and he was 1,900 miles away. He slammed a fist into the relay, his speed amplifying the blow, sparks erupting as the reactor dimmed, its power cut. The dampening fields weakened, the hum fading, and Wally felt his speed surge, the static tingle crackling like wildfire.

Drones swarmed the chamber, their lasers slicing the air, and Wally runs, phasing through walls, dodging beams, his body a streak of light. An operative lunged, implant flaring, but Wally spun, his kick sending the man crashing into a console. The station trembled, secondary systems kicking in, but the grid was down, the amplifier’s power partially disrupted. Wally’s green eyes burned, Artemis’s voice echoing—Be safe, please, Wally. Hurry back—and he bolts, tearing out of the station, the city blurring past, the Pacific a silver streak. 1,900 hundred miles back to Keystone, his speed a living force, his heart fixed on her.

The run is a fever dream, the world a tunnel of light, his boots pounding earth, pavement, water, his static tingle a constant spark. He thinks of Artemis, their mornings in Gotham—coffee, Brucely’s snores, her teasing grin—each memory a fuel that pushes him faster. The amplifier’s pulse, weakened by his sabotage, wouldn’t stop him, not like Bart, and he clings to that, his control steady, his love for her a beacon. Keystone’s skyline rose, the lab’s glow pulsing, and Wally’s senses sharpened, the blare of alarms, the crack of gunfire, the Team’s comms a desperate static in his earpiece: “Perimeter breach, Kid Flash’s down!” It's Dick's voice, Wally's best friend screaming into the comms, it spurs Wally on, but it's the next thing Dick says, his voice full of terror even in the static of the comms, that puts Wally in overdrive, “Tigris!” Wally is a blur, a streaking light across the country, with his mind totally fixated on getting to Artemis and a single errant thought, that if anything happened to her before he got back, there wouldn’t be enough left of whoever was responsible to fill a shot glass.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

We wait, the silence heavy, the lab’s glow pulsing in the distance. Then, the alarm blares—a piercing wail signaling Wally’s success—and I give the order. “Go!”

We strike hard, our motions slicing through the night like muscle memory. My bolts clear the first path, dropping two operatives before they can fire. Dick’s already moving, a flurry of acrobatics and escrima strikes, dismantling a cluster of guards near a supply crate. Superboy barrels through a security checkpoint, sending tech panels and metal fragments flying, his punches landing with seismic force.

M’gann’s telekinesis snatches rifles from hands and pins two operatives to a wall before shimmering out of view. Zatanna’s spells hum beside me, containment wards binding an approaching brute mid-charge. Bart’s a blur in the perimeter, disarming outliers and cutting off escape routes.

But the amplifier hums louder — a pulse that isn’t just slowing Bart. I feel it too, a strange disorientation in the air, making my grip slick and my aim waver for a split second.

“It’s scrambling my speed!” Bart shouts over comms, dodging one brute but taking a grazing hit from a pulse rifle. It stumbles him, not down — but enough. An operative tackles him, the rifle’s muzzle shoved against Bart’s chest.

“Perimeter breach, Kid Flash’s down!” Nightwing warns, his voice sharp, breath heavy. He’s cornered now, four operatives pressing him hard, his movements tight and defensive. Superboy slams one to the ground — only for two more to pile onto his back, their enhanced implants crackling with destabilizing energy, forcing him to one knee.

M’gann shifts to shield a cluster of civilian scientists trapped behind a lab wall, her attention split, her telekinesis faltering under an electromagnetic surge. Zatanna’s spell fizzles against a tech disruptor, and a bolt of electricity hammers into her, sending her sprawling to the floor, dazed but conscious.

I fire again — a bolt catching one brute in the shoulder — but another’s on me before I can notch another. He’s fast, his implant flaring as he grabs my wrist, crushing pressure making my crossbow fall. I twist, kicking hard, but he’s heavier, and his weight slams me to the ground, covering my body and pinning me. He leers, his voice a growl. “This one’s feisty,” he sneers, his hand tightening, and fear spikes, my breath shallow, my strength waning as I struggle under his enormous weight "Maybe we take her back with us for a little...fun" His breath is putrid, and he's not making it difficult to guess what he wants to do with me. It makes me sick to my stomach, the thought of this beast's hands on me where only Wally's have been. “Tigris!” Dick’s call is frantic, terrified for me.

Then, a streak of golden light—Wally, faster than fast, a comet tearing through the night, comes tearing through the battlefield. The amplifier’s pulse crackles against him — but it’s not slowing him. If anything, he burns brighter, as though the pulse supercharges him instead of destabilizing.

He’s a blur, a storm of motion that only leaves the aftermath in his wake.

Bart’s attacker goes flying before he even realizes he’s lost his grip. Nightwing’s corner collapses in an instant — a burst of wind and light and three bodies crumple at his feet. Superboy’s oppressors are torn off him, and the shock in Conner’s face is genuine.

“Was that—?”

“Wally,” Bart breathes.

M’gann gasps in relief as Wally speeds by, taking down her assailants before her telekinesis can reassert itself. Zatanna groans as a hand helps her up — then is gone again before she can blink.

The brute holding me is last. One moment his filthy face is sneering down at me, the next a fist blurs through him, the crack of bone sharp and final. He sails through the air like a ragdoll, slamming into a wall with a sound no human body should make. Wally skids to a stop, standing over me, his body radiating an ethereal glow, a halo of electrical fire crackling around him, his face etched with anger, a fierce protectiveness blazing in his green eyes, the gold flecks radiating with intensity. “You don’t touch her,” he snarls, his voice low, lethal, the air trembling with his power.

The glow around him pulses, his speed a living force, but the threat’s down, the operatives scattered, the amplifier silenced by a wave of energy from his speed surge. Wally’s eyes find mine, his anger softening, the halo fading as he drops to his knees, his hands gentle on my shoulders, the static tingle of his skin warm, grounding. “Artemis, are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft, urgent, his green eyes searching mine. I nod, my breath ragged, my wrist bruised but my heart steady. “I’m fine, Wally,” I whisper, my hand cupping his cheek, my love for him a fire that burns through my fear. “You saved us.” He exhales, pulling me close, his forehead against mine, the static tingle a soft spark, his warmth enveloping me.

The Team recovers, Nightwing goes to secure the lab, Zatanna shrinks the amplifier for transport back to the Watchtower to be analyzed, Superboy and M’gann are binding operatives, and Bart zips over, his grin shaky but grateful. “Dude, you’re way faster than me!” he says, clapping Wally’s shoulder. "That was insane, even in my sped-up state, I couldn’t make out a single detail about you." I stand, my crossbow retrieved, my eyes on Wally, his glow gone, his control steady, his heroism a testament to his strength and his love for us, for me. We sweep the lab, Dick’s hacking a terminal, his voice sharp. “Got intel—Savage’s plan. God, Artemis. It’s worse than we thought.” A holo-screen flickers, schematics of a “Chronal Siphon” glowing, alongside a chilling document: Tachyon Extraction Protocol. My blood runs cold as Dick reads aloud, his voice grim. “It requires draining a speedster’s blood to extract Tachyons. It’s fatal—complete exsanguination. It looks like he’s calculated the theoretical Tachyon count to power this thing too.”

As if I things couldn’t get worse from that statement by Dick, that when they do. A click of the mouse pad and a list appears, photos of known speedsters—Barry, Bart, Jay, the Twins, Trajectory, and Wally. But it’s Wally’s face that nearly stops my heart cold. A red circle slashes around his image, the ink stark against the grainy scan on the screen. A target marked for death. My grip tightens around Wally’s hand, the static tingle lacing through my skin, sharp with his tension. “He’s after me,” Wally says, his voice low, his green eyes hard but steady, locked on the screen. I shake my head, my voice fierce. “He’s not getting you, Wally. Not now, not ever.” Dick’s eyes meet mine, his voice strong but with a hint of distress for his best friend. “We’ll stop him.” Around us, the Team moves in closer — silent, but I can feel the shift in the room. A tightening of resolve, a collective promise. But even in that unity, the shadow of Savage’s plan settles over us, thick and heavy.

We zeta-tube back to the Watchtower, the debrief with Batman is quick, his lenses unreadable as he logs the intel. “Prepare for escalation,” he says, his voice flat. “Savage won’t stop.” I nod, my stomach twisted, my mind racing, but then Wally’s hand finds mine again, his static tingle grounding me, a tether I didn’t know I was reaching for.

Later, back in Gotham, the apartment feels like another world entirely, almost like a haven from what we now know is out there. Brucely greets us with a sleepy wag of his tail, the air soft with the scent of coffee left on the counter. For the first time since we left this morning, I exhale. Wally and I sink onto the couch, Brucely jumps up and lays his head in my lap, Wally’s arm pulls me close, his warmth a shield against the fear clawing my chest.

“I’m scared, Wally,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper as I rest my head against his shoulder, my blonde hair spilling over his chest. “Savage wants your life.” He kisses my forehead, his voice steady, his green eyes clear. “He’s not taking me, Spitfire. Not from you, not from us.” His fingers brush my cheek, the static tingle a spark of hope in the dark, his love a fire that burns through the shadow. I close my eyes, holding onto that promise. “We’ll face him together,” he murmurs, and I nod, feeling my strength steady. Outside, Gotham hums with the life of a restless city. Savage’s plan still waits somewhere out there. But for now, it’s just us, our love a light that holds the darkness at bay.

Notes:

Notes at the end of the chapter, who am i lol, jk. This was such a fun one for me. We get to see "God-mode" and protective Wally here. Hope ya'll liked this one! :)

Chapter 28: Winter Lights and Starlit Bonds

Notes:

So one of the things that I hope you all have picked up on is that I'm not just interested in creating a "Wally West returns, he and Artemis live happily ever after, the end" story. I want to explore as many of the dirty details as I can. There are relationships, issues of grief, depression, anger, and many more emotions that need to be resolved before Artemis and Wally get their "Happy ending." I'm not saying that they won't, I promise they will. But building a life is more than just "I'm back, let's get married, the end." This fanfiction will attempt to resolve many, many things. This chapter, and the next one are two chapters that begin to explore what else I have in mind for this thing. I hope you enjoy! Like always, please like, bookmark, share, comment, etc if you're enjoying the read :) Thank you!

Central City, December 23^rd, 2020

It’s been almost two weeks since the mission in Keystone City and there’s not even been a hint of activity of where Savage is or what he’s doing. It’s been both infuriating and oddly peaceful. A war between my desire to stop this threat on Wally’s life as soon as possible, and treasuring the normalcy that the quietness has given us. We’re in Central city today, exploring the Christmas market, just being together and being us. The air is frosty, snow crunching under my boots as I walk beside Wally. The Central City market sparkles under a December sky, strings of lights crisscrossing above stalls, casting a warm glow over the crowd. The air hums with carols, the scent of cinnamon and pine weaving through laughter and chatter. I’m tucked against Wally’s side, his arm slung around me, the soft vibration of his body a familiar hum, though softened by the many layers of clothing, through my jacket. His red curls peek from under a beanie, his green eyes bright as steps away and begins to juggle three glass ornaments, a vendor chuckling nearby. “Clown, West,” I say, smirking, my blonde hair catching the chilly breeze and glowing like a halo in the last vestiges of sunlight falling over the horizon, my gray eyes  are sharp but warm to be here with him. He winks, catching the ornaments in a blur, barely a flicker of his speed. “Gotta impress you, Spitfire,” he quips, and I roll my eyes, my laugh bright, my heart steady with a fierce satisfaction. This—us, here, in the holiday chaos—is what we’ve fought for, it’s what we’re still fighting for, what we’ve clawed back after four years apart.

We weave through the market, our boots crunching on packed snow, bags of gifts swinging in my free hand. We’re on a mission for the Wests, the Allens, and the Team, picking out presents that scream them. For Bart, Wally grabs a speedster-themed mug with “Fastest Kid Alive” scrawled on it, grinning like a kid himself. “Think he’ll break it in a week?” he asks, tossing it to me. I catch it, smirking. “Two days, tops, but he’ll love it.” For Iris, I pick a scarf in deep blue, soft and hand-knit; for Barry, Wally eyes a gaudy red-and-yellow cap with the Flash logo right in the center of it, snickering, “He’ll wear it ironically.” I elbow him, “You’re the worst,” but my grin betrays me, my heart full “Go ahead, get it,” I tell him chuckling. This normalcy, this ease—it’s ours, hard-won, and I savor it like the sharp bite of winter air in my lungs.

We walk around some more, sweet-nothings crashing out of our mouths, soft laughter and lingering touches sparking in the night. A few feet away is a stall that sells hot cocoa, the aroma is intoxicating as it wafts through the cold night air. I sigh appreciatively at the smell, and Wally grins, pulling us towards the stall. The steam in the air is a sweet perfume, carrying with it hints of chocolate and spice. He orders two cups, and the vendor accepts a couple of bills before passing us the Styrofoam. The steam from the hot cocoa in my cup is curling  upwards, disappearing into the heavens, the heat warming my hands as I cradle the cup closer to my body. We walk to the standing tables, just a few feet away, and Wally leans against the one, his shoulder brushing mine, the static tingle a soft buzz. “Dream house,” I say, sipping, the cocoa rich and delicious. “What’s it look like?” I wonder if his opinion has changed from what I knew his dream house looked like when we were in California. His green eyes light up, a grin tugging his lips. “Come on, babe. You know this,” he laughts, “Cozy, small. Your garden, full of those herbs you pretend you can grow.” I scoff, but the warmth running through me has little to do with the cocoa in my stomach, “I’d manage, West.” He laughs, low and warm. “There’s gotta be a porch for Brucely to snore on, a white picket fence—like those cheesy rom-coms you secretly love too.” I swat his arm, “Shut up, I don’t,” but I’m smiling, picturing it: a house, our house, the fence a bright line against the world, keeping us safe, normal. It seems that his dream house hasn’t changed at all since he vanished, it’s still the same, quaint vision that he’d tell me about cuddling on the couch in our apartment in Palo Alto. “You sure you’re built for suburban? You’d mow the lawn at Mach speed, create a sonic boom and square all the neighbors,” I tease, and he chuckles, “Only way to do it.” My heart’s steady, over-joyously happy, thinking about that dream. That’s our future, I know it is with a fierce certainty we’ll get there.

Wally’s gaze flicks to a jewelry stall across the market, silver and gold glinting under fairy lights. His grin shifts, something softer, but I miss it, too busy eyeing a stall with leather-bound journals for Dick. “Come on, Spitfire,” he says, tugging me toward another stall, “let’s find something for Zatanna and the rest.” I nod, my smile wide, following him, the market’s glow wrapping us in light. We walk a bit further, his hand in mine when he speaks up, “So, uh, how are you doing? About the whole Zatanna and M’gann thing?” I shrug non-committedly, unsure how I should respond. “They were wrong to do what they did, I know that, but you can’t keep them at arm’s length forever, babe.” I roll my eyes, he’s the most forgiving, kindhearted person I know. I’m not surprised by his opinion. “I just mean, that maybe you talk to them about it. I know you told me that you did when I was in that coma, but I can’t imagine that you were in a great head space, not with me lying there returning from the dead and all.” I stop us gently and turn towards him, looking him in the eyes. “Wally, I love you. I love you so much that being without you was the single-worst feeling I’ve ever endured. Zatanna and M’gann lied to me, but it wasn’t just a lie that hurt me. It was the fact that they lied to me about you. I was a wreck for years after the Arctic, I know I was fading into something awful, a ghost that walked and breathed but was little more than that. I asked them to help me reach you, I needed to speak to you. And when they did, I saw you, I felt you. We were married, I was pregnant, it was everything that you and I had dreamed about. It gave me the strength to carry on, to try to rebuild my life without you in it, and then I have that awful nightmare about you in the Speed Force. You’re suffering, you’re screaming, and you’re saying my name, and it was as real as you standing in front of me right now. I can accept that people aren’t perfect, that M’gann has used her powers in manipulative and awful ways before. I can accept that Zatanna has lied before. But for both of them to do that to me, when I’m at my most vulnerable and for them to only confess what they did when I confronted them. I forgave them, but I don’t know if our relationship will ever be the same again,” I finish. Wally is just standing there, looking deep into my eyes, a sad smile on his face when he says, “People make mistakes, don’t hold it against them forever and let it ruin what you had.” And I know he doesn’t mean to, but I’m viciously reminded of my own mistakes, my attempts to move on with Jason, my refusal to believe Wally could be alive, to help Dick sooner, and he didn’t hold any of that against me. He chose to forgive me, completely and fully. I swallow hard and give him a nod, “Okay, I’ll try. I promise.” He gives me a bright smile, hugs me before I know what he’s doing, and is spinning me around, the snowflakes falling in my hair. I laugh with a shriek, “Put me down, West!” But really, I don’t mind this attention. Children around us are smiling and pointing, some people are chuckling, some even looking like a Scrooge, jealous of our joy and muttering about ‘immaturity’. Wally stops spinning me, puts me back down gently on the snow-covered ground and remarks, “Better learn to listen to me, babe. I’m wise beyond my years.” I roll my eyes and quip back, “Yeah, a real wise guy. Come on, let’s get the rest of these gifts and get home before we come back for dinner.”  

The moon is bright amongst the clouds and snow flurries falling when we zeta-tube back to Gotham, bags in tow. We’ve got gifts for the Team, Barry, Iris, the Twins, Oliver, Dinah, and Wally’s parents. We step into the apartment to deposit the bags by the door and to grab Brucely before heading back to Central City. It’s December 23^rd, and Mary and Rudy have invited us over for a small dinner, just the four of us plus Brucely, before the hecticness of Christmas Day with the entire West and Allen clan. The Christmas Market is still going strong as we head towards Wally’s childhood home. The hum of the city fading as we enter the quiet suburbs. We get to Mary and Rudy’s house in no time at all with soft conversation floating between us while Brucely chases snowflakes. The house is lit brightly against the night sky, with Christmas decorations adoring the outside and a wreath on the door. I go to knock, and Wally just opens the door before I get to. I want to chastise him for his manners, but then the smells of roasted turkey and cranberry accost my nostrils, and the fight leaves me almost immediately. After all, this is Wally’s parent’s home. He’s allowed certain luxuries I tell myself as I enter, allowing my nose to lead me towards the kitchen.

The table is set with mismatched plates, warm and lived-in. Rudy’s in a sweater that screams dad, pouring wine, while Brucely weaves between our legs, tail thumping, eyeing the food Mary’s laying on the table. “Artemis, sweetheart,” Mary says, hugging me, her perfume soft, “So glad you could make it tonight, you’re family.” I smile softly, thinking, Right where I belong, my hand in Wally’s, his static tingle grounding me.

We sit, plates piled high, and the conversation flows—Rudy’s stories of Wally as a kid, Mary’s teasing about my cooking attempts. “You burned spaghetti, Artemis?” she laughs, and I grin, “One time, and Wally ate it anyway.” He winks, “Heroic sacrifice.” Brucely whines, catching a scrap Wally sneaks him, and I elbow him, “You’re making him fat.” The family exchanges early gifts—Mary gets my framed photo of Wally, her eyes soft; Rudy hands Wally a vintage Flash comic, his grin proud. I give Rudy a new toolset, practical, and Mary a recipe book, her smile warm. Wally’s gift to me is a charm for my quiver, a tiny arrow, and I give him a keychain with a lightning bolt. The soft sounds within this home a sanctuary, a dream that Wally and I are chasing and determined to have for ourselves. My heart’s full, satisfied, the certainty of this moment, this family a gift in of itself.

After dinner, we settle by the fireplace, the crackle of logs mixing with the faint carols from a radio. Wally’s arm is around me, Brucely sprawled at our feet, snoring. The glow paints his red curls gold, his green eyes soft as he leans close. “This,” he murmurs, “no villains, no alarms. Just us, and a white picket fence,” he grins. I nod, my smirk soft, picturing it—the house, the garden, the fence, our normal life. “Damn right, West,” I say, my voice steady, my gray eyes meeting his. “Ours.” I kiss him, slow, the static tingle sparking, the fire’s warmth wrapping us. I’m fierce and content, knowing this is what we’ve earned.

We leave the Wests’ late, zeta-tubing back to our Gotham apartment, Brucely trotting behind, the city quiet under a blanket of snow, the echoes of the night loud against the odd quietness of the city. Our place smells faintly of coffee, the couch sagging as we collapse, bags of gifts from the Christmas market still by the door. Wally pulls me close, his hoodie soft, his static tingle a hum against my skin. “Good day, Spitfire?” he asks, his grin boyish. I smirk, “Best in a while.” My heart’s steady, a deep satisfaction from the day. It was normal, it was beautiful, and it was spent with family. It’s a normalcy I crave, one where there isn’t a madman trying to kill one of us, but the worst part of our day instead being that we forgot to restock the coffee beans.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It's Christmas Eve, and the Star City air bites with winter chill, but Oliver’s backyard glows warm, string lights draped over pines, casting golden flickers across the snow-dusted lawn. Oliver is hosting a small party, just a couple of the members of the Justice League and the Team. He had called me a few weeks prior and asked if I thought it was a good idea. Normally, Oliver likes to go all out for parties, but he wanted to do something for me and for Wally specifically. It was such a kind gesture from this father-figure of mine that I was afraid I hadn’t heard him right. But then again, I don’t know why I was surprised. Oliver has treated me like his own for years, he’s the closest thing to an actual father I’ve got, because I refuse to see my real father as one. He and Dinah have been there for me through so much, and the gesture was just another proof of their love for me.

The party’s alive with laughter, the scent of grilled steak and pine mingling with the faint tang of mulled wine. Wally’s beside me, his arm loose around my waist, his static tingle a soft buzz through my sweater, his red curls a mess under the holiday lights. He’s laughing, racing Barry to string up more lights, their blurs weaving through the trees, tinsel flying like silver comets. I smirk, my gray eyes sharp, blonde hair spilling over my scarf. “Disaster, West,” I call as he “accidentally” drapes a strand of lights over me, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “Just decorating my favorite thing, Spitfire,” he quips, and I roll my eyes, my laugh warm, heart steady with a fierce joy. “I thought you liked me best when I was wearing less,” I smirk at him. His face goes red and Barry coughs uncomfortably and I laugh a full belly laugh at Wally’s reaction. This—us, surrounded by family, friends, no alarms—is something that I hold it tight.

Oliver’s at the grill, flipping steaks in a ridiculous Santa apron, Dinah beside him, her smile sharp as she pours wine. Barry and Iris are tangled in tinsel, Iris giggling as Barry tries to untangle himself, his speed no help. Dick and Barbara are near the firepit, Dick tossing a snowball at Bart, who dodges with a cackle, Zatanna conjuring sparkles that dance in the air. Connor and M’gann are off taking a walk around the estate, doing God knows what. Brucely’s chasing a stray ribbon caught in the breeze, his tail a blur, earning laughs as he skids into a snowbank. I lean into Wally, his hoodie soft, the static tingle sparking. “Our people,” I say, smirking, and he nods, “Best crew around.” We steal a moment by the firepit, the crackle of logs warm, and talk turns back to our dream life. “Mentoring kids, maybe,” I muse, thinking of teaching archery, no masks. Wally grins, “Less running, more living. A house, your garden, Brucely’s porch, that white picket fence.” I chuckle, “You and your cheesy fence, West.” But I see it—bright white, solid, our shield against the world, a life where we’re just us. Kids with his hair and my eyes running through the backyard, tracking mud into the house, Wally’s patented mischievous smile displayed on little faces that have my chin. My heart’s full and near bursting with the vision. It’s with quiet certainty that I vow it’s what we’ll get, because it’s what he and I deserve.

The party hums, plates piled with food, music drifting from speakers. I’m laughing as Bart challenges Wally to a “normal-speed” hot chocolate chug, both choking on marshmallows, Zatanna refereeing with a smirk. Without meaning to though, the brief sight of Wally choking causes a shadow to flicker in my chest, a whisper of fear—Savage, his Chronal Siphon, Wally’s blood circled in red ink. It’s been quiet, too quiet, since Keystone, and my instincts prickle. I catch Dinah’s eye, her blonde hair catching the firelight, and nod toward the balcony. She gives me a deep look and slowly nods, whispering to Ollie as he gives a shake of his head and looks over at me. He gives me a small smile and I return it, heading for the balcony. Dinah follows, her boots soft on the snow as we walk in companionable silence. Finally, we arrive and lean against the railing, the party’s warmth distant, the echoes of it ringing in my ears. I’m watching Wally as he wrestles with Connor, Dick throws a snowball at him, plastering his red hair and he shakes himself free of the ice before tackling Dick into the snow and starting a wrestling match with him. “Dinah,” I say, voice low, steady, my eyes never leaving Wally’s form grappling in the snow. “I’m scared. Savage wants Wally’s life, his Tachyons.” My gray eyes move upwards, fixed on the stars glistening high in the sky, my strength holding me like armor at the confession. She grips my hand, her voice firm, warm. “Artemis, look at me,” I take a deep breath, releasing my eyes from the glistening of a million suns light years away and turn to stare into her eyes. “Your love’s stronger than any villain. He came back to you, and you’re not going to lose him again. You’re his anchor, and he’s yours. You’ll get through this.” I nod, my chest loosening from the conviction in her tone, thinking, We’ll fight for our dreams, the fear still there but manageable, my resolve steel. “Thanks, Dinah,” I murmur, and she smiles, “Anytime, Artemis.” She gives me another soft smile, bringing me in close for a hug and whispers, “He’s on his way up, I’ll see you back down there.” I nod and thank her. As she pulls away and slinks into the shadows, Wally finds me, walking towards me and completely unaware of Dinah quietly retreating behind him.

He gives me a bright smile, a quick kiss on the cheek, and turns his body to look out over the party. His hair is dripping wet from the melted snow and his body is shivering from the ice that made it’s way against his skin through his clothes as he wrestled Connor and Dick. His slight shiver and the touch of his shoulder against mine a comfort against the worry that I have in my heart. His arm slides around me, his green eyes soft as he faces me. “Everything okay, Spitfire?” he asks, and I smirk, “Just needed a breather from your antics, speedster.” He gives me a look of mock-insult and quips, “You? Needed a breather from me? My how the tables have turned.” I laugh but pull him close, “Nah, just kidding. I needed to watch you get out wrestled without you calling to me to bail you out of your trouble.” He sighs with false dramaticism “Oh you wound me, babe. What’s a man supposed to do if he can’t ask his badass girlfriend to help him out of a pinch every now and again?” I roll my eyes but pull him in close to me, giving him a searing kiss, deepening it just a bit when I open my mouth, asking permission to enter his with my exploring tongue. He obliges, and for a moment, it’s just us. The noise of the party dies down, the voices of our family and friends fading into background noise and I stand there, my heart completely his. I pull away only slightly, his breath hot against my face. “Come on, Wally. The quicker we go down there and mingle, the quicker you get me home and I can remind you why you like me best with less on.” A spark flies through his eyes, “Say less.” And he’s picked me up, speeding me back downstairs, depositing me by the fire, his hand in mine in a blur. I laugh as he comes to a stop, already having acclimated to the sensation of him doing that since the first time when we were called to the Watchtower. We rejoin the party, and a soft song comes on through the speakers. In a show of mock-formalness, he bows to me, holding my hand above his head and says, “Could I tempt the fair lady to a dance?” I roll my eyes but remark, “As long as you don’t step on my toes.”  

He stands up, saluting me, and his hands are in mine again, his smile impish, his steps light, as we dance under the stars. His hands are warm as he moves them to the small of my back, and I wrap my own arms around his neck. “Our home,” he murmurs, “white picket fence, no alarms blaring, just us dancing like this in the living room.” I nod, my fear easing, picturing it. “Kids running around with your hair and my chin, disgusted with our PDA,” I say, my voice steady, gray eyes meeting his. He smiles brightly, his face full of love, “That’s the dream, Spitfire.” My heart soars, Dinah’s words echoing, You’re his anchor. “That’s the promise, speedster.” We sway together, the static tingle a spark, the party’s glow wrapping us, my resolve firm as we dream of our future.

At the party’s end, we say our farewells and zeta-tube back to Gotham for the rest of Christmas Eve, our apartment a haven, the faint scent of coffee and cinnamon lingering. The fireplace crackles, casting shadows on the walls, Brucely sprawled on his bed, snoring like a freight train. Wally’s beside me on the couch, his hoodie swapped for a sweater, his arm around me as we exchange gifts. He hands me a hand-knitted scarf, green like his eyes, soft as his grin. “For your cold Gotham nights,” he says, and I smirk, “You’re my heater, West.” Then it’s my turn. I open a box, inside are two necklace lockets. He gently takes one and opens it up, our Palo Alto photo inside—us laughing, young, before the void. “I got one for each of us, to keep us close to our hearts, always,” I say, and his eyes soften, fingers brushing the locket he’s picked up. He unclasps the chain, putting it around his neck, the locket resting firmly against his heart, the light from the fire making it shine. We talk of our future, curled up on the couch, the fire’s glow painting us gold. “A wedding someday,” I say, my voice warm, steady. “House, fence, the works. A suburban life and you a suburban dad. You’ll have a grill outside, barbequing on a warm summer night as I cook vegetables from the garden.” His grin widens. “I don’t know, you think you can burn vegetables too?” I swat him on the shoulder without any heat, “Jerk.” He laughs freely and unabashed, “Guaranteed, Spitfire. The whole works,” he says, and I laugh with him, “Better be.” I lean in feeling the slight scratch of scruff from a day’s growth of his beard. My kiss is slow, the static of his lips tingle against mine, my heart hopeful, just us, dreaming of that white picket fence. “Come on, West,” I say, pulling him to his feet, “Let’s go remind you why you like me best with less on.” He shakes his head, a smile gracing his lips, “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he quips back. And I lead us to the bedroom, just us, our solitude against the world that wants to destroy us.

The night deepens, Gotham’s skyline glittering through our window, snow dusting the streets. Brucely’s snores fill the quiet, and Wally pulls me closer, the warmth of his naked body a shield and a comfort, his heart a steady beat under the palms of my hands resting against his chest, the cool metal of the locket he refuses to take off grounding me and reminding me that this isn’t some dream. “Good day?” he asks, his voice low, boyish. I nod, smirking, “Pretty crash, speedster.” My gray eyes are steady, my heart full, satisfied, the fear I expressed to Dinah tucked away, her words holding me, reminding me that our love is stronger than any villain, his presence here reminding me that our love is stronger than any force. His hand in mine feels like a promise, our future—a house, a garden, a white picket fence—bright as the starlight and neon signs outside. This is ours, and I’m ready to fight for it, my strength as Tigress, as Artemis, unwavering.

Chapter 29: Christmas Eve Flashbacks

Notes:

Alright, so this chapter is so fun. This is where the world deepens and becomes a bit more complicated as well as intertwined. I know in canon, November 12th is the last day of season 4, and I had Wally's first central city rift happen on November 13th. But there's lots of things that I've done that aren't shown in the show, but still contradict what we see in the show (i.e., Artemis living in Gotham rather than at Will's in the early days of November.) This chapter explains EVERYTHING lol, so this one is super important as it furthers the world building and sets the tone for many chapters moving forward. I hope you like it! Let me know in the comments what you think :)

Gotham, December 24^th, 2020

Christmas Eve night, 2020, cloaks our Gotham apartment in stillness, the faint crackle of the fire drifting from the living room. Wally’s asleep beside me in bed, his soft snores a quiet comfort, red curls tangled on the pillow, his warmth a tether against the chill. But sleep won’t come to me, my mind spinning through yesterday’s glow at Rudy and Mary’s, tonight’s joy at Oliver’s, and my own locket now heavy in my hand as I look at the picture inside. Us in Palo Alto, sunlit and laughing before our forced separation. My gray eyes move upwards and trace the ceiling, blonde hair loose, as I slide from the sheets, brushing a kiss across Wally’s cheek, careful not to stir him. I tug on an oversized shirt, pad across the cold floor to the living room, and wrap a blanket around my shoulders, settling before the fire’s dying embers. Dinah’s words tonight echo in my head, “You’re his anchor,” and Wally’s grin under Star City stars dances in my vision, talking weddings, a glint in his green eyes when I mentioned children. Wally’s return, barely a month ago, his nightmares pulling him awake. He needs me more than anything, and I promised to never let him go again. The locket’s weight in my hand anchors me, the coolness of the metal sharp against my warm hand. Still, I’m assaulted by memories anyways. The flicker of the embers pulling me back into them and I get lost in the hypnotic dance of the dying flames remembering key moments, helping me to understand why I choose this love, this future, this family with him.

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Star City, March 2020

The Star City spring of 2020 hums with life, the air crisp with blooming jasmine, but my world’s gray, Wally’s absence a four-year scar since his 2016 death. I’m at Will’s house, Lian’s laughter a bright thread in the haze, her crayons scattered across the kitchen table, drawings of bows and arrows pinned to the fridge. I’m her aunt, her protector, living here to keep her safe, Will’s quiet strength a steady anchor in the storm of my still churning emotions. But I’m not whole, my heart a battlefield, Tigress on the outside, Artemis breaking inside. My gray eyes are steady, blonde hair pulled tight, no tears, my strength a wall against the void. I’m trying to move on, to find normalcy, but every step feels like betraying him.

It’s March, and Jason Bard walks into my life, a detective with warm brown eyes and a smile that tries to pierce my armor. We meet up at a Star City coffee shop one day after Babs introduces us. Team talk spilling into small talk, his easy laugh catching me off guard. “You’re more than just Tigress, Artemis,” he says, handing me a latte, and I smirk, “Don’t bet on it.” But I agree to a date, then another, in April—dinners at quiet bistros, walks by the pier, his hand brushing mine, no static tingle like Wally’s, but a warmth I want to trust. Each moment twists the knife, guilt clawing—Wally’s grin, his green eyes, our Palo Alto dreams of a house, a garden, a fence, are all ghosts now. I’m composed, no tears, my resolve to move on holding, my talk with Wally’s spirit in limbo, knowing he’s at peace, helping me to stride forward, but when I look at Jason, my heart whispers, this isn’t him.

By May, the guilt’s a weight I can barely carry, even with the closure of my time with Wally in limbo. Jason’s kind, steady, but every kiss feels stolen, every laugh a lie against Wally’s memory. I’m splitting, trying to be Artemis for Lian, Tigress for the Team, someone new for Jason, but I’m losing myself. I need space, a place to face the grief I’ve buried. I find an apartment in Gotham’s Crime Alley, a dark hole with peeling paint, flickering neon from the street bleeding through cracked windows. It’s not home—it’s a mirror, its shadows matching the ache in my chest, a cave where I can be broken without eyes on me. I tell Will one night, dishes drying, Lian asleep upstairs. “I’ve rented a place in Gotham,” I say, voice low, steady, gray eyes fixed on the sink. “I’ll split time, be here for Lian, but I need… this.” He looks at me, his red hair catching the light, eyes soft with understanding. “You’re always family, Artemis. Lian needs you, whenever you’re ready.” I nod, my strength holding for the moment, thinking, I’m trying, for her, for me.

The Gotham apartment becomes my refuge against the normalcy that I wanted with Wally and now am having in the arms of another. I zeta-tube between Star City’s warmth and this cold, grimy space. I patrol as Tigress, arrows cutting through Gotham’s underbelly, each fight a release, a scream I can’t voice. Lian’s giggles keep me tethered—weekends and odd days at Will’s, braiding her hair, reading stories—but Gotham’s where I face the truth: I’m not ready to move on. The white picket fence, our dream, haunts me, a life I can’t touch without Wally. I’m not running from Lian or Will, just from the lie I’ve tried to live with Jason. My gray eyes stay dry, my resolve steel, but the apartment’s darkness holds me, a place to rebuild my walls before returning to Star City’s light.

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Infinity Island, September 2020

The air’s thick with salt here, the cliffs stark against a bruised sky. I arrive at dusk, fulfilling my April promise to check on Jade, my boots soft on the stone path to Ra’s al Ghul’s palace, my heart still a raw wound. Wally’s been gone for four years, his absence a pulse in my chest, and dating Jason Bard has only sharpened the guilt, each date a betrayal I can’t shake. My gray eyes are steady, blonde hair tied back, no tears as I go to face my sister, my strength a shield as I approach the garden where Jade meditates. She’s changed since April—her black hair knotted neatly, eyes clearer than before, the chaos of Cheshire softened under Sensei’s guidance. Onyx lingers nearby, her gaze calm, Sensei’s shadow a quiet presence, Ra’s’s offer of recovery holding. But I’m not calm seeing her like this, not like I thought I’d be. My fragility is cracking, Jason’s warmth clashing with Wally’s ghost and Jade’s decisions.

“Jade,” I say, voice tight, stopping at the garden’s edge, my bow slung across my back. She rises, wary, her eyes narrowing. “Artemis, you came.” Her tone’s softer, but guarded, and I clench my fists, anger rising. Seeing her like this, she looks whole and complete. But she's still here. “You’re better,” I snap, “but you’re still here. Will and Lian are waiting, Jade. Why haven’t you gone back?” She steps back, her face tightening. “I’d ruin them, Artemis. I’m too much like Dad—Lian doesn’t need that.” My heart cracks, Wally’s loss surging in my mind, his memory fueling my words, sharp and raw. “You have a family waiting—a daughter, a husband. I’d give anything for that, Jade.” My gray eyes burn into hers, my voice a blade. “I lost everything, and you’re throwing away what I can’t have.” I don’t say his name, but her gaze sharpens, seeing through me, the cracks I hide—Wally, Jason, my broken heart. She freezes, lips parting, and no words coming out. We stand, locked in a battle of wills for what feels like hours, until I can’t stay any longer, the weight too much. I turn, boots heavy, leaving abruptly, the palace’s stone walls blurring, my strength barely holding, chest tight, her hesitation to return to my dream that I’ll never have is an insult.

I return to Gotham on autopilot, my apartment’s shadows swallowing me, neon flickering through cracked windows. I collapse on the sagging couch, the silence deafening, Wally’s face in my mind—his grin, our Palo Alto nights, our white picket fence dream, now just a dream that I’ll never have. Jade’s fear, her refusal to go back to Star City, mirrors my own—fear of breaking what I love, of failing Lian, of losing myself, of never fully moving on from the love I give to a ghost. I try to be Tigress, but in this moment I’m not. Artemis claws her way out of the shadows in which I try to throw her, she’s fragile and wounded by Jade’s hesitations and it leaves me angry. I’m caught between Star City’s light and Gotham’s dark right now. I know that I’ll return to Will’s tomorrow, braid Lian’s hair, keep my promise to be present, but tonight, this apartment holds my grief, my anger, my resolve. I refuse to shed any tears, my gray eyes steady as I fight the loneliness down that has plagued me since Wally vanished, and I vow to keep fighting, for Lian, for myself. Wally told me in limbo that I needed to keep living, so that’s what I’ll do, I know it’ll be hard, but I’ll do everything I can to keep the promise that I made his spirit, even if it tears me up inside.

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Star City, October 2020

October in Star City carries a chill, the leaves crunching under my boots as I approach my mom’s apartment, the building’s faded brick a reminder of our fractured past. I’m still splitting time between Will’s house and my Gotham apartment, Lian’s laughter at Will’s keeping me tethered, but my heart’s still a mess, four years after Wally’s death. Dating Jason Bard’s been a tightrope—his warm smiles clash with Wally’s ghost, guilt gnawing every step, and now he’s surprised me with tickets to Paris next week. I want to scream at the world, I wasn’t supposed to be visiting Paris with someone else, but that’s not the hand I was dealt with in life. So, I’m here to forget it all for a moment, to check on Paula, my mother, but the weight of her disapproval at my return to hero work is still evident after years. I knock, the door creaking open, and brace for the rift I can’t seem to close.

Paula’s in her wheelchair by the window, sunlight catching her graying hair, her face sharp but tired, the lines deeper than I remember. “Artemis,” she says, voice clipped, gesturing to a chair, the living room cluttered with old photos—me, Jade, us three together. I sit, my crossbow left at Will’s, feeling exposed without it. “You’re barely here anymore,” she starts, eyes narrowing. “Running around as Tigress, living half in Gotham, dating that detective—what’s left for family?” Her words sting, her anger a mix of fear and frustration, rooted in her own past, her years with my father, Sportsmaster, her time behind bars. I clench my jaw, “I’m doing what I have to, Mom,” I say, voice low. “Lian’s safe, I’m there for her. This is who I am.” She shakes her head, her hands gripping the chair. “You promised to quit, Artemis, after you left with Wally. Now you’re back in it, risking everything, and I’m supposed to watch you disappear again?”

Her mention of Wally twists the knife, the flights to Paris with Jason in the background of my mind, Wally’s memory a pulse—his green eyes, our Palo Alto nights, our white picket fence dream, now dust as I prepare to pack a bag to see the City of Lights with another man. I haven’t told her about Jason, not really, but Star City’s small, and she’s heard enough. “You’re moving on,” she says, softer, almost pleading, “but you’re not here, not with me, not with Jade. We’re your family.” I look away, the photos on the wall mocking—Jade’s smirk, my younger self, a family we never were. “Jade’s on Infinity Island,” I say, deflecting, “trying to fix herself. I’m trying too, Mom.” But it’s so hard. The promise I made Wally to move on the single hardest mission I’ve ever faced. I have no idea how to balance it all, how not to run away and hide myself in a dark hole, away from her, from Jason’s hope, from the life I can’t build without Wally. Paula sighs, her voice breaking. “I lost you to this life once, Artemis. Don’t make me lose you again.” I stand, my chest tight, tears threatening to claw their way to my eyes, but my strength holding. “I’m not lost, I’m doing what I promised in the only way I know how,” I murmur, but I leave before she can respond, the door shutting soft, her words a weight I carry.

I try to go back to Will’s, but when I arrive, Lian and Will are already asleep. I trudge up to my room and see Lian’s drawings that are taped to my door—a bow, a heart, “Auntie Artemis.” It’s all too much, too much light for the darkness that I feel drowning me, so I leave before anyone knows I’ve come in. I take the zeta-tube to Gotham, my apartment’s shadows waiting, the darkness fitting my mood. I collapse on the couch, Paula’s voice echoing—family, disappearing, Wally. She wants the daughter I can’t be, not while I’m Tigress, not while I’m broken and trying to fulfil a promise to a dead man. Jason’s texts glow on my phone, asking if I’ve remembered to ask for time off for Paris next week, and I don’t reply, guilt choking me. I’m trying to live, but every step’s a betrayal, the white picket fence a ghost I can’t escape, a life I can’t touch. I’m there for Lian, splitting nights at Will’s, but Gotham’s my truth, the place I take off the mask. It’s the home for my grief, my regret, and the life I lost amongst the cold winds of the Arctic.

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Gotham, December 24^th, 2020

I’m pulled from my musings by the sharp crackle of a log in the fire, its embers flaring briefly, casting a warm glow across my face. The locket, once cool and sharp in my palm, has grown warm, like the warmth blooming in my heart since Wally’s return. I yawn, stretching my arms above my head. The blanket slips from my shoulders, and I canter back to the bedroom, the floor cold under my bare feet.

The clock strikes midnight, its soft chime marking Christmas Day as I crawl into bed beside Wally. He murmurs “Artemis” in his sleep, green eyes barely cracking open, a sleepy grin flickering as he senses me. “Merry Christmas,” I whisper. His arms open, and I slide in, his warmth wrapping me, keeping the coldness of those past months at bay. “Merry Christmas, babe,” he responds, giving me a small kiss to the back of my head, sleep filling his voice before he drifts off again. His skin’s vibration against my back a comfort that sings to me like a lullaby. I nestle closer, my gray eyes softening, my heart light, the memories in front of the fire, already distant from my mind. My last thought before sleep claims me, is that you don’t get to choose the life you’re born into, but you do get to decide where you call home.

Chapter 30: Family Glows

Notes:

It's Christmas time! And Christmas is a time for family :) I hope you all like this chapter. I really wanted to give more insight into family dynamics for Artemis and Wally. Also, in case you haven't figured it out by now, a "happy ending" story for Artemis and Wally doesn't just involve Wally returning and them living happily ever after. They still have their own personal struggles that will need to be resolved (like family in Artemis's case). And of course there's the fact that they need to address this new issue of Vandal Savage targeting Wally. In case you're wondering how Savage even knows Wally is alive, well, that'll be revealed in a few chapters haha. If you like the story, give some comments, kudos, etc! Thanks all !

Central City, December 25^th, 2020

Christmas morning ignites Central City with a burst of chaos, the Wests’ living room a swirl of torn wrapping paper, twinkling lights, and toddler squeals. Mary West’s red hair glows in the sunlight streaming through frosted windows, her warm smile crinkling as she hands me a steaming mug of cocoa, whipped cream bobbing like fresh snow. “For my favorite archer,” she teases, and I smirk, cradling the mug, its heat seeping into my chilled fingers. Rudy, sprawled on a plaid couch in a garish Santa sweater, unleashes a pun—“What do you call a snowman with a six-pack? An abdominal snowman!”—drawing groans from Wally and a chuckle from Barry Allen. Wallace and Dawn, Barry and Iris’s 3-year-old twins, tear through the room, their curls bouncing as they clutch toy bows I gifted them, plastic arrows zinging wildly. Iris West-Allen dives to catch Dawn’s stray shot, her laughter bright, while Barry races to snag Wallace before he topples a lamp. Bart shakes a gift box, scattering ribbons, his grin impish, with a chocolate chip cooking filling his mouth, as he teases Wally, “Slowpoke, I beat you to the cookies!” Jay Garrick and his wife Joan are present as Jay recounts a 1940s Flash fumble, Joan’s needles clicking over her knitting, her smile soft in the chaos. Wally drops beside me on the rug, green eyes sparkling, red curls a mess, his grin wide as the family swap gifts. His gray wool scarf wraps soft around my blonde hair, and my leather jacket for him sparks a dramatic spin: “Babe, I’m stylin’!” My gray eyes meet his, my heart swelling, grounded in this chosen family, Brucely snuffling cookie crumbs at my feet. This house, where Wally grew up dreaming of a white picket fence, feels like home, even if ours waits in Gotham.

Wallace tugs my sleeve, waving his bow. “Arty, shoot!” he lisps, Dawn mimicking with a fierce scowl, her arrow tangled in tinsel. I kneel, guiding their tiny hands, their focus sharp like Lian’s when I braid her hair. “Steady, like this,” I murmur, a pang hitting as I think about Lian—her giggles, her crayon drawings, I've been absent from Will's since Wally’s return a month ago. I’ve been so focused on him, his recovery, our new life, I haven’t seen her, and guilt twists, soft but real. Wally senses my change of attitude, his hand brushing mine, static tingling, and I lean into him, the twins’ giggles easing the ache. Iris refills my cocoa, her hug warm. “We're glad you're here, Artemis. You’re family,” she says, and I nod, my heart lightening. Rudy ropes Jay into a debate about tinsel placement, while Dawn spills juice on Wallace’s sweater, Barry speeding to grab a towel. Bart challenges Wally to a gift-unwrapping race, their banter—“Dude, you’re slower than molasses, Keystone was a fluke!”—filling the room. Gifts pile up—socks from Joan, a Flash mug from Iris, a cookbook from Mary I’ll never crack—and I’m swept into this loud, messy love, this family that brought me in and treats me as their own, a balm against my own blood family's problems. Wallace demands a piggyback, Dawn clinging to Bart, and we parade around, their laughter ringing, my joy steady, satisfied, no trace of last night’s weight by the fire.

I'm with Mary in the kitchen a short while later. She's smiling softly at everyone's antics and pulls me aside deeper into the kitchen. She hands me a photo album off the countertop, and wordlessly I flip to the front—Wally as a kid, gap-toothed, racing Rudy’s lawnmower. “He always dreamed of a family like this,” she murmurs, her eyes soft, and I swallow, thinking of our Palo Alto nights, our dreams now reborn with his return. Barry and Iris wrestle the twins into mittens, Wallace whining, Dawn stomping, while Bart sneaks cookies, phasing for a moment to dodge Joan’s swat. Rudy’s pun—“What do you call a frozen elf? A chill-f!”—earns a pillow toss from Wally, and I laugh, my heart full standing by Mary. This morning, this family, it’s what I fought for, what I hold now, even as Lian’s absence tugs, even as Paula’s voice echoes faintly in my head. Wally’s beside me in a blur, his arm slings around me, his static tingle sparking, and I lean into him, ready for Gotham, for our home. Mary looks over at Wally and I, her face a wistful grin, "Are you sure you want us by your place later?" "Mary," I interject softly, "We're positive. The apartment isn't big, but it's ours, and we both want you all there," I say with compassion. She pats my cheek, a motherly gesture that I'm not that used to, "Okay, dear. We'll be there." And my heart squeezes just a little more at this family who loves me, demonstrated daily with their actions.

By noon, we take the zeta-tube to our Gotham apartment. It’s small but ours, its scuffed wood floors and sagging couch a cozy cocoon for our first Christmas together since 2015. We would have stayed in Central City, but Wally and I both wanted to celebrate today in our own place. Everyone will be coming soon, squeezing into this tiny home, but that's what makes it special. This is our place, and we'll get to share it with family. The kitchen’s cramped, barely fitting our folding table, but it’s perfect—our start, a step toward the house we’ll build, fence and all. A little while later, I’m elbow-deep in turkey stuffing, apron dusted with flour, while Wally “helps,” stealing carrots and dodging my playful swats. “You’re worse than Brucely,” I grumble, but his grin, green eyes glinting, disarms me, his static tingle sparking as he sneaks a kiss. “Gotta keep you sharp, Arty,” he quips, tossing a carrot and catching it, show-off style. The apartment smells of pine, sage, and roasting potatoes, the tree crammed in a corner, its lights glinting off tinsel. I pause, stirring gravy, my eyes catching the locket hung on a branch, an ornament I added to the tree until it's time to return to it's place by my heart. The small picture in there reminding me of the spark of what we’ve reclaimed. Wally’s arms wrap around me, chin on my shoulder, his warmth steadying. “This place is us, babe,” he murmurs, and I nod, thinking of Central City's market and hot cocoa, dancing under the starlight at Ollie's, last night’s firelit memories. This apartment, the two of us together, this day, is our foundation, our home.

A few hours later, Mary and Rudy arrive with Barry, Iris, the twins, Bart, Jay, and Joan, arms laden with pies, casseroles, and Joan’s spiced cider. The kitchen’s a circus, and the fit is tight—Mary chops herbs with precision, Rudy “supervises” with a beer, muttering about giblets, while Wallace and Dawn raid the cookie tray, crumbs flying. I catch Dawn before she topples a bowl, her bow clipped in her hair, and she giggles, “Arty’s fast!” Wally scoops Wallace, spinning him, while Barry and Iris laugh, Iris wiping cookie crumbs off Dawn’s chin. Bart decides to set the table, plates wobbling as he runs too fast in a tight space, and Joan swats him, “Slow down, kid!” Jay’s recounting a 1950s Christmas Day parade save from his hero days, his voice warm, while Mary arranges arrow-shaped cookies, winking at me while I roll my eyes good-naturedly and smile at her in return. The folding table groans under turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, and Mary’s pecan pie, the apartment’s walls barely containing the noise and the amount of people. I pause, bow apron askew, flour on my cheek, and just enjoy the normalness of it all—this is what I fought for, what I still fight for, this family, this moment today.

Dinner’s pure chaos, but it’s the best kind. Rudy’s carving sends turkey bits flying, Jay’s reflexes snagging them before they hit Dawn’s hair. Wallace paints mashed potatoes into a “Flash face,” declaring it art, while Dawn flings peas, one pinging Bart’s face while he's distracted. Mary’s laughter rings, recounting Wally’s childhood Christmas where he phased through a gingerbread house, and Wally groans, “Mom, not again!” I’m beside him laughing with tears of mirth gracing my eyes, his hand under the table tracing circles on mine, his static tingle a treasured gift against my skin. My gray eyes shine, my heart steady, as Iris shares a story of Barry’s first Christmas as Flash, tripping over tinsel. Dawn demands I braid her hair, practically begging me, and I smile, thinking of Lian, her braids, her hugs. The guilt I have over not seeing her recently, soft but ever present. I haven’t been to see her since Wally came back, too caught in his recovery and our Gotham start, and it stings almost as much as Paula’s unanswered calls do. Barry catches my eye, his nod kind, like he sees my quiet and internal struggle, and Iris squeezes my hand, her warmth so like Mary’s. The fire crackles behind us as we eat and enjoy this mundane piece of life we’ve carved out for ourselves amidst the chaos of Vandal Savage’s plans. Brucely lurks under the table, waiting for scraps, and I lean into Wally, his warmth a promise of forever.

Post-dinner, we sprawl in the living room, the tree’s soft glow, Brucely snoring across Wallace and Dawn, who clutch new toys, eyelids drooping from the exhaustion of the day on their little bodies. Mary’s knitting a scarf, her needles clicking, while Rudy dozes, his Santa sweater askew. Jay and Joan debate Justice Society holiday traditions, their voices low, warm, while Bart sneaks off to grab more cookies, Iris swatting him when she catches him in the act. Wally nudges me, his green eyes soft, voice quiet amid the twins’ sleepy murmurs. “Babe, you’ve been quiet about your family since I came back. You’ve barely spoken about them, what’s going on?” He knows my fractures—conversations in the night I’ve spilled. I’ve told him a lot, where they all are and what they're up to, but I haven’t told him everything. I exhale, glancing at the locket on the tree, its Palo Alto shine a beacon.

“Well...Jade… you know that she tried to give up Will and Lian and run away. I told you that. She needed some time away from them, afraid of Dad's influence on her creating a similar influence on Lian. Really, you know most of what happened by now with her going to Infinity Island in April, but...back in September, I went to visit her, to see how she was doing and to keep my promise of checking in,” I say, my voice even, bitterness sharp. “I was struggling worse than ever over my guilt with trying to move on with Jason. You were gone, and I was trying to move on, but it was so hard. The dreams you and I talked about before you vanished were all I wanted. I didn’t want to move on. I wanted the kids, the house, the fence, I wanted you, Wally. Jade had everything you and I had dreamed of. She had a daughter, a home, a man who loved her unconditionally and she walked away from them, refusing to go back. I know why she did it to start with, but when I went to see her in September, she was better. And she still didn’t leave Infinity Island for months afterwards. I’m still resentful towards her over it, Wally…I know I'm too hard on her, she eventually went back. It was on the same day as the first rift in Central City, I got a text from Will telling me she’d returned. But it doesn't change the fact that she ran in the first place or that it took her months to go even after she was ready.” He nods, his hand squeezing mine, no judgment. “And Paula? Lian?” he prompts, his thumb brushing my knuckles. I shift, guilt rising, soft but heavy. “I haven’t had time for Mom. You needed me more—your recovery was the most important thing to me, getting you back to you since you returned. Staying close to you, making sure you knew I’d never leave you again. Mom loved you, she’d want to know you’re here, and I feel bad for not telling her.” I pause, thinking of Lian’s drawings, her hugs. “Same with Lian. I haven’t seen her since you came back, too caught up in us, and it stings, Wally. She’s my niece, the only light I had for years.” My voice softens, steady. “We’ll see them soon, I promise, before the new year. As long as you’re ready to let more people know you’re alive.”

Wally’s smile is a future kind, like he’s seeing our life unfold. “What if we go to Star City tonight?” he suggests, his green eyes bright. “See Lian, Will, maybe Jade. No time like Christmas to tell them I’m back, right? Lian deserves to see you. And you need to see her. Especially today, Christmas is for family.” My heart lifts, the guilt easing, and I nod, my joy sparking. “Yeah, let’s do it,” I breathe out, imagining Lian’s squeal, Will’s shock, Jade’s… something at my presence and Wally's return. Wally pulls me close, his static tingle a promise. “We’ll make it right, Spitfire,” he murmurs, and I believe him, my heart light, the weight of Jade, Paula, Lian softening in his warmth. Mary catches my eye, her nod soft, like she knows, and Iris walks over and hugs me, whispering, “Go get your girl.”

The night winds down, Barry and Iris gathering the twins, Wallace clutching his bow, Dawn asleep on Barry’s shoulder. Bart leaves with Jay and Joan, promising a New Year’s prank war, while Rudy claps Wally’s shoulder, Mary hugging me tight. “Thank you for having us over. It was a gift to see you and Wally in your own home, Artemis. We love you so much,” she says, and I nod, my heart full. As they leave, the apartment quiets, just me and Wally, the tree glowing, Brucely’s snores soft. I lean against him on the couch, his arm around me, his static tingle sparking. This space, this day, is ours—our first Christmas, our foundation. Every moment, every memory, every trial has led here, to this glow, this chosen family of Wally, the Allens, and soon, Lian’s light. Jade’s choices, Paula’s distance, they’re my past, not my future. Wally’s warmth, his smile promises a life unfolding. I’m satisfied, ready for Star City, for Christmas night with Lian, for Wally and I, for forever.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Christmas night wraps Star City in a soft glow, snow dusting the streets as Wally and I take the zeta-tube from Gotham to Star City. The hum of the tube fading into the quiet as we walk towards Will’s house. There’s not much talking, simply us being together unperturbed by the cold night air. As we approach Will’s house, I can see the simple wreath adoring the front door. My breath clouds in the crisp air, my gray eyes scanning the modest house—lights twinkling through windows, the branches of a tree inside, Lian’s crayon snowman taped to the glass. My heart thumps, a mix of joy and nerves, the weight of not seeing Lian since Wally’s return pressing heavy, guilt twined with resentment for Jade’s choices and a promise to reach out to Paula soon. Wally’s beside me, green eyes bright, red curls peeking under his scarf, his grin wide despite the chill. “Ready to give them a Christmas that they’ll never forget, Spitfire?” he teases, his static tingle sparking as he squeezes my hand, wrapped in his gift scarf. I smirk, my strength steadying, blonde hair loose under my coat. “Let’s give Lian the best present ever,” I say, thinking of her squeals, Will’s shock, Jade’s… something. Lian has no memory of Wally, she was only a year old when he vanished, but she’s heard about him, her “Uncle Wally.” She’s seen the pictures I kept in my room, she knows his face, but she has no memories of him holding her, kissing her cheek. We move up the steps and in front of the door. I’ve taken the locket off the tree at home, and it rests at against my breasts, warm in the chilly air. I focus on the sensation of it, thudding gently against my skin as the pumps of my heart shake it slightly. It is a beacon of what Wally and I rebuilt, what we’re still rebuilding, even as I stand here ready to make amends for being absent for a month, and I knock, my heart light, ready for this.

The door swings open a few seconds later, and Will stands there, red hair mussed, apron smeared with cookie dough, his blue eyes widening. “Artemis?" He looks beside me and does a double take, "Wally?” His voice cracks, jaw dropping as he stares at Wally, alive, here, after four years gone. “You’re… how?” he stammers, and I laugh, soft, as Wally grins, zipping past to clap Will’s shoulder. “Long story, man. Speedster stuff. Merry Christmas!” Before Will can process, Lian’s voice shrieks from the living room—“Auntie Arty!”—and she barrels in, all five-year-old energy, her auburn hair flying, a glittery Santa hat askew. She launches at me, and I scoop her up, her arms tight around my neck, her giggle thawing the guilt that’s gnawed since I left Star City. “Missed you, Lian,” I murmur, kissing her cheek, her crayon-scented warmth melting my heart. She spots Wally, eyes huge. “Is that Uncle Wally?” she squeals, squirming to him, and he catches her, spinning her high, his laughter bright. “That’s me, kiddo! You've gotten so big, I haven't seen you since you started walking!” Lian’s joy is pure, her chatter nonstop, and I meet Will’s eyes, his shock softening to a grin, his nod saying he’ll keep this quiet—the secret of Wally’s return safe.

Jade appears in the doorway, her dark eyes sharp, black hair pulled back, her posture wary but softer than our last clash on Infinity Island. She’s been back for a month and a half, trying with Will and Lian, but my resentment lingers—her choice in September to continue walking away from this family, the one I craved when Wally was gone. “Artemis,” she says, voice neutral, glancing at Wally, her shock masked but there. “Didn’t expect… this.” I nod, my voice even. “Christmas surprise,” I say, keeping it light for Lian, who’s tugging Wally to the tree, babbling about her new doll. Will ushers us in, the living room cozy—tree aglow, stockings stuffed, Lian’s crayon art taped everywhere. A fire crackles, the air smells of cookies and pine, and I settle on the couch, Lian climbing into my lap, her Santa hat tickling my chin. Wally sprawls beside me, his hand brushing mine, his static tingle grounding, while Will sinks into an armchair, still dazed. Jade hovers, then sits on Will's lap, her hands clasped around his neck, and I feel the tension, but Lian’s giggle keeps it at bay, my heart steady, satisfied.

Lian thrusts a crayon drawing at me—her, Will, Jade, a wobbly heart. “For you, Aunt Arty,” she says, and I smile, guilt softening as I begin to braid her hair, her chatter about preschool and cookies filling the quiet. I lean down close, my voice tickling her ear while she giggles, “I missed you,” I whisper. She turns around, and she hugs me, oblivious to my absence’s weight. I glance at Jade, her eyes on Lian, softer now, and I exhale, my bitterness easing—not gone, but dulled for tonight. “Jade’s back for good,” Will says, his voice low, catching my look. “Since the Central City rift day. We’re… figuring it out.” He looks at Jade, her small nod almost imperceptible, as she reaffirms his statement. I nod back in acknowledgment, my voice carefully measured. “Good for Lian,” I say, meaning it, my resolve holding, no need for old fights, not when things are beginning to mend themselves. Wally chimes in, lightening the mood, “So, Will, you burn the cookies yet?” Will laughs, tossing a pillow, and Lian giggles, demanding Wally draw a Flash with her crayons. I watch, my heart swelling. He’s a natural with kids, he’ll be such a good father, and I can tell that Lian already adores him. Her “Uncle Wally”.

The night unfolds, softer now than it was when we first arrived. Will probes Wally’s return with cautious questions—where he was, why’d everything think he was dead including me—and Wally deflects with humor, keeping it vague, his hand in mine. I can tell Will is itching to know everything, but Wally’s story is his to tell, and if he’s not ready for everyone to know, then I won’t pressure him into it. It was hard enough for me to wrap my head around the reality of the Speed Force, the infinite lives Wally saw and felt. I decide to tune them out, and I turn back to the carpet to play with Lian, building a block tower she knocks down, her laughter ringing, and I think of Paula, just across town, her unanswered calls since October. Guilt tugs at me again—she loved Wally, would’ve cried to know he’s back, and I promise myself, We’ll see her soon, before the new year. Jade joins Lian, hesitantly sitting close by me, offering Lian a cookie. I watch, my resentment a shadow but not tonight’s story. “You’re good with her,” I say, quiet, and Jade meets my eyes, a flicker of something—thanks, maybe. “Trying,” she murmurs, and I nod in acknowledgment of that statement. “So. This was a surprise,” Jade says, and I know she’s talking about Wally. “Yeah,” my voice is careful not to give away too much, my tone light to not alert Lian. “You’re happy?” It’s a rare moment of softness from my sister, one that leaves me completely disarmed, but I recover quickly with a clearing of my throat, “The most I’ve been in a long time.” Jade nods, stacking a block on top of Lian’s recently placed one, and that’s the end of our sisterly moment. Will and Wally emerge from the kitchen, cups of hot cocoa in their hands. Wally passes me one, while Will passes one to Jade, and we sip, the fire’s glow, the cocoa’s heat, and Wally and Lian’s presence warming me in more ways than one.  It’s not long before Lian is yawning in my lap, her blocks forgotten, and it’s nearly time for us to go. The conversations have lulled, not much really being said anymore, all of us just sitting around, this small gathering glued together by Lian and her innocence. Wally’s arm around me and he’s looking at me and Lian cradled against my body. He has a soft smile on his face and a wistful look in his green eyes, the golden flecks completely hidden, like he’s seeing our future. Perhaps it’s one of the many futures he saw in the Speed Force, perhaps it’s one of his own imagination, I’m not sure, but I lean into him, my heart light.

Will stands up from the sofa and walks over to me. He scoops Lian out of my arms, steady and gentle, her Santa hat falling. “Bedtime, kiddo,” he says, and she mumbles, “Uncle Wally, stay.” Wally kisses her forehead, “I’ll be back, Lian.” I kiss Lian goodnight as Will passes her to Jade. They both go upstairs, tucking her in, and I stand, stretching, the locket still warm against my breasts. Will returns downstairs and gives me a strong hug, his voice low. “I’m happy that you’re happy, Artemis. He’s good for you.” I nod, my gray eyes bright. “We’re good for each other,” I say, thinking of Gotham, the Allens, this night. Wally’s hand finds mine, his static tingle sparking, and we say goodbyes—Will’s grin, Jade’s nod from the bottom step, a step toward something new. Outside, snow falls, Star City is quiet. It's barely past 9:00 pm on the west coast, but it seems like everyone's tucked away in the warmth of their homes.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Wally and I step out of the front door, the door shutting with a click. We carefully walk down the steps of Will’s porch, the glow of Lian's joy still warm in my chest. The air crisp, much colder than when we arrived and my breath is clouding as I tug Wally’s scarf that he got me for Christmas tighter around me, blonde hair catching snowflakes. My eyes flick toward the direction of the zeta-tube a few blocks away, ready for Gotham, our cozy apartment, but Wally stops me, his hand gentle on my arm as I take the first step in that direction, static tingling through my coat where his hand is. “Actually, I thought we’d walk this way,” he says, green eyes glinting, nodding toward downtown, the city’s festive lights faint in the distance. I raise an eyebrow, suspicious, “Why? The tube’s that way,” I say, pointing, but his grin widens, undeterred. “Christmas is for family, babe. Paula’s place is close—unfair to skip her when we’re right here.” My heart stumbles, guilt surging—Paula, unanswered since October, her love for Wally a weight I’ve dodged. I hesitate, voice low. “Wally, I’m not sure… not tonight.” He squeezes my hand, his warmth steady. “Come on, Spitfire. She deserves to know I’m back, and she's your mom. You’ll regret not doing this, remember, Christmas is for family.” I sigh, my resolve softening under his insisting, and nod, letting him lead, his smile sparking hope for better things in the snowflakes that surround us.

We detour to a corner grocery, its neon sign flickering, minutes from closing. “Pastries,” Wally declares, zipping in to grab a box of Christmas cookies and pies, his speed a blur to the sleepy clerk. I smirk, clutching the box as we resume our walk, snow crunching under my boots, the city quiet save for distant carols. Paula’s apartment is near, a low-rise building, its windows dark except hers, a faint glow hinting at a small tree. My stomach knots, memories of October’s strain—her sharp words, my withdrawal—mixing with guilt for not telling her Wally’s back. The locket feels heavy, but Wally’s hand in mine, his gentle vibration, grounds me. “You got this,” he murmurs and I nod. We walk to her door, I swallow heavily, refusing to turn away from this, and I knock, my heart racing, hoping for warmth, fearing her doubt.

The door creaks open a few seconds later, and Paula’s there, her dark hair tied in a ponytail, wheelchair steady, her gray eyes, so much like mine, widening, then freezing on Wally. “Artemis?” she whispers, then, “Wally?” Her voice breaks, hand trembling on the doorframe, shock stealing her breath. I swallow, voice soft. “Can we come in, Mom?” She nods slowly, dazed, and I step inside, Wally following, his grin warm but cautious. “Good to see you, Paula,” he says, holding up the pastries. “Merry Christmas.” I move to the kitchen, muscle memory kicking in, filling a kettle for tea to fill the silence. The apartment’s cozy, lived-in—photos of me and Lian on the fridge, a small tree with handmade ornaments, a single stocking. Paula wheels to the table, her eyes locked on Wally, suspicion creeping in replacing the shock that was there, and I brace for the questions, pouring tea, the steam curling like my nerves.

Mom’s not said a word since we came in. I bring the mugs of tea over, Wally fidgeting nervously under her scrutiny. I sit beside him, the table small, cookies and pies between us, mugs clinking awkwardly in a half-hearted Christmas toast. Paula’s the first to break the silence, her voice is low, hesitant. “How is this possible?” she asks, staring at Wally, her hands tight on her mug. I shrug, keeping Speed Force secrets vague, my voice even. “Answers just lead to more questions, Mom. They’d confuse you, and we can’t say much. It’s him, though.” She frowns, mistrust flickering, her eyes searching Wally’s face. “You’re sure it’s him, Artemis?” she presses, and I nod, firm, but her attitude is already grating on my nerves. “It’s Wally. I know him.” Wally tries, his charm faltering under her gaze. “Still the same guy who ate your spring rolls in ’12, Paula,” he jokes, but her lips thin, unconvinced, and the silence grows heavy, my patience fraying further. He tries again, mentioning Lian’s Christmas joy when we stopped to visit, but Paula’s quiet. She hasn’t said a word, just staring at Wally, her eyes flickering over to me periodically throughout his nervous rambling. He’s just about to get to the part where we all drank hot cocoa, he’s rambling, completely nervous under her unflinching stare, and I snap, my voice sharp. “Enough, Mom! This was Wally’s idea to come here. I didn’t want to, okay? I’ve been avoiding this, and you’re making it worse!” Her eyes widen, hurt flashing, and I shove back from the table, storming out the door, my heart pounding, guilt and anger colliding.

Outside, snow falls thicker, catching in my hair, my breath ragged as I lean against the building, arms crossed. I’m mad at Paula—her coldness, her doubt—but it’s me I’m furious with, for dodging her, for letting October’s strain fester, for not being the daughter she wants me to be. The promises of the past month with Wally, Lian’s hugs tonight, they’re steps to rebuilding something important to me, but this—Paula’s hurt—cuts deeper than I wish it did because as much as she makes me angry, as much as she hurts me, she’s important to me too. An angry tear burns my cheek, and I wipe it, gray eyes stinging, when the door creaks. I’m expecting Wally to come outside, tell me something cheesy and sweet to convince me to go back in, but it’s not Wally. The gentle sound of wheels cutting through snow greet me, and it’s my mom wheeling herself out, a blanket in her lap. She drapes it over my shoulders, her hands steady, and I freeze, my anger faltering. “Artemis,” she says, voice soft, “I’m proud of you. Always have been.” I blink, snow blurring my vision refusing to look up, but she continues, “Will you please look at me?” I draw in a shaky breath and steel myself to meet her eyes. I’m shocked to find them eyes warm but also with a hint of worry. “Seeing Wally again, seeing you now—so different from October, so alive—it shocked me. I’m sorry for my poor reaction. I’m happy you’re happy, in love, but I worry. As a mother, I can’t help it. I don’t want you to lose him again, to go through that pain.” Her voice catches, and I swallow, my heart cracking open. “Thank you,” I whisper, and she smiles, small but real. “I love you, Artemis.” I nod, voice thick. “I love you too, Mom.” We stay a moment, snow falling, then head inside, the blanket warm around me.

Wally’s at the sink, nervously scrubbing our mugs, the pastries half-eaten on the table. He glances up, green eyes searching. “You okay, babe?” I nod, small but sure, and join him, drying dishes, our hands brushing, his static tingle grounding against the flurry of emotions I’m being pelted with. “I’m okay,” I say, and he smiles, soft, kind. Paula wheels over, her voice warmer now. “It was good to see you both. I’m glad you’re home, Wally. Please, for the sake of my daughter, stay this time.” He grins, drying his hands. “Good to be back, Paula. Good to see you too, and don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” Mom nods, but still says, “Make sure of it.” Wally’s grin doesn’t falter, but it does grow soft, “I made a promise to her, Paula,” he looks at me then and says, “And I don’t break my promises.” I give him a kiss on his cheek while my mother gives us a small smile. We finish cleaning, the kitchen quiet, and say goodbyes—Paula’s hug is tight around my neck, her whispered, “I love you, baby girl,” a bridge being rebuilt. Outside, snow dusts the street, and we walk hand in hand towards the zeta-tube, Wally’s arm around me, when I speak up, “Thank you, Wally. You were right, I did need that, and I’m sure I would’ve regretted not going.” He gives me a cheeky grin and quips, “You’re wise to trust my wisdom, Spitfire.” I roll my eyes and use my hip to knock against his, sending him staggering slightly, “Whatever you say, dumbass.” He laughs a sound that is full of joy and I can’t help but smile back at him. We walk the streets of Star City, going back in the direction of the tube that will take us home, his arm around my shoulder, his vibration echoing through my body a promise that he’s here and that he’s staying, and I’m content, because Wally West doesn’t break promises.  

Chapter 31: Forever Starts Here

Notes:

I hope you're all enjoying the angst break and holiday fluff. I felt like I wanted to dial back the drama/angst just a bit for the holidays, give Wally and Artemis a bit of normalcy while also continuing the story arc. Anyways, this chapter title says it all, and I'm so happy that we're finally here. I'd say this is the first major plot point that we get to check off on the way to their happy ending, other than Wally's return of course. Smut alert, you've been warned haha

Gotham, December 31^st, 2020

Gotham Harbor glitters under a New Year’s Eve sky, the waves lapping softly against the docks, the air sharp with salt and winter’s bite. Wally’s hand is warm in mine, his static tingle sparking through my gloves, his red curls catching the glow of distant city lights. Brucely trots beside us, his collar jangling, his nose sniffing the breeze as we walk the cracked pavement where Wally came back, bursting from the Speed Force like a comet, plummeting from the sky like a fallen angel in a halo of fire and lightning. That moment, barely a month and a half ago, feels like yesterday—his green eyes finding mine, my heart jerking and restarting after four years of its incomplete stillness. Now, we’re here, just us and Brucely, skipping New Year’s Eve parties at Ollie’s or his parent’s house for this, a moment alone, a decision to ring in the new year and watch fireworks over the bay at the place he returned. The harbor’s quiet and Brucely’s errant barks, wraps us in a bubble of normalcy. It’s the exact kind of mundane thing I’ve wanted for over four and a half years. My gray eyes are bright, my blonde hair loose under a knit cap, my smirk steady as I lean into him. “No crowds, no chaos,” I say, voice warm. “Just us, West.” He grins, boyish, “Best way to ring in the year, Spitfire.” My heart’s full, fierce with love, ready for whatever comes next.

We stroll the waterfront, the city’s skyline a constellation of steel and glass, fireworks already bursting in the distance though midnight is still a few minutes away, their faint pops mixing with the waves, their strong colors filling the night sky with light. Brucely sniffs a patch of snow before marking his territory, and Wally laughs, tugging my hand along as we walk near the water. “Remember Palo Alto?” he asks, his voice fond, eyes distant. I nod, picturing our dorm, late-night tacos, stolen kisses between classes. “We were kids,” I say, smirking, “thought we had it all figured out.” He chuckles, “Still do, kinda.” I smile serenely, his hand in mine and the soft pants of Brucely nearby. “Okay, I gotta ask,” he starts, “You’re absolutely sure you want a white picket fence? You don’t want it to be orange or green?” I pretend to be think hard about it, my fingers from my free hand grabbing my chin and staring off into space, “Hm. I don’t know, red or yellow might look less gaudy.” He laughs a short laugh, “I’m being serious, babe! I need to know these things. I know we’ve talked about them before, but how serious are you? Back in Cali, you said you’d want at least two kids, back then I was more on the lines of three or four.” I pretend to shudder at the thought, “Four kids, Wally West? Only if you’re the one carrying them for nine months and then pushing them out.” He gives me a lopsided grin and winks, “Okay, so we’ll plan on two, plan being the key word.” I nod encouragingly, “Good boy.” We’re still walking, just enjoying each other’s company when he speaks again, “Okay, and the porch with the porch swing, you’re okay with that? And the garden where you’d do your best not to kill any herbs?” I want to banter, but something has shifted in his stance, so I answer honestly, “Wally, that sounds boringly perfect to me. But honestly, as long as you’re there, I’d be happy either way.” He lets out a breath I didn’t know he was holding, “Boringly perfect,” he murmurs. “Boringly perfect,” I agree, and he squeezes my hand, the static tingle a spark, “Good to know, Spitfire.”

We arrive right where he came back, the police tape has been taken down, replaced by caution tape and construction equipment to fix the cracked pavement. He whistles low, “I really did a number on that concrete didn’t I?” He asks. “Yeah, I’m surprised they’ve not sent you the bill for the work needed to fix it,” I joke back at him. “Please, babe, we both know I’d just run it to Wayne Manor and hide it in all the other bills Alfred takes care of, see if he’d notice.” I laugh, “Oh I’d love to see Bruce’s face when Alfred tells him.” He smiles ruefully, “Well, it’s a good thing I never got a bill then, I quite like this new life we’re living.” I smile softly, a kiss landing on his cheek, “Yeah, me too.”

The harbor’s edge is quiet, the sacred spot where he returned just feet away from us. We stop walking now, facing the water, the horizon dark except for a few stray fireworks before the countdown to midnight. Walley’s hand releases mine and his arm slides around my waist, his warmth a shield against the cold night air. “Artemis,” Wally says, and he seems nervous, his other hand fidgeting, but he plows ahead before I can comment, “I know I joke a lot, but I mean it when I talk about our future, about the family, the life we dreamed about. What else do you see when you picture it?”

“Our life,” I say, voice steady, gray eyes on the stars. “No missions, just us, our kids, that fence.” He nods, his green eyes catching the moonlight, something shifting in his gaze—soft, intense, like he’s seeing forever. “Yeah,” he says, “kids with your smirk, my speed, tearing up that yard.” I laugh, “Poor fence wouldn’t stand a chance, no matter what color it is.” My heart’s steady, full of this moment, the normalcy we’ve fought for, our fierce love uniting us. My admission seems to give him some kind of inner strength, and he turns to face me squarely, his shoulders broad, the freckles on his face as stark as the starlight above, his eyes, totally green and full of love. “I saw it,” he says. “In the Speed Force. You and me, kids, a house. I even saw that stupid picket fence.” He laughs, but it’s soft, vulnerable. “I want that. More than anything.” I smile softly at him, my heart so filled with love for this man in front of me that it could burst at any moment. “Wally, I want that too.” He huffs out a breath, my agreement causing a grin to light up his face, his head dipping for a second, like he’s trying to catch his breath. And then his head rises again, and his are locked onto mine, and there’s a fierceness there, a love so deep it steals my breath. “Artemis,” he says, his voice low, steady, “I need you to know something. I’ve said it before, but it’s not enough. You’re why I’m here. Not just here, alive, but here, standing, whole. I opened the rift, sure, but it was you who got me through it. Every second in the Speed Force, every lifetime I lived, it was your name, your face, that kept me going. You were my reason, my strength. And this past month and a half—” His voice catches, and he steps closer, his hands cupping my face. “You kept me stable, helped me control this thing inside me. It’s all you, Artemis. Always you.”

I open my mouth to protest, to say he would’ve done it without me, that he’s stronger than he knows, but his lips are on mine, soft and urgent, silencing my words. My hands grip his jacket, pulling him closer, and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath warm on my skin. “It’s true,” he says, his voice firm. “And I’m done doing things halfway with you.”

He steps back, just enough to reach into his pocket, and pulls out a small box and kneels, right there on the cracked pavement. My heart stops, my breath catching, gray eyes widening as he opens it. The velvet is worn but cherished. Inside a simple emerald band glints, the green stone the exact shade of his eyes. “Artemis Crock,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion, “I picked this in Palo Alto, back when we were kids dreaming big. I knew then you were my forever. I kept it in a drawer at Mom and Dad’s because I knew you’d find it if I left it in the dorm.” He pauses to take a shaky laugh, and I feel my own laugh bubbling up my chest. His bright green eyes are locked on mine, “I want forever with you. The house, the kids, the stupid picket fence—all of it. Marry me, Spitfire.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and there’s no hesitation, no struggle, the answer has beat inside my heart since I gave it to him years ago.

My gray eyes well up, tears spilling down my cheeks, the ring’s history hitting like a tidal wave—he chose this before the void, loved me through it all. The white picket fence flashes in my mind, our dream, solid, real. “Took you long enough, speedster,” I tease, my voice choked, a sob-laugh breaking through, my face split with joy. I grab him by his shirt and pull him up, kissing him fiercely for a moment, dazing him with my passion. I pull away, just a hair’s inch, “Yes, Wally,” I say against his mouth, “Yes, yes, a million times yes, in every damn lifetime, yes.” And I’m kissing him again, deep and fiery, and he’s kissing me back with as much passion and unchecked love.

The static tingle buried in the very atoms of his being sparking wild against my mouth, the gentle vibration of his body turned up a notch in his excitement and happiness. He pulls away, just enough so that I can see his smile as he reaches for my hand and removes my glove. He slides the emerald ring onto my finger, a perfect fit. Across the harbor a church clock chimes midnight and fireworks burst overhead, reds and golds painting the sky, the harbor glowing, but I barely notice any of it. All I feel is Wally, his lips on mine again, his hands in my hair, his heartbeat against my chest. He’s real, solid, here, and I’m his, forever. Our love is a fire chasing away every chill and shadow of the night.

We stand there, wrapped in each other for what could be hours, possibly days before our lips separate again. Brucely is nudging our legs, his tail thumping against the snow by our feet. I glance up and the fireworks are cascading through the sky, falling back to earth like miniature comets, reminiscent of Wally’s own return. “Nice timing, West,” I murmur, my tears drying, gray eyes glistening as I look down to admire the ring and the promise it stands for, its emerald catching the light from above. “Had to make it epic, babe,” he says, grinning, his arm around me, “Only the best for you.” I laugh, a sound born from the lightness and happiness in my heart and my very soul, the sound mingling with the fireworks. “Wally,” I whisper, my eyes locked on his, staring deep, imploring. “Take us home.” He gulps hard, nodding his head with a jerky movement, and in less than the blink of an eye, he’s gone. Before I can even hardly comprehend it, he’s back again, his grin sly while his hand rubs the back of his neck, “I had to get Brucely home first, because I don’t know if I could carry you both at the same time, and I’m not leaving that bed for anything when we get back.” I grin and throw my arms around his neck, “You’re amazing, you know that?” He scoops me in his arms, bridal style, and grins, “I know but it sounds so much sweeter coming from your lips.” And without waiting for an answer, he speeds off with me, getting us through our apartment door and into our room in less than a heartbeat.

The Gotham apartment door slams shut, a sharp echo in the dim bedroom, the world a whirlwind of snow and speed from Wally’s run, his arms cradling me bridal style until my boots hit the scuffed hardwood floor, strewn with stray socks and a crumpled Flash T-shirt. My heart races, pulse hammering from the wind-whipped sprint, gray eyes blazing as I lurch toward him, throwing my arms around his neck, kissing him with fierce abandon. Every ounce of love pours out—Palo Alto’s sunlit promises, the void’s hollow ache, his return, this emerald ring glinting on my finger. His hoodie hangs loose, red curls wild under the faint light, and he matches my fire, calloused hands roaming my back, tugging my jacket off, leather crumpling to the floor as his lips trail to my neck, static tingling like a thousand tiny sparks igniting my skin, electric and alive. I laugh, breathy, dizzy, my voice husky, “You’re not wasting time, speedster,” and he grins against my pulse, breath hot, “Been waiting to get that ring on you for forever, Spitfire.” The ring’s emerald flashes, matching his eyes, a vow burning in my chest, the air thick with pine from our Christmas tree in the living room and the musk of our urgency.

His hands slide under my shirt, warm, rough palms grazing my ribs, static dancing like fireflies across my skin, prickling my spine. I yank at his hoodie, fabric catching on his broad shoulders, revealing freckled skin and lean muscle, scars from old battles and the Speed Force etched like maps I know by heart. “Careful, babe,” he teases, voice low, “that’s my best look,” but I’m kissing him again, deep, hungry, my fingers tracing the taut lines of his chest, a faint scar from a Star City fight under my thumb. He stumbles back, laughing, pulling me with him, and we crash onto the bed, springs creaking under our weight, sheets tangling in a mess of cotton and flannel, snow light casting shadows across the chipped headboard. “Smooth, West,” I quip, straddling him, blonde hair spilling over my shoulders, catching the city’s glow, my skin flushed under my tank top. He grins, hands gripping my hips, fingers digging into denim, “Always for you.” His static tingle hums, a gentle vibration pulsing through my thighs, sending shivers that curl my toes, and I lean down, kissing his jaw, his throat, tasting salt and the faint tang of speed coming through his skin, my ring brushing his collarbone, cool metal against warm skin. “This,” I murmur, holding up my hand, emerald glinting like a star, “means everything.” His green eyes soften, fierce with love, “You’re my everything, Artemis,” and he flips us, pinning me gently, his weight a perfect anchor, laughter bubbling in my chest as his curls tickle my cheek, the locket laid delicately on the nightstand gleaming beside a half-empty coffee mug.

Clothes shed in a frenzy—my tank top flung, catching on the bedpost, his jeans kicked off, zipper glinting as they hit the floor, socks lost to the chaos of scattered laundry. Our laughter mixes with gasps, the room alive with us, the air warm, heavy with our breath. “You’re a mess,” I tease, tugging at his boxers, navy fabric taut over his hips, and he smirks, “Says the woman with snow in her hair.” His fingers trace my spine, slow, reverent, pausing at the jagged scar from a Gotham alley fight, his lips following, soft kisses being traced down my body, searing the skin where his lips land, static sparking like embers. I arch into him, breath hitching, my hands twisting in his curls, pulling him up to kiss me, our tongues dancing, a wild, hungry rhythm, static crackling where our lips meet, like lightning in my veins. “God, Wally,” I gasp, my voice raw, and he chuckles, low, “Not God, just your fiancé,” the word igniting a fire in my core, my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, denim and skin sliding. The bed’s a battlefield of love, sheets twisting, pillows tumbling to the floor, the creak of the frame a pulse beneath our laughter, “Faster, speedster,” I challenge, my nails grazing his shoulders, and he grins, “Oh, you’re asking for it,” his hips shifting, a subtle Speed Force hum syncing with my racing heartbeat, the room spinning with our heat. The last vestiges of barriers are removed, and he’s inside me. His eyes are a deep green as he looks at me from above, his face shining with love, and I know the same emotions are reflected on mine. He leans down to capture my lips in a heated kiss, tongues battling for dominance, before he slides inside me. He fills me up, completes me like a missing puzzle piece, a perfect match. I’m held captive by this man, a love I never knew could exist, never want to live without.

Our bodies move like we’ve always known each other—and we have, since Palo Alto’s sunlit days, through missions, loss, his return. His hands cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks, calluses rough against my flushed skin, gray eyes locked on green, sweat beading on his brow, catching the light. I see it all in his eyes—our future, house, kids, that stupid white picket fence, real now, promised by the ring’s emerald glint, sparkling as my hand slides down his back, nails tracing the curve of his spine, nails scratching his skin with encouragement. “I love you,” I whisper, voice cracking, and he kisses me, soft, fierce, lips bruising mine, “Forever, Spitfire.” His static tingle surges, a current rippling through my veins, and I match him, strength for speed, my muscles taut, hips rising to meet his, nails now digging into his shoulders in ecstasy, urging him deeper, faster, our breaths ragged, sweat-slick skin sliding, the air thick with the scent of our love. His lips find my collarbone, and then my breast, teasing the sensitive skin. He’s kissing my body like a man starved. His lips capturing my hard nipple, static sparking like a live wire, and I laugh, gasping, “Cheater,” but I’m lost, sensation pooling low, my body singing under his touch, his vibration a pulse that drives me wild, the bedframe rattling, city light fracturing through the window’s snow. We’re a cacophony of sound, a union of the purest variety, our bodies harmonizing with each other, our moans swallowed into each other’s mouths.

The climax builds, a tidal wave we’re riding together, his rhythm perfect, hips snapping with a speedster’s precision, my thighs tightening, muscles flexing, meeting every thrust, each one a vow—forever, always. Sweat beads on my skin, dripping between us, his curls damp against my forehead, his breath hot and ragged against my neck. “Artemis,” he groans, voice raw, green eyes blazing, and I clutch him, tightening my muscles around him, “Wally, now,” my words a plea, a command, my body arching, trembling, heat coiling tight before the springs unravel. And then, the world explodes—sparks flare in my vision, green, red, and gold erupting in my vision, lightning coursing arcing across my skin and through my veins, a tidal wave of heat crashing through me, my cry tearing free from my throat, wild, ecstatic, a primal sound echoing in the small room. He follows, his groan deep, shuddering, his body tensing, static surging like a supernova bursting, our hearts pounding as one, the wave cresting, carrying us to a place beyond time, beyond pain, just love, pure and infinite, the emerald ring glinting like a beacon on my finger. We collapse, tangled in sheets, limbs heavy, laughter bubbling, breathless, my face buried in his neck, his curls damp against my cheek, the roar of static fading to a soft hum, our skin warm, slick, alive and filled with each other.

We lie there, both of us trying to catch our breath. Our limbs are entwined, the sheets a twisted mess, the city’s neon glow soft through the window, snow piling on the sill, casting lacy shadows across our skin. His fingers trace my ring, emerald glinting in the dim light, and I smile, kissing his jaw, tasting salt, “Nice work, fiancé.” He laughs, low, voice rough, “Gotta keep up with you, babe.” I shift, resting on his chest, his heartbeat steady under my cheek, my gray eyes tracing his face—green eyes, freckles, that future smile promising our wedding, our fence, our kids, the locket on the nightstand gleaming in the soft light, our promises to each other woven into the threads of the here-and-now. “This is forever,” I murmur, my voice soft, and he pulls me close, lips brushing my forehead, static a faint tingle, “Every lifetime, Spitfire.” The room hums with our love, the air warm, the snow outside silent, and I’m satisfied, ecstatic, whole—Wally’s mine, I’m his, and this fire, this promise, is our home, our everything.

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We’re still basking in the glow of our love making, the fireworks outside the window continuing to cascade through the heavens, just holding onto each other, when I break the silence, “When do you want to get married, Wally?” His breathing is calm, and I can hear the wistful smile on his face when he says, “Soon. I’d go to the courthouse and marry you tomorrow if I wasn’t worried that Dinah, Oliver, and my parents would kill me for it.” I laugh softly, my head lying on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat below my ear, my hand stroking his arm. “Yeah, we can’t have that, I’ve grown kind of fond of you.” He gasps in mock-hurt, throwing his hand to his chest, “Only kind of fond? You pierce my heart with your arrows, Archer. I deserve at least a ‘mostly,’ don’t you think?” I snort, lifting my head from his chest to look at him, “Mhmm, sure. Whatever you say.” He grins that impish and mischievous grin that I love so much, “Let’s do it in the spring. You love the spring.” I make a sound of agreement in my throat, content and happy. “Who will we invite?” He thinks for a second, “It’s obvious isn’t it? My parents, the Team, the League, and…your family, except your dad,” he nervously laughs. I think it over, a small wedding, just those who mean the most to us, Lian as a flower girl, with petals in her hair, my mom, maybe even Jade. “Yeah…I’d like that. Where do you want to do it at?” He’s looking into my eyes, “Wherever you want, babe. Outside, inside, it’s your call.” I mull it over, “Let’s do it outside, at sunset.” He gives me a grin, “Yeah, sounds perfect to me.” I nod in agreement, it is perfect, anywhere is perfect as long as it’s him that I’m marrying and spending my life with, “What about the timeline? Kids,” I say, smirking and he gulps but his eyes are steady on mine and his voice carries a softness that belays the love he has in his heart, “Whenever you’re ready, Spitfire.” I give him a small kiss, his lips are soft, the static tingle on them a vow. Suddenly I’m thinking about this apartment, what it meant to me when I started renting it, how it was the place I could go to embrace the shadows that plagued my mind, to rebuild the walls that once upon a time threatened to crumble under the mere mention of his name. I’ve outgrown this apartment now, and the promise of a house with him, another physical manifestation of the promises that Wally West keeps, is at the forefront of my mind. Suddenly, I know the next step, “First, we need that house, I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to,” I say. “I’m ready for forever, Wally, and I’m ready for our dreams to come true.” He gives me a blinding smile, his hand tracing my bare back, “Your wish is my command, fair lady,” I laugh at his demeanor, it’s so Wally that I can feel my heart beat just a bit harder with the love I have for this man. “Let’s start searching in the morning. When do you want to tell everyone?” “How about we stop by my parents’ tomorrow afternoon?” I can only imagine how that will go, but I smile in fondness. Mary will probably burst into tears while Rudy will do his best to hide his own. They’re Wally’s family, and the thought hits me that they’re my family too, now in more ways than just words and sentiment. “Sounds great, Wally.” I smile and give him one more kiss before laying my head back on his chest, his arm wrapped securely around me, holding me close, the vibration of his body a lull that washes drowsiness over my body.

We stay there, curled up, Gotham’s skyline glittering through the window, snow falling soft. Wally’s hand brushes my cheek, his voice soft as he murmurs, “Good year ahead, Spitfire?” he asks, and I smirk against his chest, “Best yet, West.” My heart’s full, elation and joy settling into certainty, our dreams now grounding themselves into a reality that we’re making together. I don’t know what Savage’s planning, what his silence means, but here, now, with Wally, Brucely snoring in the corner, the emerald ring on my finger, I’m ready—ready for our life, our forever, starting right here. The last thoughts that drift through my mind before sleep claims me are a repeated mantra of Artemis West, Artemis Crock-West, and I believe that the joy I feel from it being a reality rather than a dream is enough to light up the darkness of Gotham that surrounds us.

Chapter 32: Engagement Announcement and Warnings

Notes:

Long chapter alert! I wonder what it is that Artemis is piecing together? Guess you'll have to wait and find out in the next chapter haha, sorryyy

Gotham, January 1^st, 2021

The New Year dawns crisp in Central City, the zeta-tube’s hum fading as Wally and I step out of the tube and begin our trek to Rudy and Mary’s. His hand is in mine, the smile since last night never leaving his face. “So, Spitfire, what’re the plans today? We’ll tell Mom and Dad, and then what?” I think it over, looking at the mental calendar in my head, “Well, after this, maybe we can tell Dinah and Oliver? I want to tell Dick and Babs too, and of course there’s Lian. But we’ll see the team tomorrow, you have your training with Bruce and Barry, so why don’t we go to Star City next?” He flashes me a sidelong grin, “Team leader suits you, you know. You’ve always had a knack for thinking things through, and of course you also love to order others around.” I roll my eyes at him good-naturedly, “I love ordering you around, there’s a difference.” He huffs a quick laugh, his breath fogging in the air and shoots me a wink, “Nah, you can lie to everyone else, but there’s no lying to me or to yourself, babe, that’s where I gotta draw the line.” A rueful smile comes to my lips, “Fine, dumbass, yes I admit I enjoy giving the orders.” He pats my shoulder in mock-sympathy, “Admitting it is the hardest part.” I shrug his hand off my shoulder, rolling my eyes, fighting the smile that wants to make its way onto my face.

We arrive at the Wests’ a few minutes later, the front yard dusted in snow, Christmas lights still twinkling on the eaves. My heart’s light, gray eyes bright, the emerald ring on my finger a steady and comfortable weight under my glove. Wally’s red curls wild and peaking out under his beanie. “Ready to make Mom cry?” he teases, static tingling as he squeezes my hand, and I smirk, blonde hair catching the morning sun, “We should’ve brought tissues.” The door swings open before we knock, Mary’s red hair a blur as she pulls us into a hug, her coffee mug nearly spilling. “You’re early! You said you’d be here at 9:30, not 9:00,” she chirps, ushering us into the cozy living room—plaid couch, family photos, a fading Christmas tree. “What can I say, Mary? I guess my promptness is finally rubbing off on Wally. You’d think a speedster could be on time or even early occasionally,” I grin. She gives a laugh at my remark, “You’d think, wouldn’t you?”

Rudy’s in his armchair, newspaper crinkled, Santa sweater swapped for flannel, grinning. “So, what’s got you two so smug?” he asks, “Not that we’re not thrilled to see you whenever we can, but the call was quite sudden this morning,” and Wally laughs, pulling off my glove to show the ring. “We’re engaged!” he announces, voice bursting, and Mary gasps, tears welling immediately, yanking us into another hug. “Oh, Wally, Artemis!” she sobs, and I laugh, my heart swelling, grounded in this family, the ring’s promise—house, kids, fence—sparking joy.

Rudy claps Wally’s shoulder, eyes misty, “Took you long enough, kid.” Mary’s already planning, babbling like a Wally when he’s excited, “Oh how wonderful! What are you thinking? A spring wedding? Summer?” and I grin, “Slow down, Mary, we just started planning it last night. The slow poke only popped the question at midnight, but we’re thinking springtime.” She nods, her smile radiant and blinding, but so filled with adoration that it could melt the snow outside, and we could have the wedding today. We help to set the table for breakfast, plates, pitchers of milk and orange juice, cups of coffee with sugar and cream laid out. Mary speaks up again, right as I’m taking a sip of coffee, “Okay, what else have you talked about? Do I need to be expecting grandbabies anytime soon?” I splutter, my eyes wide and watering, as I choke on the liquid. Wally starts patting my back as he passes me a glass of water, and I wipe the tears away that came from my brief suffocation while taking a sip, “Mom, calm down, she’s not pregnant, and we aren’t planning on kids for a little while at least.” Rudy grins, and Mary is unabashed, “I was just wondering, dear, Dawn and Wallace are great, but I’ve waited a long time to see my own little grandbabies running around this house,” her voice breaks, “and…I just thought that I’d never have that chance for several years.” My eyes turn soft, and I reach across the table to grab Mary’s hands, “Mary, we’ll have kids, I promise. But right now, we just want to enjoy this normalcy that we’ve gotten back before a baby comes and disrupts it.” She nods, her eyes misty, “I know, Artemis, can you forgive an old lady for being excited?” My heart softens under her gaze, “Of course Mary, you have nothing to be sorry for. I know exactly how you feel,” my own voice cracking for a second, “I’ve wanted kids my whole life, and when…everything happened…I saw that dream die too, just like you, because since Wally came into my life, every image of children I bore had his hair or his eyes.” Mary gives me a smile, and squeezes my hand back. Rudy seems a little uncomfortable, and Wally’s face is red, but his gaze soft on me, “Come on,” he says, “I’m starving! Let’s eat.” I roll my eyes, “You’re always starving, I don’t know how we can afford to feed your appetite all the time.” He grins, “We’ll figure it out, together.” My mock-annoyed façade fades at his words, “Yeah, we will. Together.”

Breakfast unfolds, lighter than it began—pancakes soft, basically melting in my mouth, the coffee giving me warmth in my stomach. Mary starts telling stories of Wally’s childhood proposals to cartoon heroines, Rudy’s dropping puns and dad jokes like never before (“What’s a ring without a zing?”). The chatter is light, and it fills me with a contentedness for this family that has adopted me, brought me in with no hesitation and shown me a love equal to that of their own blood. I lean into Wally, his arm around me, static tingling where he traces my shoulder with his fingers, my gray eyes catching his, the future Mary hinted at real in his smile. After breakfast, we help to clean up. Wally’s grabbing the dishes, and I’m with Mary at the sink. She’s washing while I’m laying them out to dry. The talk turns to houses, when Rudy says, “Central City’s got good spots, or Keystone. It’s cheaper, but we don’t want you to feel like we’re pressuring you to be close. We’re just happy.” Mary nods her head, but I go ahead and ask them to pull up some listings. Part of me would like to be in Star City, near Lian, but the other part of me feels like Star City is my past. It’s where I was raised, where I went after Wally’s disappearance, it’s where Jason is. It feels like a city that just reminds me of my betrayal, my refusal to believe Wally was alive, and I just don’t know if I want to go back to that or if I can. Mary pulls out her tablet and begins searching through listings. “Do you two have any idea what you’d like?” I look at Wally, he’s giving me a sly grin, and I feel one gracing my face as well when I answer, “We have a few ideas.”

Mary finds one in no time at all, and Wally and I say our farewells. Mary hugs me extra tight, a near bone crushing hug as Wally hugs his dad, “We’re so proud of you, Artemis, and we’re so happy for you too. You both deserve this.” I’m thrown back to my conversation with Dick, the one in the dark Gotham alley that feels like a lifetime ago, where I screamed in his face, told him the things I felt like I deserved back then, and I swallow a lump rising in my throat. “I don’t, but Wally does, and when does Wally ever not get what he deserves.” Mary pulls back to stare into my eyes, hers are fierce and filled with love, “Artemis Lian Crock. You listen to me, and you listen well.” I nod, slightly more intimidated than I should be. “You deserve to be happy, you deserve to have a future. I don’t care what anyone says, or what anyone has said, including yourself. You’re loved, by more people than Wally, and you deserve this happiness as much as anyone.” I find myself fighting to stay composed, her conviction so passionate and her voice so full of truth, that it’d be impossible to deny her. “Thank you, Mary. For everything. I don’t know how I can ever pay you back for everything you’ve ever done for me,” I murmur. She hugs me again, whispering in my ear, “You’re welcome. You don’t have to do anything, you’re ours, Artemis, but,” and I hear a teasing grin creep into her voice, “If you feel so inclined to pay us back, I know we wouldn’t mind a couple of grandbabies in this world before we’re too old to enjoy them.” A laugh bubbles from my chest, authentic and genuine, “I’ll keep that in mind.” She releases me, giving me a small pat on my cheek, and I turn to Rudy. He’s much larger than me, his embrace is warm and comforting, something that I never got from my own father. “Be good, Artemis. Stay safe. He needs you as much as you need him.” I nod against Rudy’s strong shoulder, “I’m never letting go of him again.” He pats my head with his hand, “Atta girl.” He releases me, and I step back. Wally’s hand finds mine, the ring a steady weight against his hand and on mine. We call our goodbyes and step out of the door to begin walking down the road.

Mary had found a house about about 20 minutes away, a bit further in the direction away from the city. It’s a small place, that has some land in the back, a large yard and a porch. We approach the building, the “For Sale” sign sticking in the front yard, the bright red of it a stark contrast in the snow. The home is a two-story with peeling paint but it has potential. Wally and I step onto its porch, wooden and painted white. It creaks as we walk around on it, jumping off, back to the ground to look around the back. The house is affordable, something that we could probably pay the deposit on as soon as the realtor’s office opens up from the holidays. I imagine a life there, Wally chasing kids, Brucely barking at squirrels. There’s no fence, and there’s no porch swi ng, but those can be added. The house will have to be renovated anyways, but it can be a project, our project. Wally looks over at me as we walk back to the front lawn, “Well, what do you think, babe?” I look up at the house, it's move in ready, and I start thinking of all the work that will need to go into it to turn it into our dream home, and it reminds me of all the work that has had to go into mine and Wally’s relationship to get it to where we are now. I look back at him, a grin starting to form on my face, “It’s a start,” I murmur, and Wally kisses my temple, his arm reaching up to wrap around my shoulders, “Our start, Spitfire.” I’m content and satisfied, the ring’s emerald glinting in the sunlight, our forever and our future beginning to take shape, one day at a time.

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We walk back to the Central City zeta-tube and take ourselves to Star City. We’re walking through a small flurry of snowflakes towards Oliver and Dinah’s, when Wally speaks up, “Sorry about my mom, babe. She’s been talking to me about grandkids since you and I started dating.” I give him a light smile, “It’s okay Wally, I understand her perfectly.” He rubs the back of his neck, a sure sign he’s nervous, “You sure?” I grip his hand tighter, smiling at him, “Yes, silly. Your mom loves you more than anything. Your disappearance…it hit us all hard, I’d say me worst of all, but your mom and dad too. I’m the one that broke the news to them when it happened, we were all a wreck. She’s just thrilled to have you back, and the dreams that she felt died along with you.” He smiles at me, “You’re kind of wise, you know?” I grin teasingly, “Are you just now figuring that out?” He snorts out his nose, “As if. I’ve known it for forever. Just can’t tell you all the time for fear of it making your head bigger than it already is.” I laugh in the cold air, “Big head? Me? I think your brain is scrambled, speedster. If either of us has a big head, it’s you.” He’s grinning ear to ear now, “Well, duh, but you’ve got one too. And it’s my responsibility as your fiancé to keep you grounded here on earth rather than float away with all that hot air up there,” he finishes, tapping me in the forehead. The word “fiancé” still makes my heart beat in my chest just a little harder, and the smile I give him in response one that has his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Hell, Artemis, I don’t know how you do it, but your face can tell a whole story without saying a word.” I slink up next to his ear, biting gently on his exposed earlobe, “Yeah?” I whisper huskily, “What’s my face saying right now?” I ask as my lips move from his ear to press my mouth to his cheek. He lets out a shuddering breath, “That we need to get these announcements over, so I can get you back home.” I grin against his cheek, he’s reading me like a book. I pull away, taking his hand in mine again, “Let’s go, we’ve got places to be, and you’re beginning to think with the wrong head,” I tease him. He grumbles under his breath, but it’s good natured and he follows me.

We arrive in front of Oliver and Dinah’s home, its rooftop garden dusted with snow, training gear tucked in corners of the balcony above. Wally knocks, his knuckles strong against the door. I use this opportunity to torture him just a little more, reaching up to whisper in his ear before the door opens, “I forgot to tell you, I’m not wearing any underwear right now.” He takes a sharp breath right as Oliver opens the door, blonde mustache twitching, green eyes sharp, “You’re late. The New Year’s party was last night.” Wally’s face is pained as I walk in front him, swaying my hips with deliberateness and greeting Ollie with a hug. Dinah’s behind him, golden hair loose, her smile warm, “Ignore him, come in.” Wally gives a jerky nod behind me, muttering “Minx,” under his breath, and we enter the foyer.

“So,” Oliver starts, “To what do we owe the pleasure of this surprise visit?” The living room’s modern—leather couches, Team and League photos on the mantle. Oliver sits down on the couch, gesturing for us to follow across from him. Dinah perches herself on the arm of the couch by Ollie, her eyes sharp as she looks between Wally and me. I can tell that she sees more than she’s letting on, piecing the puzzle together with a dizzying quickness and the smallest of hints. “Oh you know,” I start, “Just wanted to see the two of you.” Oliver smiles, a bright one as he reaches around to pull Dinah onto his lap. I decide to have a bit more fun and follow Oliver’s lead, repositioning myself so that I’m sitting on Wally’s lap. He gulps strongly, the knowledge of what I told him by the door having an obvious physical effect on him from what I can feel under my ass. It’s Dinah that speaks next, her tone full of amusement and her eyes holding a teasing tint, “Wally, you look all flushed, is it too hot in here? Would you like a glass of water?” He squeaks, “No,” before coughing to clear his throat, “No, thank you. I’m fine,” his voice only slightly wavering. Oliver’s picked up on Wally’s flush, though I’m positive he has no idea why, his voice much more serious and fuller of concern when he asks, “Are you sure, Wally? You look like you’ve got a fever, your face is so red!” Wally shakes his head, the movement jerky, as I bury my face into his neck to hide my laughter, my shoulders shaking slightly. “Honestly, I’m fine Oliver, thank you.” Oliver nods his head like he’s accepting Wally’s statement. “Okay, so what can we do for you two?” I decide to give Wally a bit of a reprieve from my torture, repositioning myself so that he can adjust himself as discreetly as possible, though I notice the flash of amusement crossing Dinah’s face as she manages to see what he’s doing. Deciding that Wally’s had enough attention on himself for the time being, I pull the glove off my hand, and I flash the ring, “We’re engaged!” Dinah practically leaps off of Oliver’s lap to rush towards me, giving me a tight hug, her grip strong, “Artemis, that’s beautiful, congratulations, I’m so happy for you two!” She exclaims, pulling away to look at the ring on my hand. I turn back to face Wally, seeing his grin, and noticing that he’s successfully hidden any evidence that my actions had on his body. Oliver is standing and smiling, walking over to me to embrace me. “That’s wonderful news, Artemis, congratulations!” I give him a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you, Ollie.” He rubs the back of his neck, “Don’t mention it, Kid.” His eyes are on Wally now, “Well are you gonna sit there all day, come up here and give us a hug!” Wally looks panicked, but seeing no way out of the request, awkwardly stands up and Oliver steps to embrace him. I can see the grimace on Wally’s face the moment it happens, Oliver’s pulled Wally tight against his body, before jumping back like he's been burned. “God, Wally. I didn’t know you’d be so happy to see me.” His grin is teasing, only slightly uncomfortable, and Dinah and I break into hysterical laughter, tears falling from our eyes in mirth. Wally’s face is as red as his hair, as he mumbles a quiet, “Sorry.” Oliver shakes his head chuckling, looking back over to Dinah and myself, who are almost having to hold each other up off the floor from laughing so hard, “West, you sure you’re ready for her?” but his grin betrays pride, clapping Wally’s back. Wally looks at me fondly, his head shaking slightly, “I don’t know if anyone can be ready for her, but I’m diving in the deep end, either way.” Dinah recovers first, while giggles are still escaping my mouth. She walks over to Wally, slyly, and gives him a hug, ensuring to not press too close to his body and feeling what Ollie felt. “Congratulations, Wally, we’re so happy for you two.” Wally seems to have recovered from his embarrassment and gives Dinah a wide grin, “Thank you, Dinah.” He walks over to me, helping me stand up straight, my hands leaving my knees as I was still hunched over trying to get myself under control. “You’re the worst, Artemis Crock,” he says in mock-anger. I stand up, throwing my arms around his neck, my smile bright, my eyes still shining with tears of mirth, “That’s soon-to-be Artemis West, to you, Mister. And you love me.” His smile is genuine at my words, excitement buzzing through his body and within his green eyes, “Yeah,” his sigh is content, “I really do.” He gives me a chaste kiss, pulling away before I can deepen it and further make him and Ollie uncomfortable. “Come on,” Dinah says, “Tea or coffee? We have leftovers from last night.” Wally is the one to respond, an airiness and teasing tone to his voice when he says, “Got anything stronger? I might need it dealing with this one.” Oliver barks out a laugh, “Truer words have never been spoken.” Dinah slaps him lightly over the head, “You’re a jerk Oliver Queen.” He turns around, catching her around the waist as fast as if he were a speedster himself, “You love me.” Dinah sighs, a small smile gracing her lips, “Unfortunately.” This little moment, mixed with Wally’s arm around my waist as he stands by me, brings a warmth to my heart. “Come on,” Dinah says, “Tea for Artemis and myself, coffee and whiskey for Wally, and,” she looks to Oliver, her face split into a teasing smile, “Abstinence for Ollie.” Wally and I burst into laughter as Oliver’s grin falls from his face, replaced with a look of horror.

We move to the dining room, eating leftovers and sipping our drinks. Wally doesn’t actually take his coffee with a shot, much to the amusement of Dinah. Oliver is still trying to figure out if Dinah was serious earlier, earning a snicker from me as she sips her tea and winks at me. “So,” Dinah says, cutting off Ollie’s rant about how sex is very important for a superhero Archer’s endurance. “When’re you thinking you’ll have the wedding?” I smile broadly at Oliver’s theatrical show of throwing his hands in the air while he stalks off to grab the bottle of whiskey sitting out on the countertop. “We want to do the spring, sometime soon.” Dinah nods her head like that makes sense. “Any other plans made?” It’s moments like this where I think too many people tend to underestimate Dinah’s wit. She’s looking at me in a way that leaves all my secrets exposed. I know she shouldn’t be able to, but it’s like she can read minds, knowing exactly what someone isn’t telling her. “We’ve found a house.” Oliver’s back by now, the whiskey bottle in his hand as he pours a generous shot into his coffee, “Really? That’s great! Are you two coming here to Star City?” Dinah’s face is unreadable a clear indication that she already knows the answer, Wally’s fidgeting beside me, “Actually, Ollie, we’re going to move to Central City.” Dinah nods like she expected that answer, but Oliver looks like he’s just been sucker punched. “Wow. That’s great! I mean. I’m happy for you two. I just thought you might be a bit closer with Lian here and this being where you’re from.” I shake my head, I can easily see how he’d expect that, but I answer, my voice soft, trying to explain in a way that he’ll understand, “Yeah, a part of me would like to be. I just don’t think I can. This place, it holds so much pain for me. You two and Lian are my only light in this city. It’s where I dealt with Dad, the issues I had growing up, it’s where I ran to after Wally. It just feels like this city is my past, a place filled with too many bad memories and mistakes.” Oliver seems to accept that answer, his face softening, “Hey, I get it, Kid. We’re just happy that you’re happy.” Dinah nods in agreement, and I grab Wally’s hand under the table, the electric tingle giving me the courage to say what I want to say next. “Actually, there’s one more thing.” Oliver and Dinah nod for me to continue, Wally squeezing my hand as a show of support. “I was kind of hoping that you’d walk me down the aisle, Ollie.” My voice is soft, only slightly vulnerable, trying to belay all the feelings I have for this man in front of me. The one who saved me, shaped me into the warrior I am today. Oliver seems stunned into silence, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. I’m holding my breath, so much vulnerability laced into that request. Dinah nudges him gently with her elbow and he seems to snap to, moving his chair from the table with a strong force as he stands up. His face is soft, his eyes shining, and I swear I can the tears he's fighting to hold back in them. “Artemis, I’d be honored to walk you down the aisle. Thank you.” He steps over to me and embraces me in a strong hug, the action saying so many things that words can’t, our history, our fights, his support and encouragement, his fatherly love that I never got from my own dad. I hug him back fiercely, pulling away after a moment and looking him in his eyes, “Thank you, Ollie.” He nods his head, his smile joyous and soft. “Okay,” he says loudly, this definitely calls for a toast. I laugh as he steps away and goes to get shot glasses from the kitchen. Dinah is smiling at me as he returns, Wally’s stood to put his arm around my waist. Oliver pours four shots, passing them to each of us before raising his in the air. We all follow suit, and Oliver speaks up, “To Artemis and Wally!” Dinah repeats the statement, but it’s Wally that speaks up before anyone can drink, “To family.” I look to Wally, his eyes glinting in love as he stares back into mine. Ollie and Dinah are smiling back at us as they repeat, “To family.” And then it’s me, my shot glass raised high, staring into Wally’s green eyes, the gold flecks long gone, his control over the Speed Force in his veins fully his. The freckles on his face are so beautiful like an outline of the stars in the night sky, the red curls on his head glowing in the room’s light like flaming embers, and I see it. The life we’re building, even in the midst of danger. I see the house we’re going to buy, I see the fence we’re going to build, I see the garden in the backyard, I see children with his face and my eyes zooming around, playing with plastic toy bows, and I repeat, “To family.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Evening has us leaving Ollie and Dinah’s house, walking out into the snow as they wave goodbye to us on the porch. It’s time for the last visit of the day, and the one that will undoubtably be the hardest. We’re going to Will’s home, to see Lian and Will who will be so thrilled to hear about the wedding. It’s Jade’s reaction that has my nerves on edge. We’re walking in the snow, and Wally can tell something’s up with me, my chatty, playful, and lighthearted demeanor from earlier making way to a quietness as we walk. “You’re evil, you know that, Spitfire?” His voice cuts through my thoughts, and I turn my neck to look at him. He’s staring straight ahead but he has this mock-anger on his face, that is completely obsolete by the way he’s fighting to keep the corners of his lips from smiling. “Oh yeah,” I ask, “How’s that?” He glances over at me, his eyes darting briefly to my breasts and then back up to my face, I smirk, suddenly catching on. “You were torturing me in there, babe. I thought I’d die of embarrassment when Oliver hugged me.” I snort softly, the memory bringing a chuckle to my throat, “You can say whatever you want, but that was hilarious.” He throws his arm around my shoulder, pulling me flush against his side, a grin wide on his face, “Yeah, it was kinda hilarious wasn’t it?”  I shake my head fondly, “You took it like a champ though, I’m proud of you.” He laughs into the night, the stillness shaken by its sound, “Well I couldn’t very well run out of there and leave you again, could I?” I’m silent for a beat too long, and he realizes what he’s said, stopping in his tracks and turning to face me, his face a mask of horror, “Artemis, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…” “No,” I cut him off. “I know you didn’t, and it’s fine. Honestly, it’s not even what you said, it’s just nerves getting to me about going to Will’s.” He puts his hands on my shoulders, steadying me, “Look at me Artemis.” I look up from the ground, to stare into his eyes, snowflakes landing on his eyelashes, “Focus on Lian. You’re going there for her, you can handle anything Jade throws at you.” I nod my head, and he pulls me into a tight hug, my arms wrapping under and up his back. “Thank you, Wally.” He pulls away, a look of confusion crossing his face, “For what?” I shrug my shoulders, “Everything. Being here, loving me. Supporting me.” A loving smile graces his lips as he leans in a gives me a kiss. He pulls away and says, “Babe, I’m never leaving again. And if Oliver’s and Dinah’s wasn’t proof of that, I don’t know what is.” I laugh, huff of air that is visible in the crisp night. “Good thing too, because I’ve grown ‘mostly’ fond of you,” I repeat, alluding to the joke we made last night in bed. He gives me a patented Wally West wink, a grin still on his face, “Come on, Spitfire, let’s go see our niece.”

We arrive at Will’s house; the streets are quiet and bathed in soft snow that crunches under our boots. There are still a few Christmas lights up on the inside of the house that I can see through the window, Lian’s crayon drawings taped to the windows. We walk up the steps and ring the doorbell. In only a few seconds, we’re greeted by the squeal of a little girl who’s thrown herself at us. “Uncle Wally! Aunt Arty!” Will’s behind her, his red hair mussed and smiling at us. “Well, hey, you two! This is a nice surprise.” I can see Jade further back, behind Will, hovering near the shadows, her dark eyes wary but softer than I’m used to.

Will ushers us into the house, we stamp the snow off of our boots at the door and enter. Lian is begging to be picked up, and I’m happy to oblige. “Aunt Arty, can you braid my hair?” I give her a kiss on her cheek as I hold her against my breast, “Absolutely, but I have some news to tell you first.” She looks at me with wide eyes, then looks to my stomach before saying, “Am I getting a cousin?!” I nearly choke on my spit, Wally hunched over laughing silently beside me. “Why is it that everyone keeps asking me that” I ask, with slight exasperation to no one in particular. “No, Lian, but,” and I cradle her close, my elbow holding her up while I use my hand to remove my glove, “I am getting married!” Lian squeals, “Married!” I laugh, “Yes, Li-Li, and I want you to be my flower girl.” Lian’s eyes are as big as saucers, and she throws her arms around my neck, her tiny arms warm and so comforting against the stare I feel Jade giving me from behind Will. Will is equally as happy, “Congratulations, you two!” He slaps Wally on the back and gives me a small kiss on the top of my head. Lian is squirming to get down, so I place her back on the ground when she runs and almost tackles Wally with her momentum, hugging his legs. He laughs and picks her up, letting her hug his neck just as fiercely as she hugged mine. Will speaks up, “So, let’s see the rock!” I grin at his enthusiasm, and hold my hand up, the emerald glinting in the light. Will whistles low while Lian puts her face so close to it that her breath fogs up the surface. Jade nods, voice low, “Nice ring,” and I tense on instinct. It’s the first thing she’s said she we got in the house, and her tone is neither friendly nor sisterly. Just a cold and detached, like she’s stating an objective, scientific fact, that the ring is nice. I give her a tight smile, “Thanks.” She nods and slinks back into the kitchen, while Will looks between us, a nervous smile on his lips, “I’ll prepare something to drink, maybe tea?” I give him a kind smile, “That’d be nice, thank you, but we shouldn’t stay.” Lian looks up at me, her face full of hurt and my heart nearly breaks, “You’re not leaving already are you? You said you’d braid my hair.” Wally’s at my side, giving my hand a tight squeeze, and a small nod of his head. I take a deep breath, looking back into the kitchen, where Jade’s eyes glow from the darkness, observing us, Will’s by the doorframe, a strained smile on his lips. I release the breath and look down at Lian, “Of course I’m not leaving yet. We can stay for a bit longer.” Lian’s face lightens up like a miniature sun, and between that reaction, and Wally’s hand in mine, I know that I can get through this evening.

We settle in the living room—Lian’s toys scattered, crayon art taped up, a fire crackling while Will brings us our tea that he made. I thank him, while Wally plays with Lian, building a block tower, his laughter bright. “So,” Will’s voice is tight, like he’s trying to hold on to the fragile moment, “Got any idea when the wedding will be?” I nod, taking a sip of the scalding drink, the burn in my throat centering me from Jade’s continued stare and silence. “We’re going to aim for a spring wedding, so it won’t be much longer. I’ll let you know when and where once we finalize the details.” Will nods, “That sounds great.” He licks his lips, like he’s afraid to say the next part, but he pushes through anyways, “And…have you told Paula yet?” The tea cup halts on my lips, the drink burning my lips as I can’t yet open them to take a sip. Finally, when the pain becomes almost blistering, I remove the cup and set it back down on its saucer in my other hand. “Not yet. But I will.” Will gives me another nod, and I look at Wally, still on the floor, unabashedly rolling around and eliciting laughs and giggles from Lian. I know he looks to be unaware of what’s happening, but I can tell that he’s hearing it all. Simply giving me the space that I need to address it in my own way, and it makes me love him a little bit more, something I didn’t think was even possible. “Lian,” I call, she looks up at me, “Let me go ahead and braid your hair, we can’t stay much longer.” She nods and streaks over to me, plopping down in front of the couch I’m on. My fingers graze her auburn hair, the familiar activity helping me to relieve some of the stress that being here is causing me. Wally gets up and begins talking to Will, asking him how work is going and other nonchalant things of the sort, just to pass the time. When I finish braiding Lian’s hair, I kneel down on the floor to get eye level with her. “How do I look, Aunt Arty?” She asks in such an innocent way. I smile softly at her, my eyes never leaving hers, needing her to understand the truth of my words, even if her young age prevents from understanding their weight, “You’re beautiful Lian.” She gives me a dazzling smile, throwing her arms around my neck before giving me a sloppy kiss to the cheek and running off to tug on Wally’s shirt and demand he play with her a bit more before we leave. I stand up, needing a bit of air and some water. The weight of Jade’s stare is grating on my nerves. She’s not said a single thing tonight except for her earlier comment about my ring, and I’m about ready to snap. Honestly, I just want to get whatever is about to happen over. Will watches me stand with slight trepidation but commits to staying in the living room with Wally and Lian, his feet firmly planted and his posture rigid. Wally catches my eye as I rise, and he gives me a wink, mouthing to me, You got this, babe. I give him a smile that belays my appreciation, and I slip to the kitchen, or maybe it’s a sparring arena, I don’t know but I’m sure I’ll find out.

Jade’s there, as she has been all night, just watching. I grab a cup from the cabinet and turn on the tap to get some water from the sink, the glass of water is cool against the flush of anger I feel rising to my skin, the locket against my breast thumping furiously against my skin in tune with my rising heartbeat. I take a slow drink of the water, and I turn away from the sink to face Jade. My back is leaning against the counter, her back against the opposite wall. It’s a battle of wills, something I’m familiar with when it comes to her, and I snap first, needing to get this over with. “Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to say something besides ‘Nice Ring’?” Her voice is measured, “What else am I supposed to say?” My anger flashes, but I keep my voice down, knowing Lian is in the next room and not wanting to upset her. “I don’t know, Jade, why don’t you figure it out. I’m tired of trying to make decisions for you.” I know I’ve hit a nerve when I see her jaw clench, “I never asked you to. I don’t need you to.” Her words slice me open, a cold indifference that hurts, because even after all we’ve been through, this is my sister. “Why can’t you just say, ‘Congratulations, Artemis. I’m so happy for you.’ Would that be so hard?” A flicker of guilt crosses Jade’s face before it’s gone again, her voice still measured when speaks again, “It just seems a bit fast to me.” I bristle, gray eyes narrowing, “What’s that mean, Jade?” She sighs, arms crossed, posture losing its defensiveness slightly, “I mean you just got him back. You won’t tell anyone anything about where he was, or why everyone thought he was dead. And you did think he was dead. I find it hard to believe that you buried an empty casket, and acted the way you acted, knowing he was alive.” Her words feel like a slap in my face, and I’m reeling from it. My voice shaking slightly with suppressed rage, doing my best to control it for Lian. “None of that concerns you. It’s my life, and I get to choose what I do.” She laughs, it’s a harsh, quick laugh that she tampers down because we can both see Will’s hands flexing on the chair, but Lian is still thankfully being distracted by Wally, unaware of what’s happening in the kitchen. “Where was that attitude all last year, or the year before? Or does that freedom of autonomy only apply to baby sister, Artemis?” I’m shaking with fury by now, but Jade’s not backing down, “Why should I honor your request to be supportive of your decisions when you didn’t do it for me in September?” “That was different, Jade. You were better,” I bite out. “I was completely supportive when you went in April. But by September, you were running away from your life and what you had, I’m trying to build one for myself, and I’m finally happy. After four and a half fucking years, I’m happy. Would it kill you to be happy for me?” I have angry tears streaming down my cheeks, my inability to yell in the confined space or to fight creating a need to release my anger another way. I can see I’ve caught Jade off guard, not really knowing how she should respond. She steps away from the wall, her arms now hugging her body more in a protective stance rather than a defensive one, her eyes on the floor in the dim kitchen. She takes a deep breath and exhales, I see Will’s hands flex, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair in the living room so tight I’m afraid he’ll crush them. Jade steps up to me, her eyes still downcast, and it takes everything in me not to swing at her, and then she disarms me completely, in a way only she can, the words giving me emotional whiplash to how I was feeling only a moment ago, “I’m sorry, Artemis. It’s just…hard. You may have had everyone else around you fooled, but I saw the hurt for what it was. And I hated Wally for putting you through that, even if I never told you. It’s easy for me to see that you were right in September, even if it’s hard to admit it. I never forgot your words, and I did come back, for Will and Lian, knowing that I had the one thing you would never be able to. I could see then that you’d go insane before you truly moved on. And even that hurt for me to admit that…that little girl I used to look out for was broken beyond repair. I am happy for you, that you’re not the shell that you were anymore, but I’m also allowed to have my own reservations. I trust you, I don’t say it enough, but I do. Just… don’t expect me to cheerlead, I’m not there yet. I want to see him stick around for a while first, he’s got a lot to make up for.” My resentment flares briefly at that last statement, because how dare she. How dare she think she gets to decide who she’s angry with on my behalf, but then I see her for what she really is. A woman as broken as I was before Wally came into my life, in different ways than I’ve ever been. And maybe, in some fucked up way, this protectiveness she’s trying to have for me is her way of showing she cares, even if I could punch her for doubting Wally. But then again, it’s not like I’ve told her what happened, with the speed force, us really thinking he was gone, and then his sudden resurgence driven solely by his love for me. I cast my eyes to the living room, and Wally’s still occupied with Lian, she’s still completely unaware of what’s happening, but Wally is staring at me. A sad smile gracing his lips, and I see him nod his head. Giving me permission to tell his secret, if I choose to. And part of me wants to, part of me wants to give Jade some kind of insight into why her mistrust is misplaced, but I also don’t think I’m ready for that. She and I have too much history, and this information is too secret to just let anyone know, even my own sister, at least right now. “I’ll tell you, Jade…I promise. One day, I’ll tell you everything, where he was, what happened, but I can’t right now…there’s too much happening, and the knowledge is too dangerous. But I also promise that if Wally could have been here then he would have been. I’m not asking you to trust him, I know you won’t until you hear everything. But I am asking you to trust me and my judgement, as my sister.” Jade looks up from the ground, her dark eyes staring into my without blinking. We stand there, locked in a staring contest for several minutes, another battle of wills, but this time, it’s Jade who breaks first. Slowly, she nods her head, “Okay, Artemis. I trust you.” I breath a sigh of relief, the tension ebbing away from my shoulders as I give her a nod of acknowledgement and head back to the living room. Will looks like he’s just carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and has finally been able to let go of it, Lian is still all smiles and giggles, completely oblivious to all that just happened, and Wally is…well, Wally is still Wally. He’s all grins, still on the floor with Lian, cracking jokes that make her laugh, and catching my eyes, his own green ones filled with love for me and tenderness beneath the mischievous grins and winks he directs to Lian. “Okay, Li-Li, Uncle Wally and I have to go,” I say, pulling Lian up for a hug. She turns into my chest, throwing her arms around me, her affection a balm on my soul over the battle that was just waged feet away from her. “I love you, Aunt Arty,” she says, and I hug her a bit tighter, “I love you too, Lian.” I give her a kiss on the cheek and set her down so she can go to Wally, and I turn to Will. He gives me a strong embrace, patting my back and whispering in my ear, “Good job, in there. We’ll see you soon?” I pull away nodding, “Yeah,” I glance to Jade still standing by the doorframe of the kitchen, “I’ll be back soon.” Will accepts that answer and Jade’s chin slightly dips and rises, the smallest of acknowledgements at my words. Will says goodbye to Wally, and Jade raises her hand in a wave, still not speaking, but the action symbolic of her decision to trust me and my judgement on Wally. Wally gives her a wave back, and we’re out the door. It locking with a click behind us. I take a deep breath, enjoying the freezing air that rushes into my lungs, before exhaling and walking down the steps. We’re a bit aways from the house, Wally’s hand is in mine, his fingers brushing against my thumb, when he says, “You could’ve told her.” I nod in agreement, “I could’ve, but it’s not the time. There’s still a lot of people out there who don’t need to know about where you went, and I’m not ready for that information to get out. The less that know, the easier it is to keep it secret. And she’ll never trust you until she knows the full story. The best I could hope for was her trusting my judgement.” He smiles at me and leans over to kiss my temple. “I love you, Artemis.” I feel the locket beating against my breast, the picture inside and all the memories it entails of our past, the ring on my finger under my gloves, and every dream and promise it means for our future, the gentle vibration of his body against mine, a grounding anchor of his presence beside me right now in the present, and it’s the most honest thing I could ever possibly say when I repeat, “I love you too, Wally.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Back in Gotham that night, I lie beside Wally, his curls damp from a shower, static tingling as he traces the ring and my naked curves under the blankets. “Are you happy, Spitfire,” he murmurs, and I nod, but Paula’s absence tugs, my guilt from Christmas resurfacing. “I need to tell Mom,” I say, voice soft, “but alone. I’ll go tomorrow, meet you at the Watchtower afterwards—you’ve got training, right?” He kisses my forehead, “Yeah, I’ll see you there. Do whatever you need, Spitfire.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Star City, January 2^nd, 2021

I wake up early. Wally is still fast asleep, but my mind is a whir and a buzz with what I’m going to do today. I’ll go see my mom, tell her about our engagement, and get back to the Watchtower to be there for Wally while he trains with Bruce and Barry. I slide out of bed, giving Wally a quick kiss as I head towards the bathroom to brush my teeth. Wally is still snoring softly, so I’m careful not to disturb him as I get dressed and exit into the cold Gotham air. The city is barely awake, but there’s a few café’s open near main street. I walk in that direction, my hands stuffed in my pockets, determined to not let my nerves get the best of me. I know I shouldn’t care, but Mom’s opinion does mean a lot to me. I try to cast it all from my mind and focus on my mission at hand. With me going straight to Star City this morning, I know Wally will sleep in. I could wake him at any time, but if it’s not 10:00 in the morning, he’ll just fall back asleep. I shake my head fondly, thinking about him snoozing the alarm until the very last second, speeding off to the zeta-tube and arriving at the Watchtower to be on time, but having forgotten to eat. Hence my early morning stride into the freezing morning.

I arrive at a small café, laying some bills down as I buy a bag of bagels and turn back to the direction of the apartment. The bagels are fresh out of the oven, warm in my hand. I manage to get back to the apartment without being approached by any creepy guys looking to cop a feel or have a little ‘fun’, not that those people worry me. I can handle myself against just about anyone, but I’d rather not have to bruise my knuckles before seeing Mom. She’s already too observant and too critical of my choices to return to the hero life. I open the door, the smell of bagels wafting through the apartment, and I hear a groan come from the bedroom. I smile wryly at the reaction. If anything can rouse Wally West from his slumber, it’s the promise of food or sex. He comes padding out of the room, a blanket clung around his shoulders, his eyes full of sleep but his face breaks into a grin when he sees me and the bag of bagels with cream cheese. “Babe,” he starts but is interrupted by a yawn, “Have I told you how much I love you?” I roll my eyes at his antics, “You could stand to say it again.” He’s in front of me before I can blink, cupping my cheeks with his hands, peppering my face with kisses that are wet and sloppy. “Wally,” I laugh, trying to push him off of me, “That’s disgusting, stop it.” He just hums in disagreement, “If I remember correctly, last night you had quite the opposite opinion on my sloppy, wet kisses.” A fire starts to pool in my belly at the reminder of last night, us getting home and him wasting no time in getting my clothes off me, he had obviously remembered what I told him at Ollie’s about not wearing any underwear. I was actually impressed that he’d remembered and held up as well as he had all day. “Yes, well, that was last night,” I say, finally managing to get his lips away from my face, before I raise my eyebrow at him and say, “And, those sloppy, wet kisses weren’t being placed on my face.” He wiggles his eyebrows back at me, making me snort when he says, “Want me to put some sloppy, wet ones where I did last night then?” He leans back in towards me, but I put my hand on his forehead, keeping him back, “No sir, we both have full days, and you slept too late. If you wanted to have done that, you should’ve woken up earlier.” He gives me the most pitiful pout, like a beat dog, and I just roll my eyes, passing him the bag of bagels and taking one out for myself. “Eat,” I command. My voice leaving no room for argument. “And if you’re a good boy, and do what I say, maybe I’ll give you a reward later after your training is over.” He does his best seductive smile, before gobbling down almost every bagel in the bag within seconds. I huff out a breath of air in laughter through my nose, his eyes expectant, but just reach up to scratch him behind his ear, “Good boy, doing as you’re told.” He rolls his eyes and gives me a quick peck on the lips before I can stop him, saying, “I’m not a dog, Artemis.” My eyes twinkle as I retort, “I disagree. Those sloppy kisses feel an awful lot like Brucely when he’s licking my face, and you were definitely a dog last night, Wall-man.” He barks a laugh at that while I eat my own bagel. “So,” he starts, “Headed to Paula’s soon?” I nod my head, “Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as you head out for training. Which should’ve been 3 minutes ago.” He grins and leans in for another kiss, but I turn my head and he catches my cheek, “Awh c’mon, babe. I’m fast, I’ll get there in time.” I turn my head back to him, a challenging glint in my eyes, “I know you will, because if you’re not, you’ll have Bruce to answer to.” He gulps hard, staring in my face for one second before he’s disappeared back into the room and emerging again, fully dressed in his Kid Flash suit. I pat his head again, “Good boy,” I smirk. He grins and says, “One for the road?” I smile back, throwing my arms around his neck before pulling him in for a searing kiss. I shove him away, right before it deepens and makes us both late for what we’re supposed to be doing, and we’re both breathing slightly heavy, when I quip, “The faster you get there, the sooner you’ll get done, and the quicker we can continue that kiss.” He stands up tall, saluting me, and I laugh, “Say no more, I’ll see you at the Watchtower.” I give him a chaste kiss, a hum of agreement in my throat. Before he leaves, he looks at me again and says, “You want a lift to the zeta-tube?” I look down at my half eaten bagel, my stomach a jumble of nerves, and I really don’t think I have the appetite to finish it. “Sure,” I tell him, let me just grab everything I need for the day. I jump up, making my way to the closet to grab my training bag, my Tigris suit in it as well as a few other essentials. I make my way to the living room, and his mouth is stuffed with my half eaten bagel, but I don’t mind, he needs it more than I do. I roll my eyes good-naturedly and say, “Let’s go, speedster.” He gives me a smile, and then I’m in his arms, and speeding in the direction of the zeta-tube, my hair blowing in the wind. 

We arrive at the zeta-tube, and Wally puts me down. “Try not to be nervous, babe. Your mom loves you, and she’ll be happy for us.” I nod, though it’s a little shaky. He pulls me into a quick kiss, pulling away with a “Good luck, I’ll see you soon. I love you.” And I repeat the sentiment to him. In a flash, the zeta-tube has swallowed him up, taking him to the Watchtower and then it’s my turn. I type in the coordinates to Star City, and I’m off in a whirl.

I exit the tube, arriving in a serene landscape. The snow is still shining on the ground and buildings, though it’s not falling at the moment. I make the walk to Mom’s apartment, keeping my thoughts simple, doing my best to not overthink what I’m about to do. Wally’s right, she’ll be happy for me. I believe that, I hold onto it. As I reach her apartment door, I take a deep breath, exhaling through my nose and then knock. The door opens, revealing my mother in her wheelchair, her eyes slightly surprised by my presence. “Artemis,” she greets. She looks behind me, and I say, “He’s not here, he’s doing something at the Watchtower, it’s just me. Can I come in, Mom?” She agrees quickly, backing up as I push the door open and close it behind me. I enter the apartment and I can see that her small tree is still up in the corner, Lian’s crayon photos on the fridge. I’m walking to the kitchen to prepare tea, and she silently regards me. Unlike Jade’s silence though, this one doesn’t grate on me, rather it’s welcome as it gives me time to think about what I want to say. I suppose I could just pull my gloves off and let her see the ring and form her own conclusion, but I also realize that this is the only time I’ll ever get to make this announcement to her, and she is my mom. Despite everything, I still want this to be special and to not have her simply find out without it being from my mouth. I pour the tea, my hands steady and walk the tea cups to the table. I’m about to sit when the glint of glass on the countertop catches my eye. It’s odd because I know this apartment, I know where everything is, and nothing about it has changed except for season decorations in years. So I’m a little thrown. I glance at it, narrowing my eyes to see what it is and am shocked when Wally’s bright red hair comes into focus when I shift a little and the light is not reflecting off the glass in quite the same angle. I deposit the teacups and kettle, and stand up straight to move over there, the sound of Mom’s wheels following me. I’m suddenly looking at a picture of Wally, his arms around me in what had to have been the first year we started dating. Wally’s grin is bright, my face scrunched up, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably by the smile lighting up my mouth. I’ve not seen this picture in years, it’s one that Brucely chewed up one day. We both look so young, so carefree and it brings a small pang to my heart to think of simpler days. But the weight of the ring on my finger, under my gloves, is enough to chase away the bad memories that threaten to assault me, it’s presence on my finger a promise of memories to be made that will overshadow any prior ones. “I pulled it out a few days after Christmas,” Mom says. “It’s been in my closet, put away but never thrown out.” I reach out and grab it, holding it in my hands staring at the worn edges, suddenly positive that Wally was right when he said that Mom would be happy for us. “You’ll have to get an updated one soon, Mom.” She rolls beside me, her hand touching my arm, and I look away from the picture to look into her eyes, the same gray as mine. “I love that picture, Artemis. I love how happy you are in it.” I put the frame back down, gently placing it on the countertop. “Well, maybe not replace it, but there will be plenty of more pictures like that in the future to compliment it,” I say. She gives me a kind smile and ushers me to the table. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but what brings you by? I’d figured you wouldn’t be leaving Wally’s side anytime soon?” I give her a small smile, raising my teacup to my lips and taking a sip of the bitter water only slightly sweetened by honey. “Normally, you’d be correct, but I have my whole life to stay by his side,” I answer, hiding a grin behind my teacup. She hums in agreement, sipping from her own. I get a little giddy at what I’m planning, looking at my mom, and saying, “It’s awfully hot in here, let me take off some of these layers.” She nods her head in agreement, probably confused why I haven’t already. First I pull off my scarf, it’s the one Wally got me for Christmas, then I take off my jacket, standing up drape it over the back of the chair, then the glove of my right hand, throwing it on the table. My heart stumbles a bit, I’m barely hiding the grin, and Mom’s looking at me, confused and suspicious that I’m dragging out removing my last glove. Before she can say anything and ruin the surprise though, I pull it off, the emerald stone on my ring finger sparkling in the dim light of the apartment. Mom gasps, a sound that I’m frankly not used to hearing from her. She puts her cup down with shaky hands, and wheels over to me, gray eyes wide. “Engaged?” she whispers, and I nod, kneeling in front of her and letting her take my hand in her own. “Wally proposed New Year’s Eve.” Her hands tremble in mine as she looks at the ring. After several seconds during which a multitude of emotions cross her face, she looks up at me, gray eyes meeting gray eyes, pride and worry filtering through hers like an oscillating fan. “Congratulations, my darling girl. I’m so happy for you,” she says. And her happiness for me and pride in me is one of the best feelings I’ve felt in a long time from her. “You’re happy, Artemis, but… please. God, please be careful…after last time…” I swallow, knowing where she’s going but also knowing that she needs to say this, “I just don’t want to see you ever so broken again. I worry about you, but I’m so happy for you, and I love you.” She reaches up and pulls me in for a hug, and it’s like the simple action has released so much of the guilt I’ve felt towards her and my actions for so long. “Thanks, Mom. I love you too. He’s my forever, he always has been.” She hugs me, tighter, that simple statement from me conveying so much to her. I know that she’ll worry about me, but it’s unavoidable given our choice of careers. I kiss her on the cheek, pulling away, and she asks me, “Tell me everything. Please, what was it like? What did he say?” She’s giddy, at least giddy for Paula Crock. I laugh, sitting back down at the table as I launch into the story, omitting the parts about the Speed Force, but telling her everything. Her eyes are bright as I repeat the story, the love I feel for Wally obviously shining through in my words and tone. I stay for a while longer, this moment something I’ve not felt around her in so long. For over four years, every moment between us was tempered by either the loss of Wally or her own disapproval on my actions, but for the first time in forever, it’s just me and my mom. Not Tigris and Paula, not the broken-hearted Artemis, just the little girl who grew up to meet the man of her dreams and is now planning her future with him. It’s as normal as normal can get given my life, and I treasure the moment for what it’s worth.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I zeta-tube to the Watchtower, the glow I feel from my time at Mom’s still shining in my heart. The hum of the machinery here is a stark contrast to the snow-laden quiet of Star City, but I don’t mind it. I can hear the echoes of battle up ahead in the training room Wally’s been at the Watchtower for hours, training with Bruce and Barry, pushing his speed to new limits while keeping control. His first break’s coming soon—a fleeting few minutes, but enough. My fingers twitch, aching to hold him, to feel the vibrational hum of his body against mine, that electric static coursing through his veins, sparking shivers when he pulls me close. It’s been barely seven weeks since he tore free from the Speed Force, and already I can’t imagine how I survived without this buzz, this pulse that grounds me. Perhaps it’s because those four years without him feel like a dream where the world held its breath, his absence a weight so crushing it dulled even the loss of his touch, that electric hum I craved. How did I sleep, teach, fight, without it? How did I exist without him? Truthfully, I know that I didn’t. That life, those four years, that wasn’t an existence. That was a survival, and I wasn’t really surviving. I was just dying slowly, not knowing what breath in my lungs felt like or the restarting of my heart until I sat on the cracked pavement in Gotham cradling him to my body. But that’s the past, and thankfully, I’ll never have to remember what his absence was like, not again, not with the weight of the ring on my finger reminding me of the promise of forever.

I enter the training room, the atmosphere in here is tense and electric, holographic displays glowing as Wally blurs through drills with Bruce and Barry, static crackling, the smell of ozone is strong and the room is shaking under his speed. Dick spots me, blue eyes bright, “Artemis!” and Barbara wheels over, red hair catching the light, her grin wide. “What’s with the glow?” she teases. I have my hands clasped behind my back, giving them a secret grin but say, “I just came from my mom’s. We had a really good chat, honestly it was the best in a long time.” Dick smiles and Barbara grins, “That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you. What prompted that visit though? I shrug my shoulders non-committedly, “Just needed to tell her something.” Dick scrutinizes me, before he asks in a low voice, “You’re not pregnant, right?” And then I’m laughing, because how many people are going to ask that before I get to show them the ring. Babs is a little more observant, wheeling closer, taking note of my reaction, and the fact that my hands haven’t left from behind my back. “Artemis,” she starts, a grin beginning to form on her face, “Can I see your hand?” Dick is baffled, but he waits silently while I give Babs my right hand, keeping my left firmly behind my back. She grins wider, “Not that hand.” I give her a smirk, Dick is still looking between the two of us like he’s lost, and I have to roll my eyes. For as clever as Dick is, he sure can be obtuse sometimes. So, flashing a bright smile and throwing my left hand out in front of me, so that the emerald catches the lights in the room, I yell, “I’m engaged!” Babs screeches, taking my hand in hers to observe the ring, while all the pieces finally click in Dick’s head, a slow smile forming on his mouth as he steps to hug me, “Wally finally manned up!” Barbara squeezes my hand, “It’s perfect, Artemis.” The commotion causes the others to walk over, Zatanna being the first to spot my hand in Barbara’s and exclaiming, “Artemis, that ring’s magic! It’s so beautiful.” While it’s M’gann that says, “Oh Artemis, congratulations! I’m so happy for you.” Both of the girls come to give me a hug, and I feel the last weights of their betrayal falling off my shoulders, the bridge to our best friendship being rebuilt, slowly but surely. “Thank you,” I say, voice soft, and Zatanna hugs me tighter. Bart is the next to race over, his eyes wide, “Woah! So you’re like, officially joining the family?” I laugh, but there’s still a guilt there that I feel when I see him. The way I felt about him during Wally’s absence, the way that my grief blamed him unfairly. I realize I need to talk to him, just like I had to talk to Zatanna and M’gann in the Med Bay after Wally came back, but now’s not the time, so instead I say, “Yeah, Bart, you’re looking at the future Mrs. Artemis West.” He gives me a huge grin, “That’s so crash!” Conner is there last, his smile warm as he puts his arm around M’gann. “Congratulations, Artemis, that’s amazing news.” I give Connor a hug, this man is as much of my brother as Dick is. He wraps his arms around me, strong and steady but not crushing, “Thanks, Connor.” He laughs low in his chest, and I’m grounded, this team here is as much my family as anyone, save for Wally. Their love for the two of us filling my heart. I separate from Connor and look out to the training ground, Wally’s a blur. My eyes don’t leave him, and I ask, “What’s happening here?” Connor speaks first, “Honestly, I’m not even sure. I only came in a few minutes before you did, Bart can probably put it into perspective better than any of us, but Wally’s going fast. Really, really fast. I nod my head, that statement doesn’t even cover it. Wally’s more than a blur, he’s an uninterrupted trail of light that’s glowing golden and red. Bart speaks up, “Yeah, I don’t know exactly what level of speed they’re asking of him, but I can tell you that in my sped up state, he’s indistinguishable from what it looks like normally. I know that’s not much to go off of, I can only reach Mach 20 and sustain it for a few minutes before I’m about to pass out, and he’s been regularly hitting that speed for over 15 minutes at a time with energy to spare since he came back.” It’s Dick that speaks up now, having been here since the start of the training. His voice low, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder, “It’s because he’s been building to Mach 80.” I inhale sharply at that statement, looking over my shoulder at Dick, scrutinizing his words. My face giving him the quiet command to explain himself. “Well, training started off normally. Bruce starting him at Mach 30 before bringing him back down to Mach 5. The problem was, Wally wasn’t even winded, he handled the switch effortlessly, as easy as you or I would going from a light jog to walking. So, Bruce started kicking it up. About 30 minutes ago, he asked Wally to push himself harder. He wanted jumps of speed every 10 minutes before they take their break. Bruce’s instructions were to start at Mach 40 and to increase his speed in jumps that allow him to continue running before he started to feel winded or like he was losing control. So, Wally ran, and he’s not stopped running. It was Barry that told me just before you came in. Wally’s approaching speeds at about 54,000 miles per hour. My eyes are glued to Wally’s form, a blur traveling at nearly 16 miles every second. I ask Dick, “How much longer until their break?” He shakes his head, “Probably just a few more minutes. I know Bruce has something up his sleeve, just look at the way Barry’s tensed beside him, I just don’t know what it is yet.” I do look over, and sure enough, Barry looks like he’s wrestling between being worried, proud, and angry, the emotions flickering so fast on his face that they’re hard to see. But I trust Barry. Barry can travel at nearly the speed of light, so I know that he can see all the things we can’t, like if those golden flecks flare up in Wally’s eyes.

Dick pulls me aside, voice low. “Hey, ‘Mis, there’s something else.” I nod my head, indicating I’m listening, but my eyes staying on Wally. “We all know that Savage’s been quiet here, not a peep since Keystone, but Mist and Halo reported chatter off-world—apparently there’s been some talk of him on distant planets. Hal’s Green Lantern network caught similar noise, but Savage’s eluded them.” I frown, “He’s planning something, and I want to know what it is, and why it involves Wally beyond trying to kill him for his Tachyons. Why target Wally in the first place? It’s not like anyone even knew he was ali...” and my voice falters, puzzle pieces starting to fall into place, horrible, gut-wrenching theories starting to form. My mind is filled with awful thoughts, theories I don’t know if I should share, but I look at Wally running, and I know that information is vital. I’ll make it a priority to speak with Bruce during the break, even as much as I want to see Wally. “Artemis, you okay? You just kind of stopped talking for a second.” I clear my throat, my heartbeat quickening under the direction of my mind. “Just find out where he is.” Dick nods, “We’re tracking, but he’s slippery.” At that moment, Bruce’s voice rings clear, and it’s obvious why Barry has those emotions flickering across his face. “Wally, hit your burst! Unleash it, and then reel it in.” I want to scream for him not to, but before I’ve uttered the words, Wally blurs impossibly more, he’s an ethereal glow, space and light just beginning to bend around him when he stumbles and falls to the ground breathing heavy, face streaked with sweat, and even from the observation deck, I can see the golden flecks of light burning with intensity. Barry is kneeling in front of him before I can even comprehend it, and I’m following suit, jumping off the balcony and rolling to my feet, running and then sliding to my knees in front of him, cupping his face in my hands and forcing his eyes into mine. “Breathe, Wally. Slow down, I’m here.” My ring is cool on his flushed skin. His skin is a livewire, vibrating with a hum that shakes the molecules in my hands with intensity. His eyes stay on mine, and gradually, his breathing comes under control, the golden flecks of light dampening until they disappear behind the green irises of his eyes. Seeing he’s back and in no danger of harm, I feel my anger spike, whirling around to where Bruce stands, “Are you insane?! What the hell was that?” Wally’s hand is a ghost on my arm trying to ground me and keep me from saying anything I may regret but it’s a weak grip and my anger spikes even more at that, and Barry’s looking at me like he agrees with my statement. Batman remains steadfast, the white eyes of his cowl would be unnerving if I wasn’t so furious with him. My ears are roaring with the sound of my blood rushing, my heart hammering in my chest, the locket thumping wildly against my breast. I’m panting with anger, the only sound in the silence of the training room other than Wally’s slow breathing. “Bruce,” Dick’s voice cuts through the silence, and Dick looks as angry as I’ve seen him in a while, “That was totally uncalled for.” The rest of the team is standing by, with varying levels of shock present on their face, but unable to speak up, knowing that Dick, Barry, and I will handle this. Bruce doesn’t take his eyes off me, or I assume he doesn’t as I can’t see behind his cowl. When he speaks, it’s measured, “He needs to know his limits.” The anger I feel spikes, “Like hell he does! His limits don’t just incapacitate him, they put him in danger of disintegrating into the fucking Speed Force!” I scream. Wally is standing now, his breathing under control, his hand on my arm, stronger now, holding me back from physically attacking Bruce. “Tigris, I’ll remind you that you’re speaking to a member of the Justice League and your superior. Get yourself under control, and I’ll explain.” I take deep breaths, my chest hot with rage but Wally’s hand on my arm calms me in a way that nothing else could. Bruce is still looking down on me, Dick starring daggers in return. “Okay,” I exhale, heart tight, gray eyes fixed on Batman’s shadowed cowl. “What was that about?” His voice is low, clipped, every word deliberate and calculated. “Speedsters grow by pushing their limits. Wally’s no exception. You’re right—his boundaries carry graver risks than most. But if he can’t run faster when it counts, when he needs to, the Speed Force could reclaim him. We don’t trade lives, Artemis. He must fully master his potential, control it, or that pull will never fade.” My thumb brushes the engagement ring, Wally’s static hum still lingering on my arm, and fear coils in my gut at Bruce’s words—losing him again, after four years’ void would be my complete undoing. But Bruce’s logic cuts through, cold and unyielding. I nod, voice steady despite the ache. “Okay, but I want to be here anytime you try something like that again. I’ve already pulled him back from the brink once, and I refuse to let you test that limit without me being here to do it again.” Batman’s eyes narrow, but he nods his approval. His gaze fixes on Wally, “20 minutes rest, then we go again.” Wally nods his head, and Bruce makes his exit. Dick looks at me, his eyes briefly fixing on Wally, before he turns to Babs and they both follow Bruce out of the training room. The rest of the team awkwardly disperse, each to do their own thing until it’s just me, Wally, and Barry. “I’m okay, Spitfire. I’m here. I told you, I’m not going anywhere.” I turn to Wally, pulling him in for a tight hug as he wraps his arms around me. Barry coughs, probably feeling slightly awkward, but I pull away and turn to face him, my hand going to Wally’s. “I see congratulations are in order,” he says, eyes looking at my finger. I give him a small smile, grateful for his steadfast presence at these training sessions. “Thank you,” I say softly. He gives me a grin, and ruffles Wally’s hair, looking him in the eye and saying, “You got a good one, Kid. I don’t know many people who have the nerve to talk like that to Bruce,” Barry laughs, turning back to me, “You’re really owning up to your Tigris name aren’t you?” Wally gives a grin beside me, knocking my hip against his. “She’s a feisty one, I can promise you that,” he says, shooting Barry a suggestive wink. Barry’s face goes red as he coughs to clear his throat, “Right, well, I’ll leave you two to it. See you in a bit for round two,” his face is momentarily horrified at his statement, and the small grin beginning to tug its way onto Wally’s face and as if knows where Wally’s mind is going at that statement, he speeds off, leaving just the two of us alone in the training room. I swat him on the shoulder, “I can’t believe you just make a sex pun about me in front of your uncle, not to mention, I just know you were going to make another one with that whole ‘round two’ phrase before he left.” He gives me a blinding and also teasing grin, “What can I say, babe? I’ve been looking for ways of subtle payback ever since that stunt you pulled at Oliver’s yesterday.” I shake my head fondly, “Jerk,” I say without malice. He pulls me in for a kiss, and I’m lost in the moment, my arms snaking around his neck, my body pulling flush against his. After a moment, he pulls away slightly and says, “How was your mom’s?” I give him a smile, “It was great, she was so happy for us. She’s worried of course, but there was so much pride there too. She’s even put that picture of us back up, the one that used to be on her countertop.” He gives me an impossibly wide grin at that, “Really? We need to ask her to get us a copy since Brucely ate the original. Also, not to toot my own horn, but I totally told you so, I knew she’d be thrilled for us!” I swat him on the shoulder again, but without malice, a grin on my face, “Don’t get a big head.” He gives me a horrible imitation of a saucy wink and says, “I thought you liked my big head,” waggling his eyebrows as his says it. I snort, and then I’m laughing, burying my head in his shoulder to contain my chuckles. We stand there like that, just talking about nonsense, the hum of his body present and grounding against me, our kisses soft and our banter light. Bruce is walking back in, followed closely by Dick, Babs, and Barry, the rest of the team arriving right after, and I know our time is up. I lay my hand across his cheek, the cool metal of the ring a contrast against his flushed skin as I say, “Run fast Wally, I’ll be here the whole time cheering you on, I promise.” He gives me a blazing kiss that lasts well past the limit of socially acceptable, and even the clearing of Bruce’s throat doesn’t make either of us pull away. It’s only when Bruce’s voice comes out, clipped, saying, “Kid Flash, it’s time to start again. Tigris, to the observation deck,” that we finally pull away. He gives me a grin, and I turn to walk away. I’ve walked a few feet, maybe not even, when the silence of the training room is shattered by the sound of a smack, and my right ass cheek burning like it’s on fire. I stop dead in my tracks, a flush creeping up my neck and turning my face red as Wally’s hair as I hear the sniggers of my team, the uncomfortable throat clearing of Barry, and see the unamused scowl of Bruce. I turn my head, to glare at Wally, his face the perfect imitation of mock-innocence when I mutter, barely audible to anyone but him, “Well played, West,” before turning back around and continuing to the stairs of the deck where the rest of the team is waiting, all of them holding back grins or, in Bart’s case, unabashed laughter.

Chapter 33: Confrontations and Secrets

Notes:

A little 3rd party perspective in this chapter, hope you like it! gonna have to wait another day to hear the full, horrible theory Artemis has

The Watchtower, January 2^nd, 2021

The Watchtower corridor pulses with sterile quiet, its metallic walls reflecting the dim blue glow of holographic panels, the training room’s distant thrum fading as Dick Grayson storms after Bruce, boots slamming against the floor. Barbara Gordon following, her wheelchair gliding, red hair catching the light, her calm a counterpoint to Dick’s clenched fists. Wally’s stumble—his ethereal glow, golden flecks blazing, collapsing under Bruce’s command to “hit your burst”—burned in Dick’s mind, Artemis’s scream of anger echoing, her fear for Wally raw. “Bruce!” Dick’s voice slices through the silence, Nightwing’s edge sharp from years of pushing back. Bruce halts ahead, cowl shadowed, turning, white lenses unreadable. “This better be quick, Nightwing,” he said, voice low, clipped, Batman unmoved by the almost tangible anger pulsing around his former protégé.

Dick steps close, blue eyes blazing, nearly chest-to-chest with the caped crusader. “What the hell was that? Pushing Wally until he’s a glowing wreck, space bending around him? You saw him—gold sparks billowing, gasping, barely holding on after he stumbled!” Jason Todd’s ghost looms in the forefront of Dick's mind, the second Robin broken by Bruce’s relentless training, his death a wound Dick still carries. “I won’t let you treat my best friend like you did the Bat-family. Like you did Jason.” Barbara’s hand brushes Dick’s arm, steadying, but her green eyes lock on Bruce, firm. “He’s right, Bruce. Wally’s not a weapon to forge. He needs guidance, not your gauntlet. You’re pushing too hard.”

Bruce’s jaw tightens, lenses narrowing. “I’m lighter on him than you assume. Wally’s limits are unique—lethal, to more than just himself. The Speed Force could reclaim him if he can’t control his speed. He has to push, or he’s at risk.” Dick scoffs, voice hard, “Bullshit. You’re drilling him like a soldier, not a hero. You broke Jason with that mindset, Bruce. Pushed him until he cracked, and I wasn’t there to stop it. I won’t let Wally be next.” Barbara leans forward, voice steady but unyielding. “Wally’s barely back—seven weeks out of the Speed Force, and he was in a coma for almost a week when he made it back. Artemis is the only reason he even got here. She can’t lose him again, and neither can we. You saw her face, Bruce. Ease up, or you’re risking more than his speed.”

Bruce doesn't flinch, his voice a cold blade. “You think I want to lose him? Speedsters grow by testing their edges, the same as anyone. Wally’s potential is untapped—against Savage, the Light, any threat, he needs to be ready. If he falters in a fight, goes too fast and loses control, the Speed Force could pull him in. I’m training him to survive.” Dick’s fists ball tighter, stepping closer, “Survive, or fit your mission? You didn’t see Jason’s limits until he was gone. Wally’s not your pawn.” Barbara’s hand tightens on Dick's arm, “Dick, enough. Bruce, we get the stakes—Savage’s off-world moves, Mist and Halo’s chatter, Hal’s reports. But Wally’s a person, not a tool. You’re pushing him to a breaking point, and we won’t stand for it, not when we risk losing him, and by default Artemis, for good.”

Bruce’s lenses hold Dick’s glare, then flick to Barbara. “You’re both emotional. Wally’s training is…calculated—Barry’s monitoring with me, adjusting. I’m not repeating Jason’s mistakes. But if Wally doesn’t master his limits, he’s a liability—to himself, Artemis, the Team. What happens if he needs to go faster, in order to save one of you, or her, and by doing so he sends himself back into the void? I'm protecting you all, helping.” Dick’s voice drops, bitter. “Calculated? You nearly burned him out today. What’s next, Bruce? Another grave? Wasn’t Jason’s grave enough? Isn’t one gravestone with Wally’s name on it enough?” Barbara exhales, “He’s not wrong, Bruce. Wally’s engaged now, trying to build a life with Artemis. That ring means something. Train him to live for it, not die for it.” A console beeps, marking fifteen minutes into Wally’s break, its timer glowing faintly. Bruce’s voice softens, but only just, a rare crack in his persona. “I’m pushing because I know what’s at stake. Savage isn’t idle. Wally needs this.” Dick shakes his head, “Not like this. I’m watching you, Bruce. Push him, but no more stumbles. You can expand his limits without telling him to 'hit his burst.' You only did that because you're getting impatient, wanting him to reach his full potential and be able to sustain it, control it, sooner. Why? I don’t have a clue, because you may be a lot of things, but impatient isn’t one of them.”

Bruce stares at Dick, neither man backing down, but there's truth to Nightwing's statement. Jaw clenching, Bruce finally gives a curt nod, cape rippling as he turns toward the command center. Dick and Barbara linger, the corridor’s hum heavy in the now silence. Barbara guides them to move to a nearby observation deck, its wide viewport showing Earth’s curve, stars glinting beyond. Dick almost collapses against the railing, shoulders slumping, blue eyes distant. “Babs,” his voice cracks, “I can’t lose him again,” he says, voice low, raw. “Four years, thinking he was gone, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to save him back then. Just like with Jason—watching him slip away, too late to save him either.” He runs a hand through his hair, guilt etched deep. “Wally came back for Artemis, not us, and I’m good with that—hell, that ring’s proof he’s all in. But I’m scared, Babs. He's still my best friend. If Bruce pushes too far, if the Speed Force takes him…” He trails off, jaw tight.

Barbara wheels closer, her hand finding his, green eyes warm but steady. “Dick, Wally’s stronger than you think. He’s got Artemis, us, the Team. You’re not failing him—and you didn’t fail Jason. You’re fighting for Wally now, like you did when you started exploring theories of the Speed Force, refusing to believe he’d died. You’re doing what you always have.” She squeezes his hand, her calm and loving presence grounding him. “Bruce is wrong to push so hard, but he’s not wrong about the danger. We’ll keep Wally safe, together. For their future. They deserve that, and we'll do everything we can to help make it happen.” Dick nods, a faint smile breaking through. “Yeah. Wall-man deserves that, so does 'Mis.” The console’s timer blinks—twenty minutes gone. Dick takes a deep inhale, gripping Barbara’s hand tight, before kneeling down in front of her. “Thank you, Babs, for everything you do. I don’t deserve you, but I’m so damn grateful that you choose to stick around with me anyways.” She gives him a soft smile, caressing his face in her hand, “Dick, I should be thanking you. You chose to stick around with me, and,” she gestures to her wheelchair, “I’d say that your decision has to be much harder than mine.” He shakes his head vehemently, “No, Babs, I don’t care about the wheelchair. It’s a part of who you are, and I love you, every part of you.” Barbara’s eyes glisten but she nods her head, leaning in to capture his lips on hers, “I love you too, Boy wonder.” She gives me a smile, “Now let’s get back in there and support our friends.” Dick gives her a small smile and nods his head as he stands up and they turn, heading back to the training room. Bruce is walking in front of them, he doesn't look back, striding forwards with purpose, Barry close by.

Inside, Wally and Artemis are standing flush against each other, her emerald ring glinting under the lights. And Dick vows silently to himself that he will fight as hard as he has to, no matter who it is, Bruce or Vandal Savage, to ensure that his best friend gets the happy ending that he deserves. The team trickles in slowly and Barry makes his way to stand near Bruce at the console. The white eyes on Bruce’s cowl are fixed on the spectacle happening below, ready to resume.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Watchtower’s training deck hums with a faint vibration of Wally’s speed, holographic displays casting blue light across my boots as I lean against the railing, gray eyes fixed on my fiancé below. He’s a blur in the training room, red curls catching the glow, his Speed Force hum vibrating the air even up here, a live wire to my heart. Bruce stands at the console, cowl shadowed, hands steady but… restrained, almost distressed, his usual unyielding edge dulled. My thumb grazes the emerald ring, its glint grounding me, but my chest tightens, replaying Dick and Barbara’s exit twenty minutes ago, their footsteps sharp after my outburst at Bruce—screaming about Wally’s limits, the Speed Force’s pull, his near-collapse, golden flecks burning in his green eyes. Dick’s voice had cut through, “That was totally uncalled for,” his anger matching mine, Barbara’s wheelchair gliding after Bruce. I wonder what they said to him?

Wally zips through holographic obstacles, his blur sharper than before, but Bruce’s commands are clipped, measured—“Adjust your angle, West”—not the reckless ‘Hit your burst!’ that nearly broke him. I frown, blonde hair falling over my shoulder, catching the light. Is Bruce holding back because of Dick? Or is something else eating at him, like the gut-twisting puzzle pieces forming in my mind earlier, when Dick and I talked? Those thoughts—horrible, vague ideas forming, about Savage’s plan, how he knows Wally’s alive, why he’s targeting him—linger, a shadow I can’t shake. I watch Bruce’s silhouette, wondering if his mind’s gone there too, if that’s why he pushed Wally so hard, demanding that burst, risking the Speed Force’s pull.

I shift, boots scuffing, and glance at Dick beside me, his blue eyes locked on Bruce, silent intensity radiating. Barbara’s next to him, her green eyes steady on Wally, her hand rubbing soothing motions against Dick’s lower back, grounding him like Wally grounds me when my anger spikes—like he did when I screamed at Bruce down below, his hand on my arm, static humming, keeping me from losing my cool completely. The Team’s scattered around—Zatanna leaning on a console, M’gann’s auburn hair catching the light, Bart and Conner by the viewport, their silence heavy but attentive. I clear my throat, voice low. “Dick, what’d you say to Bruce out there?” He shrugs, noncommittal, jaw tight. “Told him to lighten up on Wally, for all our sakes.” His words are short, evasive, but his eyes don’t leave Bruce.

I place a hand on his shoulder, gray eyes flicking between him and Barbara, her nod soft but firm. “Thanks,” I say, voice steady, gratitude swelling despite the unsaid weight. “Both of you.” Dick’s shoulder relaxes slightly, but his gaze stays fixed, and I nod slowly, understanding—whatever was said, it was a lot, probably raw given his history with Bruce and his love for Wally, but their support for Wally, for me, is real, and it means so much to me. My mind drifts back, unbidden, to those puzzle pieces from earlier, when Dick and I talked strategy before the training turned south. Savage’s off-world chatter—Mist and Halo’s reports, Hal Jordan’s noise—felt like a web closing in, and the thought of how Savage knows Wally’s back, why he’s circling his face on a piece of paper in red ink, twists my gut, a sickening dread I can’t name. Has Bruce’s mind seen it too? Has he formed the same awful narrative in his head that I’m forming? Is that why he pushed Wally to the edge, demanding that burst, as if time’s running out?

A burst of speed below and the resounding intensity in vibration on the training room’s floor pulls me back, Wally’s blur weaving through drones, Bruce’s voice steady but tight—“Focus, West.” The switch-up in attitude is so stark from just a short while ago, and suddenly, I need to know what Bruce said to Dick. I need to know what he’s thinking, but he’s untouchable down there, console lights glinting off his cowl. I turn to Dick again, his intensity unwavering. Barbara’s gaze on Wally is steady, her calm hand on Dick is a mirror to Wally’s effect on me, and I swallow, voice firm. “Dick… what exactly was said?” He glances at me, a quick flick of blue eyes, then back to Wally and Bruce. Barbara moves her hand to Dick’s arm and squeezes lightly, her touch supportive, and I press, “Dick, please. There may be something, and I need to know what you said to him, what he said back.”

Dick inhales deeply through his nose, eyes never leaving Bruce at the controls, but his exhale is shaky, raw. “I told him to stop pushing Wally like a soldier,” he says, voice low, tense. “Said I won’t let him treat my best friend like he did the Bat-family, like…Jason—broken, gone because Bruce didn’t see his limits. Called his claims bullshit.” He pauses, jaw clenching. “Babs backed me, said Wally needs help, not to be a weapon, that Artemis—you—can’t lose him again, and neither can we.” My heart tightens, the Team listening—Zatanna’s eyes wide, M’gann’s hands clasped, Bart's nod subtle, Conner’s arms crossed but solid agreement written all over his face. Dick continues, “Bruce didn’t budge. Said Wally’s limits are lethal to more than just himself, that the Speed Force could take him if he can’t control his speed, and that he needs to be ready for anything.” My heart beat quickens, but Dick is oblivious and continues on, “He said he's training him to survive—against Savage, the Light. Claimed it’s calculated, with Barry watching, not like Jason. He said some stuff about Wally’s limits being a liability to a lot of people and that he’s trying to protect us keep him out of the Speed Force. He also said he was pushing him because he knows what’s at stake and that Savage isn’t idle, that Wally needs this. I told him I’m watching too, no more stumbles, that Bruce was being impatient, which isn’t like him at all and to reel it in before he loses more than just Wally.”

Bruce’s words, repeated through Dick, hit like a punch: “The Speed Force could take him… training him to survive, Savage isn’t idle.” My gut sinks, certainty clawing—Bruce’s mind has gone there, to the same dark place as mine, where Savage’s plan hinges on Wally, on his return, on knowledge he shouldn’t have but does. How does Savage know? Why Wally? The thoughts swirl, horrible, puzzle pieces I can’t voice, not yet. My thumb grazes the ring, and I’m doing my best to let it ground me against the fear that I feel forming in the pit of my stomach, Wally’s hum faint but alive below, and I’m torn—fearing Bruce’s push, the Speed Force’s pull, but seeing his logic, his fear of Savage’s trap, whatever it is.

Dick breaks eye contact with Bruce for the first time, blue eyes meeting mine, voice sharp. “What do you know, Artemis?” My mind races, those vague possibilities—Savage’s web, Wally’s role, the how and why—churning, unformed, too raw to share, too heavy to speak because then they become real. I open my mouth, but nothing comes, my heart hammering, locket thumping against my chest. Barbara’s voice cuts through, soft, steady. “Artemis.” I blink, gray eyes snapping to her, then Dick, their gazes heavy with concern at my reaction to Bruce’s words. The Team watches silently, having heard the interaction—Zatanna’s brow furrowed, looking at me in concern, M’gann’s empathy radiating off of her, Bart and Conner waiting, silent for my explanation. They’re all looking at me, expecting answers I don’t have, not yet, and the weight of it—the ring, Wally’s hum, Savage’s shadow—holds me still, words caught in my throat. “I…” my voice cracks, and I try to clear my throat, “I don’t know anything right now. I just…have vague ideas.” Connor steps up to me, “We’re with you, Artemis. You can trust us, you know.” I shake my head, “Of…” damn that voice crack, “Of course I can. I just don’t know if I can repeat these thoughts more than once. They’re…they’re awful. I need to talk to Bruce, because I think his mind is in the same place as mine.” And that thought chills me almost as badly as the other ones in my head, because if that’s true, then Wally’s disappearance wasn’t a freak accident where a forgotten magnetic field disruptor was involved, it was planned.

Chapter 34: Secrets Unveiled

Notes:

Finally the big chapter with all the answers you've been wondering. the plot thickens. If you like the work so far, please remember that I really value comments and kudos! It helps knowing so many people want to read what I'm writing, and I love hearing your feedback. Enjoy!

The Watchtower, January 2^nd, 2021

Hours later, the Watchtower’s hum still pulses in the air around me, holographic displays and Wally's blur casting a mix of blue, gold, and red across my face as I grip the railing, foot tapping, nerves frayed raw by my impatience to confront Bruce. Wally’s a blur in the training room, red curls catching the light, his Speed Force hum vibrating the air, sparking my skin even from here. Bruce stands at the console, cowl shadowed, commands clipped—“Increment your pace, West, control it”—restrained, no reckless bursts like this morning, when Wally’s golden flecks blazed, space bending, nearly lost to the Speed Force. My chest tightens, replaying Dick and Barbara’s exit after my outburst, their confrontation with Bruce shaking his unyielding edge. Dick’s vow—“I’m watching, no more graves”—echoes, and Bruce’s restraint feels like their win, but his taut posture hints at more, maybe the same dread I carry: Savage’s plan, how he knows Wally’s back, the possibly planned trap that stole him for four years that I hope to God I’m wrong about.

I feel Dick’s glance, blue eyes flicking to Barbara, then me, heavy with worry. Barbara’s green eyes meet his, hands calm but gaze steady, and the Team’s stares press on my back—Zatanna’s concern, M’gann’s empathy, Bart and Conner’s silence. I won’t tell them what’s plaguing me, I won’t share it more than once. My foot taps faster, heart racing, focusing on Wally’s controlled blur, eyes flicking to Bruce, his cowl hiding what I need to know. I have to confront him, see if his mind’s traced the same dark path about Wally’s role in all of this, a disappearance orchestrated, not accidental. The thought twists my gut with fear and anger, too raw to share, too heavy to hold alone for much longer.

Barry leans to Bruce, whispering, face tight. Bruce’s voice cuts through, “Enough, West. Stand down.” Wally skids to a stop, chest heaving, sweat streaking his red curls, breathing heavy but steady. His green eyes catch the light, and I lean forward, heart lurching—faint golden flecks glow, so dim they’re barely there, a testament to pushing his limits without breaking. Barry must’ve seen them, warned Bruce, and Bruce listened, reined in. Dick’s words echo in my mind—his confrontation, calling Bruce’s “lighter” claim bullshit, vowing to watch. This restraint is a testament that Bruce does care about Wally, but it doesn’t ease the dread coiling in my gut, or the anger at him if his mind is where mine is but never told us.

I’m down the steps before I can think, boots pounding, sliding to Wally’s side, cupping his flushed face, gray eyes searching his. “You okay?” My voice is tight, ring cool against his skin. He grins, classic Wally, green eyes twinkling despite the glow. “Just peachy, Spitfire, how could I not be with a total babe like you all up in my personal space?” I roll my eyes, a laugh escaping, dulling the roar in my ears that’s been present since the puzzle pieces started falling into place, his static hum grounding me, easing the frayed edges. “Dork,” I mutter, but my heart’s lighter holding him, his warmth real under my hands.

Dick’s there, clapping Wally’s shoulder, blue eyes warm but sharp. “Nice work, Wall-man.” Barbara wheels up, her smile soft, “You’re holding up.” Zatanna, M’gann, Bart, and Conner follow, their presence a quiet strength, Team bonds solid. I glance at the console—Bruce is gone, vanished like a shadow. Barry’s beside us now, his blue eyes kind but curious. “Where’d Bruce go?” I ask, voice sharp. Barry blinks, surprised. “Data room, I think, down the corridor.” I nod, resolve hardening. “I need to talk to him.” Wally’s brow furrows, static tingling as his hand finds mine. “Why, babe?” I pause, words heavy, vague. “I have theories… about Savage. I need to know if Bruce is on the same page.”

Barry’s gaze sharpens, Flash’s instinct kicking in. “What kind of theories?” I shrug, unwilling to repeat myself, the dread too raw to unpack twice. “You’re welcome to watch me confront him, see if he’s holding back. We all deserve to know if…if he’s thinking on the same lines as me.” Dick’s eyes gleam, a smirk breaking through. “The Tigris battling Batman in a showdown of wills? Not a chance I’d skip that show.” His quip pulls a small smile to my lips, lightening the air, but my heart is still heavy under the weight of my thoughts. Wally’s hand tightens, green eyes questioning, worry flickering. I lean in, kissing him quick, his static sparking on my lips, grounding me like nothing else. “Trust me,” I whisper, pulling back, gray eyes steady. He nods, hesitant but solid.

I turn to Barry, his face set, jaw firm. “I’m in,” he says, nodding. I grip Wally’s hand, leading the way, his hum a pulse beside me. Barry follows, Dick and Barbara close, the Team trailing—Zatanna’s footsteps clacking across the marble floor, M’gann’s quiet steps and worry tangible in my mind, Bart’s quick bounce, Conner’s steady tread. The corridor’s metallic hum swallows us, holographic panels glowing, Earth’s curve glinting through viewports. My boots echo, locket thumping under a heartbeat that’s wild with fear, ring glinting under the lights. Those puzzle pieces churn—Savage’s web, how he knows Wally’s back, why he’s targeting him, horrible possibilities I can’t voice, not yet. If Bruce’s mind is there, if he’s hiding answers, I’ll drag them out, and damn him for not telling me, for telling us, sooner. The data room looms ahead, its door sealed, Bruce’s shadow waiting. My heart races, but Wally’s hand steadies me, the Team’s loyalty a shield, and I’m ready to face Batman, to demand these secrets be answered, for Wally, for our future, for the picket fence waiting beyond Savage’s shadow.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Watchtower data room’s hum swallows my boots’ echo, its glowing screens casting cold light across my face as I storm through the sealed door, gray eyes locking on Bruce’s shadowed cowl. He stands at a console, head bowed as he reads data charts, white lenses glinting, a dark statue against the tech’s pulse. Wally’s hand is warm in mine, his Speed Force hum sparking my skin, grounding me despite the dread churning my gut. Barry’s behind us, jaw set, blue eyes sharp. Dick and Barbara follow, his smirk gone, her wheels silent, green eyes steady. The Team—Zatanna’s gaze on my back, M’gann’s auburn hair catching the light, Bart’s quick steps, Conner’s heavy tread—crowds the doorway, their presence a shield but their stares heavy, ready for answers that I wouldn't give a few hours ago. My locket thumps against my chest, emerald ring glinting in the harsh blue light of the holograms surrounding us, and I face Bruce, heart hammering, those horrible puzzle pieces too raw to hold back, finally a chance for answers. “Bruce,” I say, voice sharp, “we need to talk. Now.”

His cowl doesn’t shift, lenses unreadable, his silence a wall. My fingers tighten on Wally’s, defensiveness surging, the need to protect him—his hum, our future, our dreams—burning through me. “Don’t play statue, Bruce. I know you’re thinking what I am—about Savage, about Wally. Tell me I’m wrong.” He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and the quiet stabs deeper than any glare. My chest heaves, gray eyes blazing. “Fine, I’ll say it. You’ve been pushing Wally to the edge—‘hit your burst,’ nearly losing him to the Speed Force—because you know what Savage wants. Spill it, Bruce, or I swear to God that I will.”

The room’s hum seems louder, the Team frozen—Wally’s green eyes wide, Barry’s face taut, Dick’s fists clenched, Barbara’s hands still. Zatanna’s breath catches, M’gann’s empathy pulses, Bart and Conner rigid, waiting for the explosion that is sure to come. I step closer, voice low, trembling with rage and fear. “Savage planned this—all of it. He’s immortal, centuries to scheme, and he’s obsessed with power and control. Wally told me,” I hesitate, voice catching, the secrets he shared with me on the Harbor before he proposed—ten thousand lifetimes, an infinite span of worlds he saw trapped in there, our deaths, the infinite possibilities of our lives. My glaze flicks to Wally. His jaw is tight, and I swallow. He and I are the only ones who know everything he saw, a secret, shared in whispers during our nights, when his nightmares come, memories of death and ash. He nods his head, his permission granted, to tell them everything, he’s as tired of the secrets as I am, but I won’t tell them what he saw, just the bare minimum to get my point across, some secrets should be ours alone. “He told me that the Speed Force, it’s multiversal, a key to infinite universes, power beyond anything. Savage must’ve encountered something—ancient tech, a relic, a speedster long gone—that made him question where their power comes from. He must’ve uncovered the Speed Force in his search, theorized about its potential, a pocket dimension as real as gravity, limitless energy to weaponize, to access and rip through the multiverse.”

I pace, sweat beading my brow, words spilling, unstoppable. “The Keystone City raid—those plans we found they had tachyon counts, calculations for what Savage needed to start his weapon, his plan, whatever it is. All the speedsters together—Barry, Bart, Jay, Wally, even Trajectory—might’ve been enough, but capturing them all? Too risky. The League would’ve noticed Jay’s absence, gone on alert. Trajectory was easy, unknown, but her tachyon levels weren’t enough. Bart and Wally were vulnerable, but Barry? He was the flaw to Savage’s plan. He’s too fast, untouchable, especially if he hid Iris here,” I point at the floor, the Watchtower’s hum underscoring my words, “Once the League knew that someone was targeting speedsters. Savage couldn’t bait Barry out, not with the League watching. No, he needed one speedster, a single target that had enough Tachyons in their blood to begin the next phase of his plan, but the plan had to be precise, since no one single speedster fulfilled those requirements alone. He needed someone that was slower than Barry, someone who wasn’t retired, and someone that was a hero at the time to get pulled into the Speed Force, absorbing tachyons in a world-saving stunt.”

My voice cracks, eyes locked on Bruce. “Wally was the mark. Slower than Bart back then, heroic enough to dive into danger. Savage rigged it—2016, that ‘accident,’ the magnetic field disruptor no one knew about. It wasn’t a fluke; it was a trap. And Wally vanished, sucked into the Speed Force, racking up tachyons while everyone except for Savage thought he was dead. Savage waited, betting he’d escape. Those rifts—Central City, then Gotham—proved his theory that Wally was trying to get out, now fast enough to breach the fabric of reality. And after Gotham, when there weren’t any more breaches, it was the signal that he’d escaped and survived. Savage knew it was him, marked his face in those plans, circling his target. Wally’s four years in the Speed Force gave him uninterrupted tachyon absorption. You said in your scans weeks ago that Wally had more in his blood than any other speedster now. Meaning Wally has the Tachyon count Savage needs, but he doesn’t have Barry’s speed or the training to outrun him. That’s why you’ve been pushing, Bruce—why you told Dick you’re ‘training him to survive,’ why you’ve been impatient, demanding bursts. You know Savage is coming for him, you know this was planned for years, and you only picked up on it after Keystone.”

I’m panting, sweat streaking my face, gray eyes boring into Bruce’s cowl. The room is deathly still, so quiet you could hear a pin could drop. Wally’s hand trembles in mine, his hum sporadic. Barry’s face is ashen, blue eyes wide. Dick’s frozen, blue eyes locked on me, Barbara’s hands gripping her chair, green eyes stunned. Zatanna’s hands cover her mouth, M’gann’s empathy a tidal wave as tears stream down her face, Bart’s blur stilled, stunned into stillness, and Conner’s fists are clenched, horror dawning as my words sink in, puzzle pieces clicking—Savage’s plan, Wally’s loss, four years stolen, all orchestrated. My chest heaves, locket thumping, ring glinting, and I step closer, releasing Wally’s hand to face down the caped crusader, voice raw. “Tell me I’m wrong, Bruce. Tell me you haven’t pieced this together, that you’re not hiding this to ‘protect’ us.”

Bruce’s cowl tilts, chin lifting slightly to stare at me more fully, lenses narrowing, and then—a single nod, slow, deliberate. My world collapses, knees buckling, Wally’s arm catching me, his hum a faint pulse against my shaking frame. He knew. Bruce knew, theorized the same, every bit of it, just much earlier, maybe as soon as he saw the Keystone plans—Savage’s trap, Wally’s targeted loss, the multiversal stakes. Four years without Wally’s hum, his laugh, our life—planned, a chess move in Savage’s immortal game. The Team’s silence screams, their horror mirroring mine. Barry steps forward, voice hoarse, “Bruce… is this true?” Bruce’s lenses shift to him, another nod, and Barry’s hands rake through his hair, anguished. Dick’s voice cracks, “You knew… and didn’t tell us?” Barbara’s gaze is steel, “Wally deserved to know.”

I cling to Wally, his green eyes wide, flecks of gold dim, fear etching his face. My voice shakes, “Why, Bruce? Why push him without telling us?” His voice is low, clipped, “Knowledge changes nothing, Tigris. Savage’s plan is in motion, it has been for longer than we all have realized. Wally needs speed to survive, to stop him. Telling you would have risked panic, hesitation, emotional baggage.” I glare, tears burning, “He’s not your pawn, we deserved to know, as soon as you knew.” Wally’s hand tightens, grounding me, his voice steady despite the tremor. “Artemis… I can do this. For you, for us, Savage won’t get me, we’ll put a stop to this. We’re in this, together.” I nod, tears falling unabashedly, ring glinting as I grip onto him like a lifeline, the picket fence we’re fighting for now a fire in my chest, I will protect Wally at all costs.

The data room’s screens flicker, Savage’s shadow looming over us all. I steady my breath, gray eyes fierce as I wipe the tears from my cheeks, Wally’s arms around me, his hum anchoring me. The Team closes ranks—Zatanna’s magic sparking, M’gann’s eyes glowing, Bart’s blur humming, Conner’s strength a wall. Dick and Barbara nod, their loyalty burning bright in the face of this danger, Barry’s resolve hardening to protect his nephew from all evil. Bruce watches, unyielding, but his nod was a vow—we’re in this together now, we’re all on the same page. Savage’s plan is real, but so are we—Wally’s speed, my love, the Team’s fight. I’m ready to tear down this multiversal threat, for Wally, for our future, for the dreams that fuel us, for the life beyond this shadow’s reach.

Chapter 35: Shadows of Truth

Notes:

Hope you like this one! :) I loved writing this chapter, and maybe it's a bit dramatic, but did you even see the "Drama" tag on this story lol? For real though, I like to think that Artemis knows herself pretty well, and she knows that she might could have salvaged something after losing Wally once, but after getting him back, there's no way she'd be able to survive a second time

The Watchtower, January 2^nd, 2021

The Watchtower’s conference room hums with a sterile pulse, holographic maps flickering across the table, casting blue light on my face as I stand, gray eyes burning, heart still raw from Bruce’s nod hours ago. Savage’s plan—Wally’s four years stolen, a trap to harness his Speed Force tachyons for a multiversal weapon—cuts deeper than any blade, my locket thumping against my chest. Wally sits beside me, his hand in mine, his hum vibrating through my skin, grounding me despite the dread in my gut. His green eyes are steady but shadowed, the weight of Savage’s mark heavy, knowing that the four years that were stolen from us were all part of a grander scheme and not some fluke. The emerald ring glints on my finger, a reminder of our picket fence dream, the knowledge that it was bought back in Palo Alto looming like a ghost, knowing that the dreams we’d had and thought we lost could’ve been ours years ago if not for the evilness of Vandal Savage. Dick leans against the table, blue eyes sharp, Barbara’s wheelchair beside him, green eyes scanning data. Barry’s across from us, jaw set, blue eyes flickering with guilt. Zatanna, M’gann, Bart, and Conner fill the room, their presence a quiet strength, but I feel their stares—afraid of the truth revealed in my rant, Bruce’s secrecy exposed. I need answers, a plan, and I need Bruce to stop hiding.

“We’re not waiting for Savage to strike,” I say, voice steady, cutting through the hum. “He’s planning something, and Wally’s the key. We need to move now, figure out his game.” My words echo my earlier talk with Dick. Zatanna frowns, voice soft, “But what’s he planning, why does he need the Tachyons other than to have their power? Does he want to build a weapon? Something bigger?” Her question hangs, the Team’s eyes shifting—M’gann’s empathy pulsing, Bart’s foot tapping, Conner’s arms crossed. Dick’s gaze snaps to Bruce, cowl unyielding at the table’s end. I miss it, but Dick doesn't—a flicker, a micro-expression, gone in less than a blink, his history with Bruce sharper than ours, growing up with him, spending years at his side. He steps forward, blue eyes blazing, voice low, livid under the knowledge that Bruce has kept hidden since the Keystone City mission. “Bruce, you know something else. You’re holding back. After everything, after four years of Wally gone, Savage’s scheme—you’re still hiding? Tell us." His teeth are clenched, barring them like a rabid animal when he grits out, "now.”

The room stills, my heart hammering suddenly at whatever Dick caught and is insinuating. Bruce is unyielding though, calculating in the way he looks at each of us. Without warning, the room tastes of ozone and metal, the hairs on my arm standing on end, like the heartbeat you have before you get struck by lightning. Barry’s face tightens, guilt flashing, before he slams his fist on the table, the bang echoing. “Damn it, Bruce! Tell us what you know!” His voice is raw, murderous, blue eyes boring into the cowl, the control Barry has over his speed a thin thread that is threatening to unleash the full and terrorful power of the fastest man alive. The Team freezes—Zatanna’s hands spark, M’gann’s eyes go wide, Bart’s blur pauses, Conner’s fists clench. Bruce’s lenses narrow, jaw tight, then he speaks, voice clipped. “Savage has operatives off-world, moving tech, probing energy signatures. I’ve tracked activity—unidentified hubs, likely tied to his Speed Force plan. That’s all I have.” Dick scoffs, “All you have? You knew he targeted Wally, planned his disappearance, and kept it quiet?” Bruce’s voice hardens, a rare crack. “I withheld to focus you. Panic loses wars. Wally’s training is preparation—we don’t know how Savage plans to go about this plan, other than taking Wally’s blood. So, we need to get him fast enough to outrun Savage’s trap, whatever it may be, so as to dismantle this plan he's had for years at the root."

I see through what he’s not saying, and I glare, ring biting my palm as my fists clench. “And what do you think the trap is?” Bruce looks at me, and in a move that I never would have expected him to do, he reaches his hands up to his mask, removing the cowl from his face. His face is...compassionate? And the words he speaks next, the weight of them in his eyes, makes me wish he'd left the cowl on. "You, Artemis."

I reel back as if I've been slapped, the silence in the room heavy. Wally is gaping like a fish out of water, the rest of the team stunned into silence, Dick looking between me and Bruce, baffled, but with a dawning look of comprehension beginning to form like he's understanding where Bruce's thoughts have gone. It's Barry who breaks the silence first, "Of course," he says softly, almost too quiet to be heard. My head swivels to him, my brain struggling to catch up and make sense of everything, "What do you mean, of course?" It's Bruce that answers next, "You and Wally are an item, more than that. The ring on your finger is proof. I imagine that Savage had no way of knowing whether Wally would survive in the Speed Force, but he also would have carried out his plan regardless. Obviously, he'd have no way of knowing about the two of you, but I believe that has changed. There were quite a lot of operatives there that night in Keystone City, and I imagine at least one of them would have heard what was said and reported it back to Savage. If I recall correctly, Wally's exact words were, 'You don't lay a hand on her.' If that statement was reported back to Savage, and I prefer to believe that it was, then that would be enough for him to conclude that you may be a potential weakness to Wally, even if he doesn’t know the full nature of your relationship. It's natural to conclude then that you are a possible target to lure Wally out. Maybe you're not the main target, but if you are known to him then I think you’re one of them." Dick swallows hard across the table, his hand reaching for Barbara's for grounding, both slightly shaking by Bruce's assessment. The rest of the team has varying degrees of shock written across their faces. M’gann has her hand over her mouth, leaning into Conner like it’s the only thing keeping her standing, Bart is completely still, except for his head, which he is shaking back and forth, denial written all over his face. Zatanna’s fingers are twitching, like she’s barely keeping a mask on her own emotions. Dick and Babs simply standing there, looking horrified by the revelation.

I want to deny it, but Bruce’s look—every scenario weighed, every fact checked—says he’s right. I'm a target. If something happened to me, Wally’s reckless heart would charge into any trap, make any deal to save me. "Then I'll stay here, where I won't be a pawn in Savage's game," I say, my voice only slightly wobbling, the dreams of our Spring wedding and the house in Central City beginning to crumble under me, but nothing is more important than ensuring Wally’s safety. And if that means locking myself away, then it’s a price I’ll pay a hundred times over. It's Wally’s hand in mine, squeezing tight when he speaks, voice firm. “No. You're not hiding in the Watchtower, Artemis. I’ll train, push to go faster, control myself—but this isn't going to be the reason that we stop our life.” My chest tightens, fear spiking. “Wally, it’s safer here. Savage is after you, and Bruce is right. If he knows about us, he'll be after me. If me being out there is a liability to your safety, then I’m staying. I can’t lose you again,” my voice cracks, and I hate it. I hate the vulnerability in front of the team, I hate Vandal Savage for what he took from us, I hate how unfair life is. But his green eyes burn, the same emerald green as my ring, piercing my soul. “Savage stole four years from us, babe. I won’t let him steal our future. Threats are always out there, but that doesn’t mean we stop living.” I want to lock myself away, lock him away from a world that’s trying to take him from me, keep him safe, but his eyes blaze with life, echoing my mom’s trembling warnings—her voice reminding me this hero life puts Wally in danger, and my world always at risk of crumbling. I graze the ring with my thumb, its coolness steadying, and nod, reluctant, terrified, but agreeing. He’s right—tomorrow’s not promised, and I need every moment I can have with him. But in my mind, a dark truth festers: if something happens again, if Wally dies, I won’t be far behind this time.

I can tell that M’gann has picked up on my wayward emotions, because she almost immediately crumbles, turning into Conner’s chest as he holds her up, confusion written on his face. Her sobs of anguish and fear echo in the silence, a raw wave washing over the room, horror dawning on the Team’s faces as they realize the awful truth of it all, M’gann’s reaction confirming it: Savage’s threat isn’t just the threat of losing Wally for good, it’s the threat of losing me too should he succeed. Zatanna’s hands spark, magic flickering, her eyes wide, voice trembling, “Artemis, we won’t let Savage touch either of you.” Conner holds M’gann close to his chest, his voice breaking, eyes glistening as he looks between Wally and me, “You’re my family. I won’t lose either of you to this, no matter the cost.” Bart’s blur falters, his quip strained, “Savage’s got no shot against us, yeah?”—fear lacing his words, a plea beneath the humor he’s trying to muster. Dick’s face pales, a festering sickness in his gut, his voice desperate, “We’ll do anything—anything—to keep you both safe. You have to trust us.” Barbara grips his hand, her green eyes haunted, pleading as she swallows a lump in her throat, her voice wobbling in fear, “Savage won’t win, not this time, not you two.” Wally’s green eyes mirror the Team’s horror, his hum trembling, understanding my fear and mentality—he saw lives without me in the Speed Force, knows he’d seek his own death too should the roles be reversed and it be just me that's killed. Their resolve binds us, fierce yet haunted by fear, a fire stronger than Savage’s shadow, and Wally’s pulse steadies me, our Team a shield for the future we’re fighting for.

Later, in a quiet corner of the Watchtower, Wally pulls me aside, his green eyes shadowed with dread, haunted like the lives he saw without me in the Speed Force. “Artemis, if Savage takes me, you have to live,” he pleads, voice cracking, hands trembling on my shoulders. “Promise you’ll go on, for me.” My blood boils, rage surging. I grab his shirt, fist clenching the fabric, knuckles white, and yank him close, hissing, “Don’t you dare, Wally West. Don’t you dare tell me what to do in that scenario. You don’t get to decide that.” My voice shakes with rage and my eyes mist with the truth, raw and ugly. “I lost you once, barely held it together—my heart shredded, scraping by on fumes. If you die, I won’t be strong enough to go on again. I’ll follow—a bullet, a mission, I don't care. I will not survive. That’s a fact, do you hear me, Wally? A fucking fact.” Wally’s face crumples, eyes glistening, voice small and terrified, like he’s in the Speed Force living all those lives all over again. “I get it, babe,” he murmurs, “If you died, I’d be the same way.” And I know he’s remembering those universes where I did die but he survived. I loosen my grip, and his hum falters. It’s in an impossibly smaller voice when he murmurs, “What if I’m not fast enough to save you?” The last of my anger melts, heart aching at his fear. “Wally,” I whisper, moving my hand up to cup his face, to wipe away the tears that begin to slide down his cheeks, “you escaped the Speed Force. You can do anything. I believe in you.” We hold each other, his hum steadying, fear lingering but love fiercer, our future a fragile flame we’ll fight for. Dick watches from a distance, blue eyes haunted. Barbara wheels to him, her hand on his, steadying him like Wally does for me. “We’ve got him, Dick. We’ve got both of them,” she whispers, and he nods, jaw tight, vowing no more graves.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, January 3, 2021, we’re back in Gotham, the Watchtower’s relentless hum replaced by our apartment’s quiet, a lamp’s glow warm on my skin. Wally’s beside me on the couch, arm around me, red curls catching the light, but shadows linger in his green eyes, haunted like my own. My locket rests heavy against my chest, ring glinting as I hold my phone, the number from the “For Sale” sign in Central City typed in on the call pad. The house—two stories, room for a fence, for children—is a dream Savage threatens to shatter. His mark on us both, me as bait, Wally as target, claws at my heart. I won’t survive losing him again; but Wally’s words ring fierce in my head from the prior evening, Savage stole four years from us, babe. I won’t let him steal our future. Threats are always out there, but that doesn’t mean we stop living. Wally and I may both be afraid for each other, but we’re not going to let fear rule over us. “We’re doing this,” I say, voice firm yet trembling, gray eyes locked on Wally’s. He squeezes my hand, a half-smile flickering, “Spitfire, no immortal creep’s stealing our dreams.” The static lightning in his skin tingles, steadying me, a faint smile breaking through on his face. I lean forward capturing his lips in a chaste kiss, tasting the ozone and metallic tang on his mouth, our fragile flame burning fierce.

I pull back and take a deep breath, calming myself as best as I can before dialing the number. The realtor picks up after only a few rings, voice chipper, a stark contrast to the emotions flowing through me at the moment. “Hello, this is Denise Jones.”  I muster a smile, hand holding Wally’s, and looking into his green eyes so full of love, and it gives me the strength to answer, “Hi Mrs. Jones, my name is Artemis Crock. Do you have a second to talk about the house on Barrow Avenue?” I hear her clicking away on the keyboard, undoubtably reminding herself of the place. “Yes, the two story with the porch?” I nod, though she can’t see. “Yes, that one.” Mrs. Jone’s voice is lively, “Yes, a wonderful deal. It’s move in ready, just needs a bit of cosmetic work done on it. Were you interested in touring it?” I clear my throat again, drawing strength from Wally’s gaze and his hand on my leg, “No, thank you,” I say kindly, “My fiancé and I have actually already been to see it, and we love it. We’d actually like to go ahead and fill out the paperwork to buy it. We’ve got the down payment ready as soon as you’ll let us pay it.” Her voice on the other end is animated, “Oh that’s wonderful! Congratulations on your engagement! I can get the papers drafted and have them ready to sign by this evening if you’d like?” I give Wally a small smile as I speak into the phone, “That’d be wonderful, Mrs. Jones. Thank you. We’ll be by later. Is the address listed on your website a good place to meet?” Mrs. Jone’s fingers are clicking away, and I can already imagine her alerting the seller, getting ready to print and scan documents, “Yes, can you stop by around 3:30?” There’s pride in my voice when I reach for Wally’s hand on my leg, squeezing it tight in mine, and I can see excitement in his eyes bypassing the shadows, “We’ll be there, see you then.” I hear her confirmation and press the button on my screen to end the call. My heart is racing, not from dread but hope. Wally pulls me close, kissing me strongly on the lips, static dancing under his touch, our future solidifying even if just a bit at a time. “Picket fence, babe,” he whispers, “you and me.” I smile, his hope contagious but a welcome reprieve from the storm. My eyes pricking with love, pure and unadulterated, “Always.”

Chapter 36: Defiance

Notes:

I'm back! Sorry for the late update, I've been busy traveling. Came back to the US from Scotland, and with it being the 4th of July, have been pretty busy. Anyways, part of this chapter is dedicated to Karma_Warhawk_B16 who has really wanted to see some more Kaldur action in the fic. I can't promise that Kaldur will take a central point from here on out, but who knows what will happen. Kaldur is the new Aquaman, so his responsibilities fall very much under the League now as opposed to the Team (I know Zatanna is also part of the league, but because this is a Wally/Artemis fic, Zatanna has a more central role because of her initial deception with M'gann on convincing Artemis that Wally was at peace, when he was actually stuck in the Speed Force). Anyways, I hope you like this new chapter! Comments are always appreciated :)

Central City, January 6^th, 2021

January 6, 2021, and the Central City house on Barrow Avenue is officially ours, papers signed three days ago in Denise Jones’s office, her highly animated voice still ringing in my ears. The living room is a chaos of cardboard boxes, pale winter sunlight streaming through bare windows, casting golden patches on the hardwood floor, the porch outside whispering of a porch swing to be added, and the back yard sighing of white picket fence yet to rise. I’m kneeling by a crate, unpacking dishes, my locket heavy against my chest, my engagement ring glinting as I stack plates, each one a vow of dinners, laughter, a life I’ll fight to keep Vandal Savage from stealing. Wally’s across the room, red curls catching the light, wrestling a lopsided bookshelf into place, humming off-key to some pop song that’s all wrong for his voice but so right for him. His grin is classic Wally—bright, boyish, the kind that used to light up Mount Justice—but shadows linger in his green eyes, haunted like mine, Vandal Savage’s threat a claw at my heart. Me as bait, Wally as the target. Bruce’s Watchtower briefing replays, our fight three nights ago searing—I won’t survive losing him again—but I push it down, fingers tightening on a plate. We’re done letting fear steal our future. This home is a testament to that.

Mary West bustles in from the kitchen, hair tied back in a messy bun, carrying a box labeled “Kitchen Stuff” in her precise handwriting. Her smile is warm, crinkling her eye. Wally and I made the decision not to tell his parents what was happening, they don’t need to know all the details we have that plague us. How do you look a mother in the eye and tell her that her baby boy was taken from her deliberately, how do you tell her that he’s being hunted to a level beyond the normal dangers of him being a superhero? “Artemis, these are your mugs,” she says, setting the box beside me, her hand brushing my arm. “That chipped ones from your Gotham place, right?” I nod, lifting the mug, its cracks a map of our past, of nights arguing over takeout, of Wally’s laugh filling our tiny apartment. He was only there for just over a month, but it was our first real home together. “Yeah,” I murmur, voice catching. “It’s seen some things.” Mary’s eyes soften further, and she kneels beside me, unpacking a teapot. “This house,” she says, glancing at the sunlit windows, “it’s perfect for you two. Room for grandkids someday, too.” She winks at me, and the running joke causes a smile to crack my face, “Just as long as Grandma West doesn’t mind watching more tiny speedsters intent on causing mayhem.” She laughs, bright as the sun, “Oh I think you’ll have to beat me away with a broom once kids come along.” I grab her hand, sentimental for all she’s done for Wally and me, “You and Rudy are welcome here, anytime.” She smiles kindly, patting my hand with her other.

Rudy West lumbers in, hefting a floor lamp, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. “Kid, where’s this going?” he asks Wally, voice gruff but laced with pride, the kind that’s carried him through years of watching his son race toward danger. Wally points to a corner, grinning. “Right there, Dad. Gotta class up this place for my Spitfire.” I roll my eyes without malice. The bookshelf that Wally is wrestling into place is as lopsided as the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and I can’t help but tease him, “You’re terrible at shelving, babe. All of our books are going to be laying flat.” He laughs, the sound warm, a reprieve from the storm, and tosses a crumpled packing paper at me. “Yeah, because you and I are such devoted readers. Besides, I gotta keep you on your toes, babe.” Rudy chuckles, setting the lamp down with a thud. “Better get that fence up before she changes her mind, son.” Wally winks at me as I walk closer to him, standing by his side. He leans close, lips brushing my ear. “Spitfire, that fence is next.” I lean into his vibrational hum, the tingle of his skin on mine, steady, and I smile.

I bend down to another box and pull a framed photo from it. It’s me, Wally, and Lian, barely a year old, laughing at a Star City fair, her tiny hands sticky with cotton candy. My fingers linger, tracing Wally’s smile. He’s carefree in the picture, we both are, and Lian is grinning so wide her face looks like it’s splitting. Savage stole four years from us, babe, he’d said in the Watchtower, tears sliding down his cheeks, his voice breaking under the weight of universes where I died. I won’t let him take more. I set the photo on the mantle, sunlight catching the glass, and Mary pauses beside me, her eyes misty. “You two look so great in that picture, I can’t think of any two people who deserve this more,” she whispers, pulling me into a hug, her scent of lavender and coffee a familiar comfort. Rudy joins, his arm around Wally, his gruff voice soft. “Proud of you, son. Both of you.” For a moment, we’re a family, unpacking hope despite the claw at my heart, the fear that Savage’s shadow could shatter this. I unpack the chipped mug, setting it beside the photo, and smile. This is ours.

The front door swings open, and Barry Allen bounds in, his Flash suit swapped for jeans and a faded Central City U sweatshirt, a box of pizza balanced in one hand. “Thought you kids could use fuel!” he calls, his grin wide but his eyes flickering with the same worry I carry. Iris West follows, her journalist’s gaze scanning the room, a bag of groceries in her arms. “Artemis, we brought essentials—coffee, bread, and way too many snacks,” she says, her smile warm but tinged with caution, like she’s bracing for bad news. I hug her, grateful, and Barry claps Wally’s shoulder, pulling him into a quick, tight embrace. “House looks good, Kid Flash,” he says, but his voice catches, and I know he’s thinking of the Watchtower, of Savage’s threat. Mary also hears the catch, looking over to her brother-in-law with amusement, “Barry Allen, if I didn’t know any better, then I’d say you’re getting emotional at Wally growing up.” Barry gives her a shrug of his shoulders, “What can I say, Mary, I love this kid,” he says, pulling Wally in and ruffling his hair under Mary’s laughter. Iris is watching everything with a keen gaze, scrutinizing the three of us like she’s trying to piece something together, and I realize that Barry didn’t tell Iris either. The room fills with chatter—Mary directing Rudy to move a couch, Iris unpacking groceries, Wally joking about his shelving skills—and for a moment, the fear recedes, replaced by the warmth of family, the clink of mugs, the rustle of boxes.

My cell buzzes in my pocket. I look at the contact and it’s Dick. Wally’s standing beside me and see’s who it is. I decide that some things are easier done when you’re not acting suspicious, like slinking away to answer a phone call, so I announce to the room, “Hey guys, Wally and I need to take this. Be back in a second, and don’t eat any of the Oatmeal Cream Pies without us!” The family laughs and nods their heads, Barry’s a bit more forced than the rest, but over the cackle in the den, it doesn’t appear anyone is the wiser. Wally and I walk outside into the cold morning air, making sure the door is firmly shut, and we’re away from any open windows when I answer the phone, my voice hushed. “Hey, Dick. Found anything?” Dick’s voice on the other end is subdued. “Hey Artemis. No, nothing yet. Zatanna’s been trying to locate whatever she can, but she’s a dead end on Savage’s hubs, but I’m digging into Light servers, maybe that will yield results. Conner and M’gann are off-world, checking a lead on Rann. Bart’s not really able to do much, but right now he’s running down any leads we can find, and Barbara’s cross-referencing data with Oracle’s network.” I nod, though he can’t see, my fingers tightening on the phone. “Keep us posted.” Wally’s hand squeezes mine, his eyes serious, the shadows deepening. We walk back into the house, Iris speaking up, “All good?” Her voice is controlled, not giving way to her suspicion, but her eyes are searching, seeing what we’ll say, “Yeah, just the wedding officiant calling us back.” She nods her head, like she doesn’t quite believe me but doesn’t press. We move into the kitchen to see what everyone’s doing and jump in to help clear out some boxes with them. The Team’s fighting for us, for our future but here, with Mary and Rudy, Barry and Iris, stacking plates, we’re fighting too, building a life Savage can’t touch. Barry catches my gaze, his smile steady, his voice too low to be heard over the den, “You’re strong, Artemis. Both of you. We’ll get through this.” I nod, throat tight, and keep unpacking, each dish a defiance, a vow to hold this home.

By mid-morning, Wally and I slip out to the farmer’s market down the road, claiming we need a break from boxes, but really just wanting to step away to take a moment for ourselves. The air is crisp, stalls brimming with hot cocoa, fresh bread, and jars of fruit preserves, vendors calling out over the hum of the crowd. Wally’s arm is around me, his red curls bright in the sunlight, his hum sparking as he snags a sample of peach jam, grinning. “Spitfire, we’re gonna need a separate pantry just for this stuff.” I laugh, the sound light in the chilly January air. A vendor, an older woman with kind eyes, calls out to us, “Excuse me! You’re the couple that just bought the house on Barrow, aren’t you?” I’m immediately suspicious. Growing up in Star City, we didn’t have interactions with our neighbors like this, but Wally grew up in the suburbs and his smile puts me at ease as he approaches the booth, “Sure are! The name’s Wally, and this my fiancé, Artemis.” The lady smiles kindly, “Oh, what a beautiful name, young lady.” I smile in thanks, and calls us over a bit closer. She reaches down and pulls up a beautiful bouquet of yellow flowers. I’m unfamiliar with the type, but she holds them out closer to us, “These are Winter Jasmine. They only bloom in late December and January. The bright colors do wonders for turning a house into a home, especially in such a cold season.” She hands me the flowers, and I am struck by their beauty. They don’t have a scent, not unless you really smell them close up, but they yellow is stark against the white and snowy backdrop. “They’re beautiful,” I tell her honestly. She smiles as I pass them back to her, shaking her head and retracting her hands, “Keep them. A gift for your new home and your new life together. May you always remember that beautiful things can spring up and survive in the most barren and harshest of environments, so long as they’re nourished and loved.” I’m floored by her words, finding it hard to speak, simply nodding my head, and giving her a smile while I clutch them to my chest, the yellow petals bright against my jacket. “We can put them our table,” Wally murmurs beside me as we walk away, and I see it—dinners, flowers in a vase, children with Wally’s red hair running through our house, and the old lady’s voice rings clear, echoing in my head that beautiful things can flourish even when everything around them says they won’t, so long as they’re nourished and loved.

Back home, Mary’s in the kitchen, organizing spices, her laughter mingling with Rudy’s grumbling as he untangles extension cords as we walk through the front door. “Oh, are those Winter Jasime,” Mary asks? I nod my head, and she speaks up, “They’re so pretty. Here’s let’s get them in some water, and you can put them in something new later.” I pass the flowers to her, giving Wally a grin at his mom’s enthusiasm. Mary is a light in this world, her kindness unparalleled and her joy infectious. I really did hit the jackpot when it comes to mothers-in-law. I look around to see what everyone else is doing, and my eyes land on Iris arranging photos on a side table. I walk over to see why she’s so still, and I see that her fingers are lingering on one of Wally as a kid, racing Barry in a park. “He was always fast,” she says, her voice soft, and I know she’s thinking of the years he was gone, maybe even understanding that something else is going on that no one is telling her. “He’s still fast,” I say, more for myself than for her with a hint of melancholy in my voice. I realize my slip up almost too late but decide to take a page out of Wally’s book and make her uncomfortable so that she doesn’t focus on the tone of my voice I just used. So, cracking a wide grin and knocking her hip with my own, I say, “You should see him in bed.” Iris looks repulsed before she bursts out laughing, “That’s my nephew, thank you very much, so I’d rather not have that image in my head.” I laugh, my heartbeat wild in my chest and my near slip up, but I’ve got to keep the act up, so I shrug my shoulders, and she makes a face before snorting and walking away, shaking her head and muttering about hormones. With her back turned, I let out a deep breath and decide to steer into safer waters by staying close to Wally’s side. His presence by my side, the little touches on my hand and arm keeping the darkness at bay in my mind. Barry seems to be a bit worse at being able to do that. He’s sprawled on the couch, tossing a stress ball, but his eyes follow Wally, haunted, when Iris isn’t looking. I move back into the kitchen, the flowers sitting in a small vase by the table, but it doesn’t feel right. Looking around, I spot my target and walk over, picking it up and moving to the flowers. I gently pour the water from the vase into the new container, and I set the flowers in it. Mary looks over to see what I’m doing, and she beams, the Winter Jasmine now sitting in the chipped mug. “It’s perfect,” she says. Rudy claps his hands. “Lunch break! Pizza’s getting cold.” We gather around the cluttered dining table, boxes pushed aside, and for an hour, it’s just us—eating, laughing, Rudy telling stories of Wally’s childhood, like the time he tried to “race” a lawnmower. Wally groans, “Dad, not that one!” and I laugh, my hand in his, the Winter Jasmine shining bright on our kitchen table, the emerald ring glinting, love drowning out fear.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

We’re all sitting around the living room taking another much earned break when Barry’s League comm beeps. It’s in his hand before the rest of us realize what caused the noise, and the chatter dies as we all watch his face. He looks up, his eyes strained, but doing his best to smile though it comes out more like a grimace. “Sorry, guys, gotta run. Emergency meeting. I’ll be back in a flash,” the pun falls short against the words “Emergency meeting,” but everyone nods their assent. My heart’s racing in my chest, and I’m positive that everyone can hear it, but Iris just gives Barry a kiss before he waves at us and is out the door, not even bothering to open it but just phasing through it. Iris looks at Wally and I, her eyes sharp, “Any idea what that’s about?” Wally swallows heavily, and Rudy and Mary look keenly at their son, “Nah. They never tell us any of the good stuff, but isn’t there that threat off-world or something, babe? I forget the details,” Wally says, passing to me. And truthfully, I don’t know what called the League to an emergency meeting, it could be any number of things. Am I slightly suspicious that it could be about a certain multiversal threat that involves the complete exsanguination of my fiancé? Absolutely, but I’m relieved that I can answer this honestly, not wanting to lie to Mary, Rudy, or Iris anymore than is necessary. “Yeah, I remember what you’re talking about. Something about activity on Mars. But I can’t really remember either, Iris. I’m sorry. Wally and I don’t normally do off world missions because of our physiology, so we don’t hear that much. I don’t know what prompted the meeting.” Iris nods her acceptance of that answer but her eyes are still suspicious. I think the matter is put to bed when she suddenly speaks up again, damn her reporter nature, “It’s just that Barry’s been under a lot of stress lately, at least for three or four days. He keeps avoiding the issue, which isn’t really like him, he normally tells me everything. I’m sure you can understand that I just worry about him, he’s barely sleeping these days.” I swallow hard, knowing exactly why that’s the case but unwilling to share it. Thankfully, I’m saved by answering when Rudy speaks up, “Don’t worry, sis. Barry will tell you when he’s ready. I’m sure it’s just something that he’s been asked not to share with anyone yet.” Iris hesitatingly agrees, not saying anymore. I can feel Wally fidgeting beside me, and I subtly reach over to grab his hand. The static tingle grounding me, but my weight on his hand grounding him. Suddenly, Iris’s phone rings. She pulls it out, looking at the name on the screen before answering. “Barry?” I can’t hear what’s being said but Iris rolls her eyes, a small grin on her face. “How’d you forget that?” A pause, and then, “Okay, fine, slow down. I’ll head over there now. Yes, I love you too, I’ll see you soon.” And then she hangs up, shaking her head as she rises. “Sorry, everyone. Apparently, Barry forgot to pick up an order at the hardware store, and they’re only going to keep his placement for another hour before they release the supplies to the main sales floor. He wants to build a back deck for us,” she says, rolling her eyes fondly. She walks over to us, and we stand, to give her a hug. She squeezes extra tight and pulls away after a moment, saying, “This really is a beautiful home. I’m so happy for you two. Come over for dinner soon, yeah?” Wally and I agree and then Iris is hugging her brother and sister-in-law goodbye before heading out the door. Not five seconds later, I feel the buzz of a text message and pull out my phone. It’s Dick and the message is short: Get them out. You have 5 minutes. I subtly show the phone to Wally as Mary and Rudy stand up, stretching their limbs and ask, “What should we do next? Do you want help putting the bed frame together?” Wally shakes his head, “No thanks, Dad. Artemis and I were actually about to head out ourselves. I forgot Brucely’s worm medicine in the cabinet in the apartment and we need to go get it. And she and I were gonna grab a quick bite. Wanna come back in a few hours?” I have to cough to hide my grin at Wally’s easy deflection, and staying in character, Wally turns to me and gently pats my back. Mary smiles, “Okay dear, we’ll be back around 6:00 if that works for you.”  I nod my head, “That’s great, Mary. Thank you.” Wally and I each hug his parents goodbye, making a show of doing one last run-through of the house as Mary and Rudy depart. It’s been about 4 minutes after Dick’s message, when the door shuts behind Wally’s parents. I turn to him, questions in my eyes, but he just shrugs his shoulders. Right then, both of our comms beep, signaling that we’ve been summoned to the Watchtower. Wally looks up at me, a rueful grin on his face, “Guess we should get going.” I nod, taking his hand in mine as we make for the door before slamming to a halt, “Wally,” I say slowly, “You didn’t actually forget Brucely’s medicine, did you?” His grin slides off his face, “Damn it.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Watchtower’s hum is a stark contrast from our sunlit haven. We’re here now, zeta-tube’s buzz lingering in my bones, Wally’s hand tight in mine, static tingling as his hum sparks, grounding me in this cold, vast space. The holographic displays flicker with Team intel—Rann’s coordinates, Light network fragments, data pulsing like a heartbeat—and the air’s thick with dread, the claw at my heart sharpening. I scan the room, my gray eyes catching the weight of who’s here.

The Justice League is assembled, not just a handful but the core—Black Lightning at the table’s head, Batman beside him, cowl unreadable; Barry Allen is standing across from them, out of his Flash suit, arms crossed, blue eyes raw with the strain Iris saw, he’s barely sleeping these days; Oliver Queen and Dinah Lance standing close, his jaw clenched, her eyes glistening, their worry carved deep, like parents bracing for loss; Wonder Woman and Superman flanking them, their calm a thin veil over grave resolve; Hal Jordan hovering near a console, his ring’s glow dimmed, his usual smirk gone; Kaldur leaning forward, his calm demeanor strained in a way I’ve not seen in a long time. Zatanna sits across, her fingers twitching, eyes sunken from sleepless nights and countless spells, while Dick’s hologram flickers in from Blüdhaven. The rest of the league are there too, J’onn, Captain Atom, Shazam, everyone. They’re all here. Oliver’s fists are tight, Dinah’s breath is shallow, like she’s been screaming her Canary Call for hours without rest, Kaldur’s gaze holds a rare softness, and I feel it, a collective fear radiating from every face, the weight of their stares, the silence before the storm. They know. My stomach twists, the realization landing like a punch—they know Savage’s targeting us, know the multiversal nightmare threatening to tear us apart.

It's Black Lightning that speaks first, ““Tigress, Wally—thank you for coming on such short notice.” His eyes flicker to Wally, then me, dark and searching, like he’s measuring our resolve. “As you might expect, Batman’s updated the League. We agreed it was time to speak with you directly.” Batman steps forward, shadows trailing him like old habits, his voice low, precise, cutting through the orbital hum vibrating my bones. “Savage’s reach has extended beyond the Team now. His manipulations threaten realities—forces tied to time, life, and the multiverse itself.” His gaze settles on Wally, a breath too long, and I feel Wally’s pulse spike against my palm, his hum faltering. Batman’s eyes shift to me, piercing. Wally’s Speed Force visions of universes where the world was ash, where Savage drained him dry, flashing through my mind but is a secret I guard even here in front of the league. “The League is fully committed to tracking his movements, locating his hubs, stopping him before he escalates. But you two,” Batman’s gaze hardens, “remain central to his plan. Artemis as bait, Wally as the key to his plan.”

The words hang heavy, pressing down, the air thick with the monitors’ quiet pulse and the weight of every gaze. My throat tightens, Iris’s voice echoing—Barry’s under stress, avoiding the issue—and I know this is why, this nightmare of Wally’s blood fueling Savage’s ritual, my capture the lure.

Barry steps forward, his voice cracking, raw, like he’s watching Wally’s empty casket be lowered into the ground all those years ago. “Wally, Artemis, please.” His eyes are wet, pleading, and I see our living room, his poorly concealed grimaces, the pizza box trembling in his hand at the table during lunch. “Move to the Watchtower. It’s fortified, safe, round-the-clock protection. I can’t—” He chokes, swallowing hard, “I can’t lose you again, Kid.” Wally’s hum stutters, his fingers digging into mine, and I feel our fight replay—I’d be the same way, babe, if it was you.

Oliver clears his throat, voice gruff, but softer than his Green Arrow bark, his clenched jaw twitching. “Or Star City if the Watchtower feels too unnatural. We’ve got a spare bedroom with your name on it, Artemis. You know that, and we’ll fight and protect you both there.” Dinah’s voice trembles, a whisper breaking through her Black Canary steel, her glistening eyes locked on me. “You’re family, Artemis. We can’t lose you, either of you. Don’t make us bury you.” Her hand reaches out, hovering, like she’s afraid I’ll shatter. Barry chokes back a sob in his throat at her words, and my heart is torn at their love.

Zatanna leans forward, her voice soft but urgent, her hands still. “I’ve scried every night, pushed every spell I know, but Savage’s wards are ancient, layered like a fortress. He’s undoubtably getting help from Klarion. We got a hit on Rann—Conner and M’gann are there now, chasing a lead—but it’s not enough, and until we get somewhere tangible, you two need to be protected. You’re more than part of the Team or the league. You’re family.”

And then Kaldur speaks, his voice steady, measured—the voice that led us through war zones, betrayals, that never cracked even when the world shattered. “I will not order you. But know this—no shame would lie in choosing safety, even for a time. I have fought beside you both. I have bled for this cause, for each of you. The Watchtower… or Star City… even Atlantis with the right equipment, would welcome you, not as fugitives, but as kin.” His eyes, deep as the sea, hold mine, then Wally’s, a rare claim that lands like a vow, heavy with the weight of a leader who rarely speaks of family but means it when he does. The room hushes, the consoles’ hum fading against his words, and I feel the air shift, every League member’s fear and love pressing closer.

Wally glances at me, his green eyes shadowed, and it’s like every version of our lives we’ll never have—children unborn, fences unbuilt, dinners unshared—presses down, a weight heavier than Savage’s threat. My locket burns against my chest, the ring glinting, and I think of our house, the Winter Jasmine, Mary’s hugs, Rudy’s gruff Build that fence, Iris’s sharp eyes. I draw a breath, the air cold in my lungs, helping clear my vision, my voice rough but steady. “I get it.” I meet everyone’s eyes in turn, my own gray ones fierce despite the situation in front of us. “We know the stakes. We know what we’re walking into. But we’ve lost too much already. It may be selfish of us, but Savage is immortal and will never stop hunting us or trying to achieve his plans. If we spend the rest of our lives running or hiding, we let Savage win without a fight.”

Wally straightens beside me, his grip steady, static grounding me, his voice firm, cutting through the hum. “He stole years from us. He doesn’t get the rest. We’ll stay smart. Careful. But we’re not putting our lives on hold.” His thumb brushes my ring, a vow fiercer than fear, and I feel the room absorb our refusal, a collective breath held.

Wonder Woman steps forward, her armor catching the holo-light, her gaze sharp but not unkind, a warrior’s plea softened by love for her team. “Your courage is admirable, Artemis, Wally. But you must consider your safety. Brave hearts burn brightest—and shortest.” Her words aren’t a reprimand but a last appeal, her voice resonating like a bell, and I feel the weight of her fear, her centuries of watching heroes fall.

Wally’s voice softens, but it doesn’t waver, his statement a quiet defiance echoing in the hall. “I’m sorry, Diana, but we’re done letting him steal anything else.” His hum sparks, steadying me, and I nod, love drowning the claw at my heart.

A long beat stretches, the Watchtower’s orbit humming low, a reluctant acceptance forming. Then, the tone shifts, resolve hardening in every face.

Zatanna’s head dips momentarily as she takes a deep breath before rising again, exhaustion carved into her face, her voice fierce despite the strain. “I’ve scried every night. I’m not stopping. We’ll find him.” Her fingers twitch, magic lingering, and I see her sleepless nights, her spells failing against Savage’s wards, her loyalty to us unyielding.

Dick’s hologram flickers on the holo-screen, his voice quick, almost breathless, Nightwing’s mask hiding the fear he’s trying to hide. “We’re burning through the Light’s networks. Bart’s on recon, Barbara’s tracking leads. You’re not alone in this fight.” His eyes meet mine through the static, and I know he’s fighting for us, for the Team, for the home Wally and I are building.

Hal Jordan crosses his arms, his usual swagger absent, his voice rough. “The Corps is on this too. Off-world, hidden sectors—anywhere Savage thinks he can hide, he’ll be found.” His ring pulses faintly, a soldier’s resolve replacing his bravado, and I feel the League’s scope widen, galactic, desperate to end this multiversal threat.

Superman steps closer, slower, his cape still, his gaze steady, the kind that sees not just you but the storm inside, the weight of a house half-built, a future at risk. “I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re carrying, but I understand what it means to fight for a home, for a future you refuse to lose. If it is your choice to stay in Central City, know you won’t face this alone.” His voice is a vow, warm but unyielding, and I swallow hard, gratitude swelling.

Kaldur’s voice follows, soft, certain, a tide pulling us together. “The oceans stand with you.” His words land like a promise, the sea’s weight behind them, and I feel the hush deepen, broken only by the monitors’ quiet pulse and the Watchtower’s distant hum.

My heart’s pounding, loud enough I’m sure they hear it, like in the living room when Barry’s comm beeped, when Iris’s eyes sharpened, her reporter instincts catching Barry’s stress. I think of her—he normally tells me everything—and Mary and Rudy, and know we’re lying to protect them, to keep our house, our future, ours. I think of Mary’s hugs when she found out Wally was back, Rudy’s gruff Build that fence just hours ago, the Winter Jasmine flowers in our chipped mug and feel the weight of it all—Savage’s plan, Wally’s blood, my death as bait. But I meet Barry’s eyes, then Oliver’s, Dinah’s, my voice steady despite the tremble, gray eyes fierce. “Thank you for understanding, all of you. We know the stakes—Savage, the Light, this multiversal nightmare. Threats are always out there, always will be.” I lift my hand, ring catching the light, locket heavy against my chest, Wally’s static grounding me. “But we can’t put our life on hold. We’ve got a house, a future to build, and we’re fighting for it, just as you are. We’ll be safe, but we can’t stay locked away. We can’t be afraid of a terror that will never die, or we’ll never get to live. We’ll be careful. We’ll fight smart. But we have a life worth fighting for—not just surviving.”

Wally nods, his green eyes blazing. His thumb brushes my ring, his hum sparking fierce, a vow. “He’s not getting more. Not our home, not our life, not us.” The room falls silent, holograms flickering, and I feel their fear—Barry’s, Oliver’s, and Dinah’s in particular—but also their respect, their love, heavy as the Watchtower’s hum. One by one, they nod their assent to our unyielding decision—not because it’s safe, but because they understand. Barry’s face crumples, and he crosses the room in a blur, pulling Wally into a tight hug, voice muffled against his nephew’s shoulder. “Kid, I can’t lose you again. Not after…” He trails off, his grief raw by the thoughts of Wally’s “death”, and Wally clings back, whispering, “You won’t, Uncle Barry. We’re here.” Oliver and Dinah approach, Ollie grips my shoulder, his calloused hand heavy, voice rough but warm. “Artemis, you’re stubborn as hell, but you’re family. Be smart, and don’t do anything rash.” Dinah hugs me, arms tight, breath shaky against my hair. “Be careful, Artemis. Please, for us.”

Zatanna’s eyes meet mine from where she stands, a spark of defiance in her fatigue. “I’m not stopping, Artemis. We’ll crack his wards, find his hub.” Dick’s hologram nods, voice steady. “We’ve got your backs, always. Stay sharp.” Hal adjusts his ring, his voice low. “We’re out there, hunting. You two just focus on staying alive.” Kaldur’s gaze is resolute. “The oceans stand with you, my friends.” Superman steps forward, his voice a vow. “The League will find Savage. You have our word.” Barry’s arms are around me now, pulling me into a tight hug, voice muffled. “We’re fighting for you two, Artemis, but watch your back…watch Wally’s.” Oliver walks over to Wally, his grip on his shoulder strong, his calloused hand heavy, but his eyes soft. “Don’t make us regret letting you two do your own thing, kid.” Dinah hugs me as Barry lets go, her breath shaky, arms tight. “Be careful, Artemis.” Zatanna’s eyes meet mine, a spark of defiance in her fatigue, a silent vow. Dick’s hologram nods, steady. The League stands with us, their fear a shadow, their love a light, and I know this fight’s just beginning, but with Wally beside me, our dreams something becoming tangible, we’re ready.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Evening paints Central City’s sky with stars, and we’re back on our porch, the house’s half-unpacked living room glowing behind us, boxes stacked by the door, the chipped mug holding the flowers on the railing, the promise of a fence in the air. Mary and Rudy left an hour ago, their hugs lingering—Mary’s whispered “You’re home now,” Rudy’s humorous “Build that fence before she changes her mind.” Barry and Iris stayed longer, their laughter fading as they drove off, Barry’s eyes still haunted by our decision to not move to the Watchtower but understanding laced in them as well. I lean against Wally, my locket resting against my chest, his arm around me, red curls soft against my cheek, his hum steadying me. Dinah’s words echo—Don’t make us bury you—and fear whispers: What if Savage wins? But this house, this moment, drowns it out.

“They’re scared for us,” I murmur, gray eyes tracing the stars, the bouquet of flowers a splash of color in the dusk. Wally kisses my temple, static dancing, his voice soft, “They’re family, Spitfire, but this is our home, babe.” I think of the Team—Zatanna’s spells, Dick’s hacks, Bart’s recons, Barbara’s tech scans, Conner and M’gann’s off-world leads—pushing against Savage’s shadow. I think of Mary and Rudy, their hands unpacking our future, of Barry and Iris, their love anchoring us. I think of this house, two stories, room for children, a dream we’re carving brick by brick, plate by plate, mug by mug. Fear’s still there, a claw at my heart, but this love, this home, is stronger.

I turn to Wally, his green eyes bright in the starlight, shadows fading as he grins, that classic Wally spark. My fingers trace his jaw, the ring glinting, locket heavy on my breast. “You and me, Wally,” I whisper, my eyes full of love, pure and fierce. He pulls me close, lips meeting mine, static dancing under his touch, the world narrowing to us. “Always,” he murmurs, and our fragile flame burns bright, our home a defiant beacon against the dark.