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"Oh, ghotta rhun,” Wally smacks his fingertips, swallowing the last crust of his fifth Black Forest Ham sandwhich. “Late for the mechanical engineering group meeting at Mike’s house in the Inner Sunset. He has a sweet set up in his garage.”
The wrought iron chair scrapes the patio floor as he gets up and plants a light kiss on Artemis’s temple. “You pick up the car from Millbrae, okay?”
Her lips curl into a soft smile as she leans into his touch and hmms an affirmative. A quick goodbye squeeze to Wally’s arm: “Sure thing, babe.”
Dick fails to hold back a snicker, and Artemis meets the sound with playfully narrowed eyes. The acrobat barely dodges as Wally tries to ruffle his hair: “Hey, don’t be a stranger, dude, okay?”
“Come to the Cave anytime, slacker,” he tosses back with a light punch to the shoulder, and the redhead snorts.
“I’m the busy one, Robs -” Wally ambles away backwards across the patio. “- or have we forgotten the triple major? My advisor has no idea how I do it.”
He cocks his finger at the duo and clicks his tongue. “Still got it,” he grins and is gone with a hop over the low garden patio fence.
Dick sighs, smiling, and turns back to what’s left of his lunch. The last of Wally’s frenetic energy dissipates, and, with it, a comfortable silence settles over the pair. Artemis runs long thin fingers through a stray lock of blond hair and brushes it back into place; Dick absentmindedly cleans the last of his tomato bisque out of the bowl.
They are the only ones on the patio: the trio had insisted, even though the San Francisco fog piled on the other side of the hill blew a brisk breeze through Noe Valley. They had their jackets, and, well, it was awkward to wear sunglasses inside no matter the season.
Their waiter, looking a little flushed and frayed around the edges, frowns as he approaches the lunch date that’s obviously winding down. His exponentially growing tip had evidently wandered away before dessert, leaving only a tower of plates - enough to feed six people.
"Will your friend be, ah, returning?" The note of hope in his voice fades as Artemis shakes her head no, and the diminutive man precariously navigates the pile of dinnerware, clearing the table. "Can I get you something, then? Coffee, dessert?"
Dick asks for an expresso and the check.
“You sure?” the archer asks.
“I got it,” he insists.
"Well, then, I'll have another glass of merlot." The waiter nods and hurries away to serve his best clients that day.
The acrobat across from her cocks an eyebrow.
“What?” she asks innocently. “I just finished midterms. I don't have anything due soon. Besides, can't I celebrate a rare visit from my old friend Robin?”
Dick chuckles and drains the last of his ice tea. "As an aside, that hasn't applied for years, Artemis."
"Well, it's more accurate than ‘Robert,’ she grins through an exaggerated whisper, referring to Dick's current civilian code name, "and less awkward than Nightwi-"
Dick cuts her off with a firm, cool -tt- and covertly glances at the waiter who arrives with their drinks a short moment later. He hadn't noticed Artemis mention the superhero.
"You sure you want that next glass of wine?"
Artemis laughs throatily and takes it from the waiter. “Not the boss of me,” she teases. “... anymore.”
The red wine glitters as the clouds shift over the sun and away again; her tongue flashes over the edge of the glass with her first sip.
"So.” She's twiddling the stem in her hand. “How is the boy behind the glasses - not our illustrious leader, I mean - doing, anyway? You hardly got a word in edgewise thanks to Kid Mouth."
"That ‘boy’ is just fine." The sugar cube dissolves into the espresso shot cup. "Nothing to report on the home front, really."
"I've heard rumors around a certain redhead that wears the family crest ..."
Dick smiles, a little wistfully. "She's actually out of the country right now: her junior year abroad. Doing a little reconnaissance on the side for us in Germany. So really not much ..."
The blonde scoffs. "Aw, what's 5,000 miles to you?"
"Well,” he begins, and a light blush dusts his cheeks, “we’re young, and … it's not so much long distance as,” he pauses, "getting tied down is something we didn't want to do. Right away."
Artemis shoots him an amused glance.
“Not that it doesn't work out,” he says, raising both hands. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be, right? I mean, how do you do it? Not feel too tied down?”
“Us?” Artemis examines her glass thoughtfully for a moment. “We have lists,” she finally says.
“Lists?”
“Of exceptions. You know, people we could sleep with if we got the chance.”
The brunet snorts. “Like who?”
“Mostly actors and actresses. For me: Clive Owen, Matt Bomer …”
“You know that Bomer’s, ah -”
“Pfft, most of them aren’t going to happen, of course - like Wonder Woman -”
“His list or … ?” Dick asks, eyebrows rising.
“His. Shayera,” Artemis takes another sip and the wine’s halfway gone, “... she's on mine.”
“... And let me guess, Black Canary on his?”
“Of course.” She’s almost giggling now, and Dick’s smile twitches at the rare sound. “His: Milla Jojovich, Halle Barry, Mine: Ewen McGregor - like I said, everyone's basically an impossibility, but there are a lot of them.” She pauses. “Nightwing.”
Dick wrinkles his brow and freezes, coffee halfway to his lips. He can't tell if she was addressing him or ... listing another name. He tries not frown while puzzling it out.
The answer comes when he feels a bare foot brush against the cuff of his jeans.
He mentally thanks Bruce for the million techniques to keep a poker face while scrambling for a way to change the subject. But he can only come up with more inane suggestions. “Uh, what about that PR lady at League headquarters?”
“Both lists,” she says, and that smirk doesn’t go away when she sets the half-empty glass on the white table cloth.
“O-oh,” he stutters. He hurriedly fishes out his phone as an excuse to shift a bit. "You know, you -"
“- but she’s an actual possibility,” Artemis interrupts, casually taking another sip of wine like her foot hadn't just hit above his ankle, running softly over the skin there.
Was she drunk? Dick eyes the glass and clears his throat self-consciously. “You know, you don’t have to drive home. L-let me see if I can authorize the Zeta Beam in the Mission for -"
Halfway up his calf.
The acrobat is up against the wall, literally, and he can’t move any farther to the right, and the left is just, well, closer to her. Pushing down a tide of panic, he says the strangest thing he can think of: “So what about Catwoman for Wally?”
Another laugh. “Yes! There are lots of people thrown in as jokes - uhm, Killer Frost?”
“What?”
“Oh, she’s just in there to get back at me for putting Cameron on mine. Honestly, they’re all mostly for laughs.”
“Mostly for laughs,” he repeats weakly. Her foot retreats for a second, and he uses the opening to slide his leg as far away as he can without seeming awkward.
“Hmm. Who else? Christian Bale -”
The acrobat’s eyes widen. “Uh, okay that’s getting weir -”
“In costume.”
Dick meets her wicked grin with mouth agape.
“Totally worth it to see Wally shudder,” she continues. “Ah, let's see, Michelle Obama - mine, Maggie Q, Michael Phelps - hmmm who else recently?” Her foot is back now, behind his knee. “- Ty Diggs, Albert Einstein, Dick Grayson, Marie Curie -”
“W-who?”
“Marie Curie. She’s not alive, but -”
“No, the, uh, one before?”
Artemis rolls her eyes. “I know you’ve heard of him, Mr. Mini-Gotham. Adopted son of Bruce Wayne? I actually went to school with the poor little rich boy. Kind of an odd bird. Standoffish, except for the first -”
“But … w-why?” The brunet’s eyes fly back to his phone, even though the screen had gone black several sentences ago. “D-did you have a crush on h-him or something?” he asks to cover the way his fingers shake as he pretends to scroll through the Zeta Beam scheduling app.
“Oh, he’s on Wally’s list.”
Dick narrowly avoids cracking his screen.
She takes another slow sip. “We’re actually quite indebted to his family. Wayne scholarships cover our tuitions and most of our living expenses.” Artemis arches an eyebrow again. "It’s very generous, and Wally says what better way to repay them than to - you know. Bruce Wayne’s a little on the old side, so that leaves his son. And besides,” she raises air quotes and adopts Wally’s lilt, “who wouldn’t want to bang Kid Flash?”
Dick's glad he has his glasses on because he totally can't look her in the eyes, and his noncommittal noise of acknowledgement is strained. “That’s - that’s hilarious …”
The blonde snickers. “Not that he’d be able to keep his secret identity while he has sex, right? What’s he going to do, wear the cowl the whole time to keep Grayson from finding out he’s a ridiculous ginger dork?"
"Though ..." - the last little trickle of wine slides over the edge of the glass and into her mouth, and if he were able to look up, Dick would see a very pointed stare - "... maybe he wouldn't mind."
But he doesn't because her toes are suddenly massaging his mid-thigh, and Dick can't quite swallow a thin whine.
She sits up sharply, her foot jerks back, and the brunet can hear the light smirk in her voice: "Oh I'm sorry; have I been kicking you?”
The totally vacant glass is back on the table, and there is a shuffling sound as she slides her soft leather blue ballet shoe back on. “But you know. Just another impossible person on our list.”
The acrobat is still speechless, staring at his now-hibernating phone in the palm of his hand.
"What time is it, Boy Wonder?”
He suffers an awkward pause as they wait for the phone to come back on."Uh, 3:07 and 32 seconds …”
“Oops, don’t they close to get ready for dinner at three? We should go.”
“T-the Zeta Beam is ..." he looks at her and stutters.
"No need. I'll be fine to drive by the time BART gets me back to my car in Millbrae." She gathers her purse. "Thanks so much for lunch, ‘Robert’."
As she saunters past him, she places a hand on his shoulder. "Next time, come see what we've done to the apartment. We'll treat you, okay?"
She leans in, a lock of hair brushing his temple. When her breath ghosts over his ear, it is so so warm, but it sends chills down his spine.
“Because you're always more than welcome.”
And she is long gone by the time he can draw a steady breath.
~Epilogue: Three Weeks Later~
“Ugh,” Wally groans as he drops his bag just inside Artemis’s and his Palo Alto apartment. It's close to midnight when he kicks off his shoes and sheds his jeans, tossing them carelessly on the couch. “... aaand jeans off. Mission accomplished.”
The last fifteen hours completing the mechanical engineering project he’d started 20 days before have been brutal.
“Arty?” he calls, making his way to the freezer and pulling out the tub of ice cream. She gives a muffled reply from the bathroom.
Wally hooks a foot around the leg of the chair at the table and plops down, digging straight out of the pint of Salty Caramel. “Wha’ ‘re ‘u up choo?”
“Nothing.” Artemis emerges from the doorway in tiny lace panties and matching purple tank top.
He freezes, spoon halfway out of mouth: “Uh, woah, nice.”
The blonde grins and pushes him a little farther back from the table, straddling his Batman boxers and running her hands behind his neck and just underneath the collar of his t-shirt. “Thanks, I know.”
“Sooo … ice cream?” he offers a spoonful of the frozen treat which she licks happily.
“Oops, you got a little right here,” Wally grins mischievously and leans up to kiss away a dollop on her lips. “Is there ... anthing else I can help you with, babe?” he asks huskily.
“Actually,” she says, fingers back in his hair, “I have an announcement.”
“Hmm, sounds serious. More?”
“Mm,” she hums as she takes another spoonful. “I’m cashing in on my List.”
Wally shoots her an incredulous look. “Your List? Does this mean we’re renting Quantum of Solace again?” Another spoonful gone. “I’ve been working on my English accent, babe: ‘Bond - James Bo-”
“No, I’m serious, and don’t do that again, that’s horrible.”
The redhead barks a laugh: “What, really?”
“Yeah,” she says solemnly.
“But … ah, how?” Wally frowns, struggling to find the joke. “Er … is Sigourney Weaver on campus?”
He's interrupted by a knock at the door.
Artemis hops down. “Oh! There he is -”
“HE?!” Wally shoots up so fast the chair clatters to the floor, “Dude, you’re not even dressed - ”
The archer tosses a wicked grin over her shoulder as she turns the knob, “That’s the point, isn’t it?”
“Are you serious?! Wait, I’m in my boxer -” But the door clicks, and Wally dives or the fridge, opens the door, and hides behind it awkwardly, spoon and half-eaten pint of ice cream in hand, and deep red flush crawling from his collarbone to his ears.
“... uh, is … this a bad time?”
The flush drains as quickly as it as came when Wally spots his best friend in full uniform just inside the doorway.
“Di-Ni-Nightwing?” he squeaks.
Dick shifts uncomfortably and glances at Artemis. “Okay … awkward,” he whispers, leaning into her ear. “I thought you said he wouldn’t, uhm, be here?”
“Shhh,” she admonishes, smiling and leading him by the wrist toward the bedroom.
"Ah ..." The shock on Wally’s face shifts into confused, kicked-puppy hurt, and he stares after them like a deer caught in headlights.
The brunet finally stops right outside the doorway to the bedroom and shoots him a withering look. “What kind of monster do you think I am, West?”
Artemis has to turn away to keep from dissolving into giggles.
“Oh …” Wally says thinly, voice cracking, “So … this … this a - you’re joking, right?”
Dick pauses. He reaches up and carefully peels away his soft leather mask, presses “Nightwing” into Artemis’s hand, and looks over at his friend almost shyly.
“Only if you want me to be, Wally.”
“Uh… I ... wh...” The bright red flush is back in full force, and the redhead drops the spoon and hits his head on the fridge door while he struggles to pick it up again.
“That means ‘okay whatever you want’, trust me,” Artemis stage whispers and pulls a grinning Dick the rest of the way through the door.
Wally starts after them and stalls, realizing he’s still holding the ice cream and stumbles back toward the freezer to put it away - “Dude, bring the ice cream!” he hears from the bedroom - “Uhm, right,” and he starts back again - “New spoon, babe!” Artemis calls after - and somehow Wally’s in the bedroom with three fresh spoons before the upturned silverware drawer even finishes landing on the kitchen floor.