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From the kitchen came a call of “Babe?”, and Wally snapped his head up from the pillow it had been resting on as he strung his body out along the couch. It was Artemis who called-- more like insisted (because when had she ever been chill about questioning). Her voice curled around the corner of the door frame as she continued on with inquiries, “Where did all the frozen vegetables go?”
Wally shifted his weight upwards to secure a better vantage point of the doorway into the kitchen, which much to his chagrin compromised part of the comfort he’d recently secured lying down. He grimaced as strain flared up in his feet. He glanced down their way to see the two frozen packets of vegetables he had taped to the bottom of each: a package of spinach on his left and one of corn on his right. Clunky they may be, his soles burned pleasantly against the chill and quickly dispersed the flare from movement five seconds prior.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I have them right now,” he answered as casually as he could, unsure how to explain this so he opted to leave it there.
“‘Have them’?” she repeated with a chuckle. “What for? You don't eat vegetables unless I make you."
Wally heard the freezer shut.
"Umm…” He scratched the side of his jaw. “Don’t worry, it's not gonna be for much longer."
"Do I even want to know?" huffed Artemis. And seconds later, she appeared with arms crossed and brow cocked perfectly framed in the doorway. Wally held himself against the pointed look as best he could, but he could see the judgement in her eyes.
“Hey, don’t judge me!" he defended. "I have to do this! It comes with the job: my feet get sore a lot, so I have to ice them from time to time to combat inflammation.”
“Huh,” she said, taking a moment to digest his words. “I would have thought your fast healing factor helped with that.”
“Not really, if I just keep using them,” answered the speedster. It was an unfortunate limitation for someone who’s motivation to rise out of bed each morning stemmed from constant motion-- fast motion-- feet that could finally keep up with his mind. The nerves in his muscles tended to spasm and shoot randomly whenever he wasn't in motion; his toes would tap, fingers would drum, knees would quake. Whenever he was couchridden, like moments of now, his brain had everywhere to go but his body could not, and boy was it frustrating.
Artemis smirked and came to the other side of the couch where she could eye the empty space that was left -- very minimal -- and held to contemplate joining. “We don’t want you getting a charley horse in the middle of a big battle, do we now.”
Shaking his head in agreement, he mumbled, “Not again." In his first year as The Flash’s understudy, he’d gone all out in the speed department -- ‘all gas, no brakes,’ as Iris liked to say -- and learned the hard way what too much felt like. That night, in the slumps of "runner's feet", Barry taught him the recovery method of icing the soreness away, and ever since, it’s been added to Wally’s monthly routine... alongside copious amounts of ice cream and Netflix. Too bad he didn't want to get up and nab the Rocky Road in the freezer right now.
Artemis grabbed Wally's legs and lifted them around her torso as she lowered herself to the cushions. Wally opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat as soon as he watched her replace his legs so that they rested on her lap. It was the speedster's turn to cock a brow, and he almost got out a line of flirtacious snark, too, when relief suddenly flooded through his entire being. From legs to core to neck and brain. Deft fingers -- strong from years on the bow -- drew circles around his calf, kneading the muscles around and around and chasing away all and any thought Wally had or will have from now until the end of time. All that existed was this pleasurable massage. His shoulders sunk back into his pillow. “Wow,” he breathes before he can stop himself, “Don't stop-- Keep doing that.”
“Don’t worry,” she remarks simply with a look of playful triumph of which, he quickly learned over their time together, she was the queen. After a few seconds of enjoying this heaven in silence, she pressed into another concern, “How come I’ve never seen you do this before?”
He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “We’re on missions a whole bunch, and I only do this like once a month.”
“Yeah, but missions are dying down. We requested less of them as soon as we got our own place out here in the city.”
“I guess they’ve always lined up--.”
The archer gave him a look. "You know, I don't actually care what you do to the vegetables."
“It’s still kind of weird, though, taping frozen food to your feet?” he confessed. “I guess I didn’t really know how to explain it.”
"I've caught boyfriends doing worse."
"To the vegetables?"
Artemis barked out a laugh. It wasn’t a typical “pretty” laugh Wally would have severely had a crushe on just over a year ago -- a cooped-up fifteen year old raring for more in his life. Her laugh came with actual might in her gut and a rasp to instill fear in anyone not on her side. It had all the power she composed on the battlefield and all the softness she hid to most, if not all, waking eyes around her. And Wally loved it more than all the other laughs he had ever heard.
“Well, you’ve explained it pretty well tonight," she said.
A little smile -- lopsided, naturally -- crept over his face. “Do you still want these frozen vegetables for dinner?”
Her fingers stopped moving and she eyed his feet again. “I’m thinking we skip over that tonight and break into the ice cream, instead,” she suggested. “Binge some Netflix while we’re at it.”
“You know just the words to say. That’s an impossible request to refuse.”
"I know it is." Her eyes sparkled as she lifted herself around her boyfriend’s legs -- letting them slump back into the couch as soon as she was out -- and disappeared into the kitchen again. Seconds later, she returned with two spoons and the tub of Rocky Road.
“Promise not to eat all of it before I can have some?”
“No promises,” he grinned.
"I'll fight you," she parried.
With that, she took her seat again, in front of his legs this time so she was perched on the edge of the sofa.
"It's ice cream, honey, I'm definitely going to win that one."
“If you do," she said, "I’ll just have to make you run and get more, sore feet or no.”
She settled the materials down on the coffee table.
Wally, meanwhile, stretched himself backwards, yanked the knitted blanket off the armchair behind him and dragged it over his head, and then tossed it over himself best he could. He fidgeted with the folds and wrinkles until it covered all of him before scooting himself against the backboard as much as possible, angling himself to allow Artemis to string herself in front of him, and tossing the blanket over both their shoulders.
Cosy as they'll ever be.
She pulled the tub off the table and led it to a rest right in from of her. Wally reached up, over, around and grabbed for himself the other spoon.
“You ready, Flashypants?” she asked over her shoulder, prying the lid off the ice cream.
He could have rolled his eyes at the nickname, prolonged the moment out for another round or two of snarky love, but draped an arm over her shoulders instead. “Queue something up, Spitfire," he affirmed, a quick parry back (he couldn't help himself) before sinking back in for a restful night. Already, that night was beginning to feel more restful than any of the other recovery nights he’d had before.