In my head, these two are exactly the type to deny a relationship at first. Artemis because she's vulnerable like that and afraid of people getting too close, and Robin because he's just that pragmatic, and his priority is being Robin, not a relationship.

Enjoy!

Learning Curve

The problem with Robin and Artemis is that they're both private people by nature. Artemis is far more blunt than Robin will ever be, and Robin is far more underhanded than she could ever hope to be, but at heart, they're of the mindset that if it doesn't have to do with them, then they're not going to pry. Robin's trying to grow out of that a bit— if he's going to be the leader someday then he's going to have to learn to care and involve himself in things that aren't necessarily his business— but it means that there's a limit to how far the two of them are willing to take this… thing between them.

All it took was a stake-out that ran much too long and a sudden rain shower that left them soaking wet and in a playful mood. All it took was a touch held too long to discover the simmering heat that had always been there but gone unnoticed.

But romance in the workplace is always a bad idea – Green Arrow and Black Canary are proof of that. So they agree— none of that. Flirting, fine. Kissing, great. But officially dating is out of the question. For the most part, they think that's a good thing. Keeps things from getting messy – it'll be safer than way when things finally break off between them, as they're both realistic enough to know will happen.

Unfortunately, it also means that they sometimes don't reach out when they should.

-o-

Robin is pissed. He also has a headache, presumably from being pissed, but probably also from landing head-first into a pile of rubble. He's lucky that the rubble had been pulverized by the explosion, so it wasn't, you know, concrete he'd bashed his head in.

Batman doesn't deal in luck.

A one-hour lecture, after Alfred had confirmed that there was no concussion, just a pretty large bump, and run along, Master Dick. Despite the good prognosis, Robin feels like crap. Batman had been furious, with good reason, since if Robin hadn't been lucky, things could have turned out much, much worse. Robin hates worrying Batman, but he's also pissed at Batman because sometimes accidents just happen and Robin, though he can't afford it, can't be perfect all the time. So yeah, he'd been sloppy—you know, middle of a skirmish, missiles flying through the air, a glance lasting a fraction of a second was supposed to be enough to measure a distance of two-hundred feet plus in smoke and fire. He'd misread the distance of the ledge above, meaning his grapple hook hadn't reached and he wasn't able to evade the blast. And Batman acted like he was nine years old again and didn't know how to do anything. He'd made Robin practice grappling for two hours straight: at varying heights, on a moving base, with a moving target, with obstacles in between—you name it. And Batman had forbidden him from going out on patrol with him for a whole week, which was just about the most humiliating punishment there was.

And now he's at Mount Justice, and he has a headache and doesn't feel like watching a stupid chick-flick with the rest of the team. He wants to sulk and stew in how stupid the whole thing had been. M'gann, of course, is being a mother hen and trying to cheer him up, which sometimes is just what they need and sometimes is just the opposite. Tonight it's the latter, and Robin is this close to snapping at her, which she seems to finally realize because she backs off. Wally's making stupid jibes about his sulking, and Kaldur has that face that means he's about to take it upon himself to breach the topic. Robin saves them all the trouble and says, "I'm going to bed." He stands up and stalks past Superboy, who just looks confused but says nothing.

And then there's Artemis. He would have, maybe, appreciated her coming up to him and asking what's wrong. But one look at his face and she'd realized that this was something between him and Batman, and that was one area that she neither knew anything of nor knew how to deal with. So she'd given him a sharp look, one that told him how much experience she had with such things, and said, "Bad day, huh?" She'd left it at that.

So now Robin sits in his room at his desk, with a computer synched to the one at home, glaring at the screen and not finding any satisfaction in scanning the security camera archives like he usually does. He's angry and hurt and wishing he had someone who would just listen. And it's unfair, because he's got a room full of friends downstairs, but there's an excuse he can come up with for each and every one of them, and it all boils down to him wanting her, wanting that one person to be the one sitting next to him. He presses the tips of his fingers to his temple and finally changes into his sleeping clothes, turning off the light and getting in bed. He doesn't fall asleep for a long time, watching the slits of light between his blinds and listening to his pulse thud dully in his head.

-o-

He finds her in the weight room the next day, after a talk with Kid Flash that left Robin feeling a whole lot better. The problem with Wally is that sometimes he just doesn't get it. Wally had been too busy poking fun at Robin's bad mood the night before to be of much help venting, but when he'd realized that Robin was still not fully happy this morning, yeah, they'd talked a bit, and it had helped. Wally had been sympathetic, though he hadn't really understood what it meant to disappoint Batman—the Flash was a lot more forgiving, after all— and hadn't exactly found Batman's anger justified, no matter how Robin tried to explain it.

She doesn't acknowledge his entrance until she finishes her set of bench presses and sets the bar back on its hooks, arms shaking slightly. She can bench press more than he can. Pulling a compound bow string has built her arms and shoulders with muscles that would make any man jealous. He would be jealous too, if he didn't have other specialties. She sits up, wiping sweat and strands of hair off her forehead and glances at him. Her body's loose and pliable with the heat of warmed-up muscles, and that is a better indicator of how long she's been here than the sweat pooling in her collarbone.

"Feeling better?" she asks, standing up and giving him a smile. She smiles a lot more than she did at the beginning, when she first came into the team. He supposes that makes sense, but he wonders if she smiles more since they started this thing.

She comes up to him, hips sashaying, and leans forward like she might give him a peck but he stops her by raising his hand.

"Yeah, no thanks to you."

Her gaze immediately narrows, and she crosses her arm, shoulders tensing as she straightens up and draws to her full height. "Excuse me?"

Robin leans forward, back muscles pulling taut. "Come on, I was having a sucky day, and all you said were three words to me! Not cool. You didn't even ask what was wrong."

There is a split second pause where she gapes, obviously seeing this as coming from out of nowhere and then she fires back, "Well, what did you want from me? You clearly didn't want to talk about it, from the way you left last night. Did you want me to go up to your room and hold your hand while you brooded like you were Batman's kid?" She breathes and shakes her head. "No thanks, I'm not going to baby you, and I know you don't want pity and empty words. And I don't give those. You needed to deal with it on your own and calm down."

"Maybe you could have shown you cared and listened to me. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to, you know. That's what—" he realizes that he can't say girlfriend because she's not. Those were the boundaries. "That's what friends do."

"You have Wally, don't you? He's your best friend."

Robin stops and grits his teeth. "Once he stopped joking, yeah, I did talk to him."

Artemis's fingers dig into her arms. Her brows are diving into her forehead and her full lips are pressed together into thin lines. There's the sparkle of anger in her eyes, though she hasn't gotten to Robin's level. "I'm not your girlfriend, remember? I don't have some special duty to you. I thought that was the point of this arrangement. You can't hold me to something that wasn't in the original terms."

Robin feels his temper flare at that. Sometimes he likes her practical reasoning, but sometimes… "God, it's not a contract, I know what we settled on. But you never even show you care about—"

"We never," she corrects. Robin pauses and thinks, and she smirks, the gesture dark and almost bitter. "You and I just aren't the Kumbayah-singing, holding-hands-until-the-problem-goes-away type. We know better than that. We know that there are things out there that no one can help with, so, sorry I didn't step in and try to save the day by spouting a bunch of nonsense and trying to fix a problem I knew nothing about and couldn't do anything about. Not like you haven't done it to me before – the other time when I got that phone call—" she stops and closes her eyes. Suddenly she laughs, a sharp bark that almost makes Robin jump. "There. I'm doing it. This is exactly what I'm talking about. That's what it is, you and I— we don't tell people about our problems. We keep them to ourselves. Because I know you can't do anything about this – so I don't want you to know about it."

Robin glares at her, clenching and unclenching his hands. She has a point, and he knows it. And she knows that he knows it. He breathes in deep, runs a hand through his hair, scratches his scalp because it feels good, and lets his breath out. She's right. He'd seen the way her face had changed, become embittered and gained ten years in worry lines. But she'd never talked about much outside her school life, and he wasn't about to pry into something that wasn't his business. He wonders now if she'd wanted him to ask the way he'd wanted her to ask the night before.

He sighs. He can't get mad at her for something that he's guilty of as well. But that doesn't mean they can't change.

"Maybe we're doing this wrong, then."

Artemis blinks and her eyes clear up, the dark, dangerous glaze that had been deepening the longer their conversation went suddenly lifting. Her pale neck stretches with the tilt of her head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like… maybe we should. Ask questions. Care a little more."

She shifts, her arms tightening again across her chest, this time in a defensive posture, pressing into herself, and she looks at Robin cautiously. "… What if we don't want to answer?"

"We don't have to. But at least we asked. That's something, right?"

A few seconds pass and then she breathes out, the wariness still in her narrowed eyes. "You trying to change the terms?"

Robin frowns and thinks about it. He digs his toe into the foam mat. "You mean, are we going to say we're boyfriend and girlfriend? So that we do have a responsibility towards each other?"

She nods.

"…We don't have to, unless you want to."

She's silent for a moment, considering. She turns away from him and looks at the balance beam and puts her hands on her hips, looking up at the ceiling. Robin has a full minute to observe her. Her ponytail is slightly askew from the rolls and tumbles, but he's grown to like the cornfield color. The sliver of skin that shows between her shirt and pants is smooth and firm. He's suddenly struck by her curves—he doesn't usually notice it, but she's well-figured in a way that's rather rare. It's not M'gann's girlish, slender figure, and it's not Wonder Woman's voluptuous curves. Instead, it's athletic arcs – tight muscle with just the right amount of womanly assets. He feels his pulse speed up slightly and breathes deeply to restore it to normal. He looks up at her face, the strong jaw line and the exotic lips, and then rises past the healing scrape on her fine cheekbones and lands on her eyes, distant as she thinks. She's always so serious. She doesn't do things by halves and she doesn't take anyone lightly. He can see the wheels turning in her head, and the concentration as she considers his question fully. He's not sure what he wants her to say. Part of him… well, part of him is curious, would like to take this to the next level. He thinks that maybe… he feels strongly enough about her to go there now. Another part knows it's a bad idea, and he's not sure he wants the added responsibility and to boot, he doesn't know the first thing about real relationships. So he thinks he'll be okay with either answer.

She finally turns around and gazes at him, her voice firm and sure of her decision. "I'm not ready for that."

He nods and accepts that. He realizes in a flash that he loves—likes— that about her—she's always assured and unrepentant of her feelings. He knows that's the full and honest answer, and he accepts it.

Thank you for reading!