So thanks for all the positive reviews. I've been playing around with this plot bunny for a while in my head and decided that since Good Night got so much positive feedback I might as well also share this story with you guys.

Author Notes: For context sake this story focuses more on Artemis's point of view and is set in an alternate universe where both characters are about twenty five, Young Justice never was formed, and they do not know each other's secret identities.

I really hope to get the same level of positive feedback as before. One reviewer commented that Good Night was unrealistic because they were together for over ten years and neither party made a move. I can promise you this by chapter two lovely dovey fluff will occur so stay tuned for that.

I won't be able to update as often as before because I'm super buzy with school but I'll definitely try not to let this story die. The more reviewers the more incentive (wink) because it's so hard to ignore all the nice comments. They just fill my email inbox with cheer.

Please enjoy.

Sweet Affection

Artemis angrily slammed the dough onto the counter before kneading it aggressively with her hands. Her anger was finally starting to ebb as she attacked the dough with her unbridled fury. Ugh, who did that red wearing jerk think he was!

Recalling the reason for her aggravation sent her into another spiral of fury as the starchy bread dough between her fingers suffered the abuse. Why couldn't Flash mind his own gad damn business? What was he even doing in Gotham? Artemis sighed maybe trying to be both an entrepreneurial baker by day and superhero by night hadn't been such a good idea, but Oliver had insisted. The League could always use a few more non-powered superheroes, kiddo. But that wasn't what bothered her. She loved being a hero. She loved stopping the bad guys. She loved being able to be part of something much more worthwhile than her father's plans or the Shadow's ambitions had ever been. She had never regretted leaving the Shadows. Not once. But Mr. Fast-and-Furious just seemed to hold a grudge against her for some unknown, god-forsaken reason. He wasn't even the original Flash, he was the third generation, and he had the audacity to act like she was somehow not entitled to be there – she had earned her position it wasn't just handed to her.

He was what had landed her in hot water only a few hours before when she had been called the private conference room on the Watch Tower to discuss her actions in the presence of the seven founding members.

"Artemis we wish to discuss your behavior," spoke Wonder Woman gently. Artemis's left eye had twitched but she had not responded glowering at her feet. "Why did you hit Flash?"

"Yeah," snapped the man in question who was dramatically placing an ice pack over his left eye, "Why'd you hit me?"

"What the hell are you doing on my turf!" hissed Artemis as she hog-tied some lowlife drug dealers.

"Please, harpy," said Flash leaning casually against a dumpster, "Clearly saving your ass."

"You've got to be joking. I didn't ask for a chaperone," Flash shrugged his shoulders,

"Crime is crime."

"Good. Go fight it in your own city; Gotham's already got enough heroes."

"Then you should retire." Artemis was about ready to stab Flash with one of her arrows but she refrained choosing instead to scale a nearby fire escape in order to avoid the annoying speedster. Jumping along the rooftops Artemis headed toward one of the seedier parts of town hoping to relieve some of her pent up frustration by beating up some thugs - which would have went fine if Flash hadn't followed her.

"Go away." Zooming past her Flash flicked her ponytail causing her to loose her concentration so her shot went wide.

"Ohhhh," he mocked, "Nice shot there." In between trying not to skewer his speeding form as he raced around the battlefield while fending off his annoying pokes and pinches Artemis's anger escalating to an unprecedented level. Predicting when his body would be in range Artemis swung her leg out tripping him, as he pitched forward her hand shot out grabbing him by collar and yanking him toward her she delivered a nasty blow to his face.

"Ow!" he yelped reeling backwards from the force of her hit, "You little..."

"Stay. Off. My. Turf."

Clearly after their little altercation Flash had gone crying to the Justice League. What did he even have to complain about his eye appeared to already be healed. Lucky bastard. Deciding it would just be too complicated to explain the whole situation because the league was clearly taking his side she simply responded.

"Fleet Feet got in my way," turning toward Flash she said in a sugary sweet tone, "I'm soooooo sorry. Won't happen again." Flash merely grimaced at her.

Sighing Artemis finally ceased her tirade on the dough and separated it between six loaf pans before putting them in the oven to bake. Glancing at her watch she hissed,

"Shit." The shop was supposed to open fifteen minutes ago. Everyone could hardly believe it when she had decided to become a pastry chef and open her own bakery. No one could associate the hostile, angry woman with sweet confections and flour but she clearly had an aptitude for the skill and her small store soon became infamous in Gotham for its sweets. Rushing out into the shop she hastened to open the door, luckily there was only one customer waiting outside a strange red haired man she had never seen before.

"Sorry about that," she began apologetically, "Got a little distracted." Instead of getting an understanding nod the man sniffed derisively before storming past her into the bakery and blandly surveying the establishment. Shaking her head to dispel her rekindled anger and clenching her jaw Artemis walked behind the counter watching as he looked intensely at the display cases filled with a variety of different confections. The "customer" scrutinized each pastry as if looking for problems. Ugh. She hated people who believed that local independent businesses didn't measure up to the cookie cutter franchises that cluttered all the cities, with their boring coffee, and bland desserts. Unfortunately, it looked like she was stuck with one of those snobs as her first customer of the day. Just what I needed, a critic.

"You going to ignore me now too?" questioned the man as he snapped his fingers in her face.

"Wah?" She had to admit the man would have been attractive if it wasn't for the smart-ass smirk plastered on his face, as if he expected everything she made to taste like garbage. I'll show him, dumbass.

"Oh," she feigned sincerity, "I'm so sorry, sir. I was not paying attention. Please what would you like." If she hadn't been trained to hide all her facial expressions behind a mask of indifference or to have the ability to remember large quantities of information, remembering the long list of pastries he ordered would have been completely impossible. After listing different quantities of practically everything in the display case he turned to her and purred,

"You got all that, sweetheart."

"Of course," she responded, "Lose an office pool or are you just feeding a small army?" He shrugged.

"Nah, all for me, babe." Rolling her eyes she decided to entertain his foolishness until another customer came,

"Whatever you say. For here or to go?"

"Here," he shrugged, "I was thinking of setting myself up at that little table over by the window." She looked at him dubiously as she placed most of the confections nimbly into boxes, while arranging ten on a rather large plate and pouring him a glass of water.

"It's a free country don't let me stop you."

"I won't."

"Good."

"Great."

"Do you always have to have the last word?"

"Possibly." Her eyes narrowed at his confidence laced voice.

"You owe me eighty three dollars." That shut the man up as he grudgingly handed over the bills.

"These better be some damn good pastries."

"You won't be disappointed," she said honestly. Huffing he grabbed the boxes and balanced the glass on the plate before storming over to the table. Plucking a lemon tart from the plate he inspected it before taking a tentative bite, putting on a comical face of fear.

He chewed the treat slowly at first; it appeared as if he was looking for something to complain about, he even went so far as to pick between his teeth attempting to search for hair. That was what every customer tried to accuse her of. She knew the implications of having waist length blonde hair in a food establishment but she loved going against convention – she rarely cut her hair yet still maintained the highest quality hygiene standards. She just loved pissing those nitpickers off. Amused she watched as the man completely gave up on trying to find imperfections in the product and merely stuffed the entire pastry in his mouth letting out a loud,

"Mmmmmm..."

"Told you."

"Shut up," he quipped blushing bright red before muttering, "You win they're good. Now stop bothering me I'm trying to enjoy myself." She gave him a self-satisfied smirk before serving an elderly lady who had walked in looking for a birthday cake.

The man wasn't joking when he said all the goodies were for him, by noon he had finished off all the pastries he had bought and was ravenously eying the glass counter for more. After staring forlornly at the confections for a good ten minutes the red haired man got up and was about to walk out the door before Artemis took pity on him.

"Wait," she called beckoning him over with a waving hand, "For the road." She handed the man a warm gooey caramel pecan brownie.

"You're not as bad as I thought," he commented tightening his grip on the brownie. She shrugged.

"I still reserve judgment." For some reason that made the freckled man leaning against the counter smile and that was the first time she noticed he had the most enchanting pair of green eyes she'd ever seen. Giving her a saucy wink he zoomed out the door at a speed Artemis marveled at.

It wasn't long before the man was a regular customer, even going so far as to order the day before exactly what he wanted – they weren't small orders either. The volume of pastries the man could consume in one sitting was staggering and Artemis could only gape in morbid fascination as he ate his way literally through fifteen pounds of cheesecake.

"Where the hell do you put it all?" she finally asked one day as he watched her roll out pie dough while there was a lull in customers.

"I have a very active lifestyle."

"I'm pretty sure eating is a stagnant sport." He rolled his eyes attempting to swipe a cookie from behind the counter but she easily deflected his hand. Frowning slightly he bit his lip and looked at her,

"I'm Wallace West." Her head snapped up as she stared into his eyes trying to discern if this was some kind of joke, "Friends call me Wally."

"Artemis Crock."

"Oh that's cute," he sniggered, "The little chef and her crockery."

"Yes, I've never heard that one before." Surprisingly she was not as angry as she usually was – which was a cause for alarm. When did she start to let down her defenses that much around this man? Or as she now knew him Wally.

"I know an Artemis," he said off hand finally managing to snag a sugar cookie, "You're way nicer though."

"Glad your opinion of us Artemis-es hasn't been ruined forever."

"Well anyone who can bake as well as you is okay in my books." It was her turn to roll her eyes, figures the idiot would think with his stomach. But she thought maybe that wasn't so bad. True, West was rude and loud and obnoxious, his red hair was sometimes so messy she had no idea how he combed it and half the time he came barreling into her store disturbing customers but he always apologized. He always sat in the same seat by the window and he always polished off whatever didn't sell at the end of the day. Wally West was kind of sweet and sweet was her specialty.