Above is a trailer made by NinjaTurtleNerd on her own accord. Thank you!

The fake laugh I do nearly chokes me, skin prickling at the sheer awkwardness as I feel the flash of some camera from a table to our right. Gleeful smile planted on my face, I stare across at my loving fiancé.

It has been a week since the commencement of the contract. During that week myself and the 'lady killer' opposite me have been frequenting the most popular cafés and restaurants in Sunset City.

He is tedious. 

So far there are four questions he has taken to asking me every time we meet.

How are you?

Would you like to sit here?

Do you mind if I take this call?

Shall we leave?

Along with three mind-numbing, stellar comments.

The weather is nice.

We probably shouldn't hold hands.

The cameras are watching. 

I try. Don't get me wrong; I try. 

It is in his effort the problem lies- as in, he hasn't got any. Neither of us do. I tried doing the work once, I asked the questions and left feeling like an idiot when we separated.

Hopefully it hadn't looked like I wanted him. I was simply trying what was asked of me by my mother; throwing myself into it to get the best of it out.

"I'm suppose to ask about the ring," he says dismissively, without looking up from his phone. I don't relay the courtesy, staring out at the beach with my drink in my hands.

"What about the ring?" I ask quietly, watching how the water meets the shore. I'll miss that more than my family.

"Well...what do you want?"

What do I want? I want you and your family to leave my city. I want my father to grow some balls and organise a better future for the company that doesn't rely on others. I want a marriage that incorporates feelings and romance. I want that whole Nightwing-and-Rip-Hunter fiasco to be a dream.

I want the proposal, not the words 'What do you want?'.

"Diamond and amethyst," I say lightly, still not looking at him. Amethyst has always matched my eyes, my mother says.

"Sure. I'll uh...I'll get Alfred to pick it up. I'm not great with jewellery," he laughs nervously. I want a husband who can at least do some things for himself. Especially after they've just been explained to him.

"Just remember I'll need it at the end of next week," I say absent-mindedly. He hums in reply, almost like he doesn't hear me.

When I glance over at him, his head is bowed, staring at the phone on his table. A text conversation is open and I know he's talking to his girl.

'Is that Barbara?' I want to say, just to cause shit. I have to remind myself of the point in this whole arranged marriage.

The beach draws my attention again, as I sip boredly at my LLB. 

A couple are strolling over the sand, fingers intertwined, smiling at each other. That's what we're supposed to be like, right? We're supposed to look happy?

An idea comes to mind at that. We need to build media attention and it certainly isn't happening in here. Especially with this muscular pretty boy before me staring at his phone and ignoring me.

Get both of us out of here and the phone out of his hands.

"Let's go for a walk," I suggest out of the blue. He glances up from Barbara to me. After looking around for possible escape, he nods, signalling for the bill.

I paid yesterday, so I get out of the restaurant through the waterfront exit.

When the beach air hits me the moment we step out, I feel all stress seep from the top of my head, to my shoulders, torso, legs, toes and into the sand.

The beach. 

I pretty much abandon him from there, turning away to run across the grain up to the shore. I stop where the waves breach, my flats on the edge of getting wet.

For some reason I expected him to stay there and 'watch from afar', but he had followed right behind, stopping to stand beside me and admire the skyline.

I sneak a glance at him. He's dressed in a dark blue button up with sleeves to the elbow, black shorts and blue sneakers. His attractiveness is no illusion- he's gorgeous in a way that is feminine and manly all at once.

Ikeman, Hallow had called it.

His eyes are a dream. Cobalt blue- darker than Tim Drake's, who sports a pretty cerulean according to my sister- but appealing nonetheless.

"Pretty grey today," he murmurs, looking up at the sky where it is in fact quite dark. Another stellar comment on the weather from Richard Grayson.

We stand in silence for a few minutes. I feel like it's the minute of silence you serve at a commemoration or a funeral. I suppose this is the death of any hope I had for a future at the beach.

Gotham. Gotham. The name is as guttural as the city. I can't wait to walk down its main street and get mugged for the first time.

I went there once when I was about 15 with my dad and my brothers. I nearly got killed, twice.

I glance at up at Richard again to see he's actually not on his phone, but rather, looking out at the surf.

"Nothing has changed," I hear myself say, staring out at the blue waves crashing, the few people rolling with them.

"What do you mean?" He asks stupidly.

"Ever since I was a child it has looked exactly like this. Pristine and..." I trail off. He doesn't care. Don't be stupid. 

He glances behind us and I know what he's looking at; a couple of photographers that were waiting for us outside.

"Come here," I say quietly, getting an idea to establish things in the media a little better, according to the contract. He turns to me and I reach out, grasping his hand. 

Behind his sunglasses I can see he looks concerned and confused, like his girlfriend won't be able to perceive that all of this is fake.

He's tall. Not that I'm not; I was around the same height as the guys on my squad, but he (and his brother) have at least a head on me.

But, I can still reach him with a kiss; so that's what I do. I lean up and kiss his cheek, quickly. I hope they got a shot of that.

"That should help," I murmur, turning around to lead him along the sand, against the shore.

He can't pull his phone out now.

◊

◊

That night, I sit in my apartment with my cats.

It's the first time I've been alone and without the cameras watching me. I take one of my MONQ diffusers, the one for Health and light it.

These tend to calm me.

So when there is a knocking at the glass doors of my balcony, it's fair that I nearly have a damn heart attack. I shove my hand behind the cushion I'm sitting on and feel for my gun.

"If I was here to kill you, would I knock?" A familiar voice calls out. 

I calm down a little bit, standing up from the couch to see an old friend opening the slide door.

The time traveller who started all of this, all those years ago in Bialya; Rip Hunter.

He steps into the apartment, looking as ethereal as he did the first time we met. I was pinned down, being shot at from every corner when he showed up with Nightwing.

"I did as you asked," I say, watching as he turns on the lights with a frown, "We're getting married."

"Yes yes, but something's wrong," he explains in a clipped tone, "Things aren't progressing as they should be. Do you remember what Richard told you? That's- the future Richard, I mean."

Rip keeps his hands in his pockets, staring at me across the living room.

"He said to put everything I have into 'what brings us together'. And I have! Go into the future and take a look, Rip. Tomorrow we'll paint the covers of magazines," I drawl sarcastically.

The time traveller shakes his head, "I disagree. The future has changed. I was afraid this would happen. Your awareness of the situation has changed everything."

Well, that isn't my fault. When he and Nightwing saved my life and helped me rescue my squad, the last news I expected to receive was 'You are looking at your future'.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask, simply wishing to be alone again. To just sit in the quiet by myself. I drop down on the sofa in defeat.

Rip sighs, as if remembering who he is talking to. He's not disciplining one of his team. He's talking to me.

"You have six months to make Richard Grayson fall in love with you. Do you understand?" He asks me very specifically. Six months as in our six month contract, I suppose.

"I do. Six months. It's not that hard to remember Rip."

When I look up at him, staring back at me, I finally notice the seriousness in his expression. He takes a deep breath as he ducks around the sofa to sit next to me.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's just...It still seems ridiculous. Like I'm hallucinating all of this. I still get those. I mean, for all I know you're not even here."

He smiles, barely, "I'm here. And you aren't hallucinating, or taking this seriously enough. It is of great importance that when the time comes, you and Richard Grayson are happily married and in love within the next six months."

Coming to terms with those words have never been easy. Like- this is what I was put here for. Not to serve my country, not to lead my father's company, but to make a guy fall for me.

What a legacy.

"If you could just tell me why-"

"There are multiple reasons why," he interrupts. Multiple reasons, but not any I can know. "Imagine a whole series of awful events, and 80% of them can be prevented by two people in love. I need this to happen, Cleo. The world does."

I am expected to just take it in.

He stand up, straightening his long jacket.

"Make a list. That usually helps those who get caught in the issues of time travel."

All I can do is nod, closing my eyes, because I don't want to look at him and start shouting.

When I open my eyes, he's gone.