Quotes from both Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll. Written for Satellites on Parade's birthday — inspired by Coldplay's Paradise, and polished up while listening to This Place Is A Shelter, a beautiful instrumental composed by Ólafur Arnalds.
|THE WATCHTOWER
|January 1, 01:23 EDT
It doesn't take her long to realize she should leave. Artemis lingers near the Watchtower's Zeta-tube entrance, noting the muted quality of conversations around her. Black Canary's tender tone as she and Green Arrow talk quietly in a far corner. Kaldur nodding in solemn agreement with Batman. A strained outburst, "Roy needs—" before her mentor shushes his beau and the two come to some kind of unspoken consensus. And she averts her eyes from what she recognizes as unattainable. Even the clone — and she hates herself for thinking the words — has a family, a complete, whole family, to care for him.
Then Wally skids to a stop at her side and she tries to snap out of it, lifts the corners of her lips in a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Rob's got a bruise forming on his left jaw and he wouldn't put ice on it till Batman left the room," the speedster tells her, without lifting his gaze from the ground. He runs a hand through his hair in suppressed frustration, causing a ridge of it to stand up. "It's between them, I guess, but it's about Rob, and I hate being out of the loop."
"I know the feeling," Artemis mutters, fussing with a miniscule new scratch on the lower limb of her compound bow. Probably from their earlier scuffle in the hangar. But Wally focuses on her properly then, seeing right through the diversionary action. Her slender fingers quiver slightly under the intensity of his scrutinizing gaze.
"I just— want to get away from here," she admits. To which he merely nods, twice, and asks, "Where to?" No questioning why; just knowing that by 'want' she means 'need', and by 'need' she of course means, 'come with me'.
"Home," Artemis suggests simply, taking his hand and starting towards the Zeta-tube.
They materialize less than ideally in the out-of-order telephone booth, blinking in the sudden darkness as the light from the Zeta-tube withdraws into itself. Pressed right up against each other in the cramped space, the sound and feeling of their slightly quickened heartbeats is difficult to differentiate. Wally proffers a cheeky grin at this observation, and she would hit him if her hand weren't in his, and squished between them besides.
And if, uh, she weren't enjoying this as well.
Still, they struggle out, so it's not long before Wally is taking in his shadowy surroundings and declaring, "I definitely feel like your ninja boyfriend now."
Then, appallingly loudly: "Wait, wait, wait. You're a Gothamite?"
"Yeah," Artemis whispers back. "And you're pretty conspicuous for a ninja boyfriend. Are you trying to blow my ID?" (Because what are a couple of masked heroes doing sneaking into civilians' apartments in the wee hours of New Year's Day?)
With the ease of practice she locates the first step of the fire escape in the dark and begins to climb up it. Behind her Wally mumbles to himself for a flight or two more of stairs, some semi-coherent gibberish about all those times I came by Gotham and, inexplicably, Wayne Manor can't be that far from here... Surely she's mishearing.
Then he grabs her arm and asks, "Seriously, though. Are your parents— is your mom asleep?"
Artemis is halfway up the next flight of stairs and the light from someone's slightly ajar window above them illuminates her expression just enough for him, standing on a lower step, to catch the flicker of emotion at his mistake. He berates himself mentally for not catching himself earlier, but doesn't make it worse by apologizing; and for that at least, she's grateful.
"No," Artemis finally whispers back, briskly jogging up a few more steps as if to leave the moment of vulnerability behind. "My mom usually waits up for me."
Then Wally has to hurry to keep up with her, so the next chance he has to talk is when Artemis steps up onto a landing and stops moving abruptly. "You know something?" she asks the air in front of her.
"What?" He's standing on a lower step and watching the back of her neck for that telltale muscular tensing that would signal her clamming up again. But it never comes. Instead she turns around, leans against the cold metal railing and breathes in deeply. "Everything is exactly the same and completely different," Artemis says, then checks herself. "Alright, that made no sense." Her eyes fall to the ground and she blinks, once, twice, eyelashes dark and fluttery against her tan skin, like moths' wings.
Wally, contrary to her expectation, just gets a silly look and cocks his head to one side. "And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder—"
Her gaze darts to him as she realizes where he's quoting from. She pictures the Cheshire cat on her sister's poster grinning unseen in the darkness, mere meters from them now.
"—if I've been changed in the night?" Wally finishes presently.
A smile spreads across her face then. "You've read Carroll?" she asks in pleasant surprise. "I don't believe it." Unconsciously she turns to face him so they're mere inches apart. Taking his cue from her words, Wally spontaneously quotes, "'I can't believe that!' said Alice. 'Can't you?' the Queen said in a pitying tone. 'Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.'"
He even does a formal, almost motherly voice for the Queen, his eyes bugging out slightly as he strains to continue without laughing. She's aware right then and there that he's explicitly trying to cheer her up, but doesn't mind the concern, somehow. And perhaps they have both been changed in the night — specifically, during the first few, everlasting seconds of the New Year.
There's a new twinkle in her eyes and laughter bubbling up just under her voice as she cuts him off: "Alice laughed. 'There's no use trying,' she said: 'one...'" Her voice trails off towards the end, slowing as she realizes what she's about to say: 'one can't believe impossible things.'
"Guy who can 'break the sound barrier in his sneakers' here," Wally reminds her, with a playfulness catered to lighten the mood. "As you so elegantly put it. Impossible is nothing and all that jazz."
Even as he finishes saying the words he notices her eyes drifting down to his lips, then up again to meet his verdant gaze. And suddenly he can't help himself; she's leaning into him and he's tiptoeing on the step, closing the distance between them so he can—
"Woah!" With a short yelp, his foot slips on the slick metal. Artemis lets out a single snigger. But then he plops himself down rather ungracefully and gives a single, surprised "ow," and she raises an eyebrow in belated disbelief.
As the pain kicks in Wally adds, with more feeling, "Ah." Still sitting there stunned. Artemis takes a step forward and offers a hand up, asking incredulously, but with a touch of concern now, "Did you really hurt yourself?"
"Uh," Wally replies. Not particularly eloquent. Her eyes trail over him expertly. No oddly angled appendages, but as she helps pull him up he winces and reflexively vocalizes, "Okay, ow, ow. Steps are apparently not—," and they both almost fall over while she struggles to support his weight, "—not toe-friendly."
"You take down bad guys every day and you're bested by a fire escape?"
"Hey." Wally pouts exaggeratedly. "Injured party here. You're not, ah," and he forces himself to take a few steps forward (which she rushes to accommodate), "supposed to make fun of the victim." The exertion makes their breathing synchronize.
They don't move a single step further but out of nowhere Wally groans out loud.
"What?" she asks worriedly. "It hurts that bad?"
"No," he says, the muscles on his neck straining a little. The moonlight seems to accentuate each dip and rise. "I mean, yes, but, no." Another groan, but this time she can tell it's out of frustration. "Artemis, I'm sorry; this was supposed to be a perfect moment for—"
He focuses on taking a few teetering steps forward. It's nothing too serious, she decides, bending her knees so he can lean more weight on her. And: that was really sweet.
"Well," Artemis says, helping him over to her window and sliding it open, "as long as it's just dislocated—"
"Just dislocated, she says—"
"—as opposed to fractured or broken, my mom can fix it," Artemis reassures him. Then, teasingly: "And you're awfully loquacious for a victim."
For a moment there's only the sound of his breaths in the still air, then he puts forth an oddly hesitant query. "A-are you sure this is alright?"
"What is?"
"Me, here," he expounds vaguely — not too loquacious after all. He struggles for the right words momentarily but finally just says, "I've... never seen your place before."
And maybe it's just the post-adrenaline fuzziness, but somehow she hears 'will you let me in?' in a figurative rather than a literal sense.
"Sure," Artemis answers, her voice deceptively light. "I am not helping you hop somewhere to fix a toe."
Wally half-tumbles, half-clambers through the window after her. Near her bed she pulls away from Wally's side, leaving the speedster to hop to it himself and collapse in relief. "Mom," Artemis calls, striding off and closing the door behind her.
And just like that, almost accidentally, Wally is left alone in Artemis' room. Ignoring the pain in his hopefully dislocated toe — a very modest hope indeed — and letting his eyes trail over the long-faded Alice in Wonderland poster upon the wall, take in the organized clutter of textbooks and files — all secrets about the non-crime-fighting side of her he still hasn't uncovered, till now. There are two photo-frames on the bedside stand: one empty, the other hosting a photo of what must be a younger Artemis nocking an arrow, with a burly hand reaching down to hold her bow steady while her small hands fumble with the oversized contraption.
The door opens and he brings his gaze down to the floor, afraid, oddly enough, of being caught sort-of-snooping. Artemis strides into the room, half-flinging a shirt and pants onto the bed beside him. Her gaze avoids the clothes steadfastly.
"Dad's old stuff," she supplements as if by way of explanation. At his hazy, pain-filled look she elaborates awkwardly, "I didn't — uh, I don't know how your suit is structured, but if it's really a one-piece kind of deal, you're going to have to take it off."
He raises an eyebrow, smirking at the innuendo; Artemis mirrors his expression as if daring him to say something. "Plus," she redirects the conversation, "no costumes at home. Mom's decree."
It makes sense, really: it's been her way of not denying, but keeping at bay her family members' masked enterprises.
Artemis exits the room and Wally barely has enough time to change (and recoil in horror at the weirdly off-looking third toe on his right foot) before some squeaks come at the door and an almond-eyed woman brusquely wheels herself in. Wheels herself in. He hates himself for it but he finds himself doing a double take.
Tigress is 'no longer active' in more ways than one.
He's a speedster; every day he's literally running around, saving people, while this woman can't walk at all. It doesn't seem fair, and he shrinks into himself, mentally squirming in the novelty of the scenario.
"How do you manage to be a superhero," asks Paula, arriving at the bedside, "if you can't safely climb a fire escape?"
He searches his mind for some appropriate reaction but can find none, and by that time Artemis' mother has wheeled herself into a position that better allows her to place his foot on her lap. Belatedly he shifts as if to help, but a single, sharp "don't," stops him mid-action.
Paula's slender fingers, covered in lines and rough from years of wear and tear, explore the area around his toe, expertly exerting the gentlest of pressures. He feels her dark eyes darting to his face, looking out for a wince indicating soreness.
The door opens again. "I brought Larry, though we probably won't need him," Artemis announces. Wally transfers his attention to her long enough to detect the unfamiliar reference.
"Who's Larry?" he asks, as Paula silently begins to tug at his toe joint, maneuvering it away from his foot to coax it back into position. She's handling it like a pro, and Artemis, too, barely seems to notice what he considers to be a major operation. Suddenly it occurs to him how strange it is that these two strong, whole people probably each had numerous broken parts inside them, long since healed and carefully concealed.
Fracture hematoma, soft callus. Fibrocartilaginous callus. He repeats the names of healing things as if to distract himself from the altogether frank reality before him. But the thoughts still sneak into his mind, so much so that he can't help but silently watch Paula as she works. Because here was a woman whose daughter's every stooping hug was a subtle reminder of all that she had lost — and all she still has left, Wally corrects himself, observing how Paula's eyes flicker briefly to Artemis, checking her for scratches and bruises.
"Our first aid kit," Artemis answers him, apparently nonchalant to his overarching distress. There's an ease about her, a full-body de-tensing apparently linked to the comfortable environment of the dingy apartment she calls home.
"Right, right, of course. Larry the—ah," he gasps, as he feels his toe joint literally slipping back into its socket, and the immediate cessation of pain.
Smiling, Paula leans back in her wheelchair as if to admire her handiwork. "Put just a little weight on it," she suggests. "Don't overdo it."
And Wally stands up and takes a few tentative steps and he can walk just fine now, while the person who has helped him is still sitting in her wheelchair laughing as she teases her daughter. Rocking a little back and forth with those thin legs unnaturally still. "So this is the boy who managed to run carrying you in Bialya?" she asks cheekily, the same twinkle in her dark irises that he's grown used to seeing in Artemis's grey ones.
"You bet," Artemis replies, lounging back on her bed now that Wally has vacated it. Only now does the speedster notice that she's in civvies too. Her hair is down, framing her face and making it look softer somehow, with fewer jagged edges, or perhaps less pretense.
Paula watches her daughter with some measure of satisfaction before declaring, "Alright. Bedtime for me. And no worries about privacy," she adds, halfway out the door. "A mother can tell when her daughter just had her first really good kiss."
Wally gapes at the door as it closes behind Paula, then his expression changes to one of smugness as he turns to Artemis. But she takes him by surprise, freely admitting, "It totally was." Her voice dreamy and rather drowsy, her eyes closed as she exhales slowly. "You're going to file that away for future blackmail, and I don't even mind. I have enough trouble believing that this has all... happened."
"Well, I won't 'file that away'," the speedster promises.
"Thanks—"
"Can't top getting trolled by your own mom, anyway."
She laughs a little to herself without opening her eyes, but knits her eyebrows. "You didn't know," she observes presently, referring to her mother's paraplegia. To Wally she's also referencing all that surrounds him now, every secret she's ever kept.
His speedster mind is working at its fastest as he notes the second bed in the room, covers without a crease in them, upon which lies a worn copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. There's even a more faded one with huge illustrations and sad-looking remnants of gold-leaf spine which he imagines Paula Crock once read to her two daughters from.
Artemis follows his wandering gaze. "That's Jade's bed," she tells him in something of a sigh. "And before you ask, yeah: Wonderland. Great inspiration for future assassin alias, huh?"
Wally seems to consider this. He doesn't take his eyes off the book as he notes, "Alice wakes up from her dream, in the end."
"Yeah," Artemis confirms. They both pretend her voice did not crack a little on the single syllable. And once again she feels the need to move physically even if she can't distance herself from the innate vulnerability she's denied and disguised and failed to denounce. So she joins him at the window and they look out for a while as the lights in an opposite apartment's windows go out — probably at the end of somebody's New Year party. Several less than lucid party guests spill out of the front door, and after watching them wobble on their feet for a few moments, she clears her throat.
"My mom," she says, hesitantly, querulously, "used to censor that part. Make up more grand adventures in Wonderland, things that could have happened but didn't."
The word hangs in the air, a reminder of all the wonderful things that could have been for her and her family, if.
"When she was— when she was in jail, I, uh..." Abruptly she breaks off, but Wally's mind fills in the blanks. Without a sound he envelops her in a hug, and her hair is mussed and tickling his lips and nose and Lawrence Crock's over-shirt is rough against her cheek.
He imagines a younger Artemis, still as tough but less purportedly so, missing her mother's voice and reassuring presence during the lonely night. Deciding to read to herself instead. In the silence he can almost hear her voice, higher-pitched perhaps, but still husky as ever, wavering in this very room as she read the words: So she sat on with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again...
She can only think to say, "That shirt hasn't been washed in ages, s-since Dad left."
A pause, then: "You smell like mothballs," she mutters; at the same time Wally pulls away ever so slightly to whisper at her ear, "You're not going to wake up from this dream, Artemis."
A dream where she feels safe even though the world is in danger again and the League itself is in trouble. A kind of wonderland of her own.
'I can't believe that!' said Alice. Artemis thinks fleetingly it should bother her that he needs science and logic and proof, because she's gotten through most of her life by believing in things. He's too incendiary and he keeps moving because he is, after all, a speedster—
'Can't you?' the Queen said in a pitying tone. 'Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.'
—but in this instant, drawing a long, mothball-scented breath and closing her eyes, she knows she can believe that he will never move on, that he will always come back to her, for her.
'There's no use trying,' Alice said, 'one can't believe impossible things.'
Belatedly, Artemis chides him, "You're way too cheesy." Calling him out on it the way she always has, starting with when he denied having temporarily become Doctor Fate, all those months ago. Wally merely grins, because she's smiling again, and his mission is accomplished. He takes a step away from her, towards the window, and tips an imaginary hat at her.
"Be careful on that fire escape," she manages — saying goodbye willingly for the first time in her life, realizing that the words can and do mean only for now.
'I daresay you haven't had much practice,' said the Queen.
When Artemis wakes up late the next morning it's to the sight of Wally's scrawly handwriting on a Post-It note stuck onto the outside of her window:
Make no mistake. I still don't believe in fairy-tales and magic.
She smiles and slides the glass pane up to retrieve the fluttering paper. Near the bottom on the opposite side, he's added, almost like an afterthought:
Except when they're real.
Once, my mom dislocated her toe really easily. I haven't experienced it personally (closest I've come is a mild concussion), but I've done some research: fingers crossed I've written realistically.
Also, our home first aid kit's name really is Larry. (Don't ask.)
m.e.