This changes nothing. Of course it doesn't. He'll still be the same person when this is over, and she'll still have to face her mission. It's not like, overnight, the world will somehow change. That's never the case.
And, yet, there will be some small part of her that will view him differently. As much as she hates to admit it. Some small part that will be forever grateful to him.
That is, providing they make it out of this place alive.
She wills herself to keep her eyes open. In this kind of screaming wind, that's nearly impossible. And it's so cold she can't even breathe. It hurts her lungs to try. Her hair is pressed against her face, clinging to her cheeks because of the accumulated snow. She can't see through her eyelashes because of ice crystals.
This isn't even humane.
At least the pain has passed on now; it left her a couple of hours ago. It had been like being burn alive, her face, her toes, her fingers searing like wildfire. Now it's just numb. Completely gone. This worried her a while ago, but now there aren't many thoughts going through her head. She's aware that this is problematic, that something is obviously wrong, but she can't figure out for the life of her why. Is there a reason why she can't think, can't feel? Is there a reason that Wally is carrying her, in this frozen wasteland?
Wait. Why is she here in the first place?
She can't remember. What does it feel like to be normal and alive? She looks up at Wally, struggling to open her eyes. What was it like to first meet him? Was there a reason she hated him? She doesn't hate him now. She loves him. He's warm.
Another burst of absolutely horrendous wind and she squeezes her eyes shut like a child, the air rushing out of her lungs in a combined moan-sigh. Wally says something to her, and his fingers move rapidly up and down her arms. He says something about staying awake. But why? Why doesn't he want her to sleep? Sleep is peaceful, sleep is easy. Sleep would make her happy now.
Why doesn't he want her to be happy?
She mumbles something, but it comes out all wrong. She meant to say, "Why do you hate me, Wally?" but it comes out in a jumbled confusion of consonants and vowels. Huh. Weird. Now she can't even speak correctly.
Her blurred vision clears for a moment and she sees exactly where they are. Or, rather, doesn't see. Because she can't see. The snow is coming down in buckets like avalanches, like a waterfall, like ice cream from one of those machines where you pull the lever and it comes out in a stream until you push the lever back in again. It's never-ending. For some reason, it's strange and wonderful and funny.
Why is it funny?
Her eyes slowly move to look up at Wally. He looks funny too. His orange hair has turned almost completely white from the snow, and there are drops of water freezing on his bright red cheeks. His green eyes look wild and desperate, as if he can't see how absolutely beautiful it is out here. Cold, yes, but beautiful.
You're dying, Artemis.
The words slip into her mind without a second thought. She hasn't the slightest idea where they came from or if they really came from anywhere at all. Perhaps they were there all along and she's just now chosen to listen to them.
Dying? But why? Goodness, that's a bit drastic. I mean, she's just sleepy. Sleepy, that's all.
Her eyelids droop again and suddenly Wally's shaking her, staring at her and yelling, his face gone ballistic. He looks insane, with that white-specked hair and bloodshot emerald eyes. She can't understand what he's saying—he's speaking too fast. He looks urgent, as if something very important is happening and Artemis is missing it. But she can't figure out what he's so worried about.
She looks at him curiously, wearily studying him. Was there truly a reason that she didn't like him? Or maybe there was something she had to do, something that involved him. A…mission. Maybe.
Right now, it doesn't matter. He's warm.
The wind blasts them again and Wally almost falls over, tripping over his feet in the knee-deep snow. Her eyes widen as she feels the world sway around them, as snowflakes come flying into her eyes and face and nose like swarms of bees. He momentarily releases his hold on her, and she is very suddenly and intensely dipped into Hell as it happens.
No, no, no! She tries to scream but her eyelids are already covering her vision again. Where is he? Where's the warmth? She needs it. Needs it like some kind of drug now. Maybe needed it all along.
Why does she need it? Sleep would be easier.
And then the warmth is there again, him wrapping his arms around her and carrying her marriage-style, pulling her against his chest. Rubbing her arms like he's trying to rub the skin right off of them. Her face pressed into his coat, covering her frost-bitten cheeks.
She can hear his heart beat, her ear pressed against him. God, it's wild. Like his heart is just trying to beat itself to death.
Death.
Artemis, you're dying.
No, no, she isn't dying. She can't die. Because there was a mission. She grits her teeth, trying to remember. A mission that also had to do with death. But death for someone else.
Death. Or perhaps just sleep?
Maybe. Sleep would be easier.
Wally screams something again, over the roar of the wind and the ice pelting down against them like knives. It somehow manages to cut through her layers of coat and cloth and wool to her skin, biting down like some rabid animal and refusing to let go. She keeps clenching and unclenching her fists, trying to will them to feel again. Numbness is oddly…uncomfortable.
And, of course, sleep would be easier.
He yells again and takes a few steps forward, dragging his feet through the ever-increasing amount of snow that covers the ground, sticks to his legs, pulls him down like zombie hands or something. For some reason, this idea makes Artemis want to chuckle. If her lips weren't halfway frozen, she might. The idea of Wally running away from zombies is an oddly amusing one. Of course, Artemis wouldn't allow the zombies to frighten him too much.
He's warm.
She looks up and sees his horribly conflicted face again, like he's in some kind of agony in the middle of this winter wonderland. His teeth are chattering, his lips blue and chapped, his nose running. She blinks at him, confused. Why doesn't he just go to sleep?
Because he's brave. He doesn't give in like you.
These words bite. They're cruel words, words she doesn't usually allow in her mind. But her mind is loose enough now that all the denial, all the repression…all that is falling apart and shoving to the front. She's a coward and she knows it. There was a mission and she agreed to it. What an utter pathetic thing to do.
She buries her face further into his chest. By this point, she has forgotten that this is Wally who is carrying her. Wally, who, if under normal circumstances, ever even touched her, she would slap him from here to New Krypton in a second. Because all the conflicting emotions and denial and problems have gone out the door along with her normal mind, and she is left with the bare essentials—she needs warmth, and that is what he is to her now. Blessed, perfect warmth like blankets and coffee and chocolates in a warm bathtub filled with water. Warmth like light.
And he is the only warmth here, in this beautiful, God-forsaken place.
He walks on. The screaming, howling, writhing banshee that is the wind never calms down for a second and becomes like a dreadful lullaby. Oh, sleep is so tempting. So easy.
Each step is harder than the one before it, but Wally is frantic. Keeps moving. Not being able to run is like being trapped. Trapped with a dying girl in his arms, a girl who for God knows what reason he has started to care for. Maybe it's that look in her eyes—the confused one that asks, Why am I here? And doesn't blame him. Doesn't blame him for not watching out for her more carefully during the mission.
Oh, God. He was so stupid. Allowed her to wander off, and then found her, lying in a heap of snow. Already lost to the world, her eyes closed, her body limp, having given up on shivering. He bent down, scooped her up, and found she was still hanging on. With glazed-over eyes that obviously could only barely register him, but hanging on nonetheless.
He walks more. There's a cave. He can see it up ahead, a cave that will offer some protection. He has to find the others. But his legs are screaming in protest with every motion he makes, and he'll freeze to death himself if he stays out here any longer. Hopefully the others are still alive. And warm.
Artemis coughs against his coat and he groans, hugging her tighter. What an utter irony this has become. All this time, he's wished she would stop acting like such a strong, stuck-up know-it-all. And now that she's finally weak, finally vulnerable, all he can wish is that she'd come back. Be the strong one so that he can rest. So that he doesn't have to carry this heavy weight, both literally and figuratively.
Ten more agony-inducing steps and they're inside the cave. It isn't warm. Of course it isn't. But it's shelter. The wind dies down in here and he can breathe without feeling like a razor is being scraped across his lungs every time. He stumbles forward and falls, unable to keep his feet going any longer.
He tumbles to the ground with Artemis still in his arms, his body hitting the stone hard, his ankle twisting against a rock. It doesn't break, but it's probably a sprain.
His vision blurs momentarily, and then he sees Artemis lying a few feet away from him, her eyes just barely open, her mouth slightly agape as she tries to breathe. Her blue-grey eyes are oddly just as intense as they always are, despite being exhausted and lost. He reaches his fingers forward and grasps her hand, squeezing it.
Warmth.
He pulls himself into a sitting position, gritting his teeth to keep from moaning, and drags himself over to Artemis. It takes him a minute to notice the blood.
It's covering the front of his coat, in little splatters. At first, his mind works slowly.
Strange.
Then Artemis' coughs begin again and his eyes move over to her. Blood is scattered onto the grey stone floor. She's sick, he realizes very slowly. Something more than just hypothermia.
He crawls over to her, pulling his sprained ankle behind him. She's whispering something. He leans in close, trying to hear what she's saying, but can't. Her lips are just circling air and the speech is so slurred it's like a different language. Another gust of wind wanders into the cave and he shivers, gripping her hand.
"Home," he tells Artemis, his throat dry and scratchy, making him sound so much older. He shakes her hand back and forth, like he's begging. "Home."
Her eyes move to meet his. She knows what he's saying but can't respond. Either that, or she doesn't know how. Wally, why are you still talking?
"Home."
Can't. The words move on her lips but they make no sound.
For some reason, this reply nearly tips him over the edge. "What?" he cries. "What does that even mean, Artemis?"
Something like a smile curves the edges of her mouth and her fingers flit against his knuckles, like she's trying to squeeze his hand but can't manage anything more. Inside, she's apologizing to him. For ever wanting to hurt him, for ever disliking him. But sleep is on its way. It will all be over soon. There isn't enough warmth now, what with just his hand.
He can see the decision in her eyes. She's letting go.
"Don't you dare, Artemis."
She swallows. Yes, there was a mission. She remembers now. The mission was for her to kill Wally. But she won't do that. He's too warm.
His hands grip the sides of her face, but they aren't enough. His hands are frost-bitten and covered with snow. Snow is cold. Artemis hates snow.
"Don't you dare," he repeats.
Oh, but sleep is so tempting.
"Don't you dare."
Dare. Her father dared her to disobey him, to reject him. But she was too much of a coward. She agreed to the horrible thought of killing this boy, this ridiculous boy with the bright eyes, cocky grin, and warm arms.
This time she would dare. Dare to face the cold, if it meant keeping the warmth.
"Look at me."
She can't. She tries, but her vision is blurring again. It's like looking through a steamed mirror after taking a long, hot shower. The image is there but it's virtually nothing, because you can't find the details. All the little details that are the important things.
"Artemis!"
Goodnight. The words whisper off of her lips like a wisp, like a spirit or an entity in itself that curls up in a tendril of smoke and flies away into the world. Fly, be free. Silently, she's thankful. She never wanted to hurt this boy. And now that the night has come, she won't have to ever. His warmth will stay.
"No."
He was not going to allow this. He had carried her this far. It wasn't going to be for nothing.
"No."
His arms scoop her up again, and he throws her over his shoulder, his teeth grinding together as his muscles tremble with the effort. He'll carry her through Hell and back again, if that's what it takes. No one is going to die tonight.
Goodnight, but not goodbye. Never.
His eyes flash. Never.