Trigger: unhealthy relationship between an adult and a minor, but no sex. Higher T.
Replacement
The mirror of her mind is splintered.
Her boyfriend, her lover, her Wally is dead, a hundred million particles left to disperse in the frozen Arctic tundra. No more kisses or late night talks, no more strong arms wrapped around her waist or promises whispered in her ear. There's not even a body to bury. All she has is his final declaration and too many words left unsaid and broken glass fracturing her world.
In the field, she can hold it together, mask binding the damage. Home alone, in an apartment too large, she can't escape reality. She is Artemis again, not Tigress, and everything becomes distorted. He's there with her, fleeting around corners and laughing at himself. She blinks and he's gone, only to return, jade eyes sparkling and freckled face creased with a cheeky grin.
One night, when her fingers are searching the empty side of the bed, she feels his hand cup hers, just for a second. A gasp bursts from her lips as she whirls around. There's nothing but air and untouched sheets still tinged with his scent and the life she'll never have.
A sob rumbles in her throat but dies on her tongue, and she staggers out of bed and into the night. Stars glisten in the ink black sky, and she wants to grab them all and tear them down, one by one, toss them to the earth and watch while they burn into nothingness. There shouldn't be beauty or brightness, not now and not evermore, because Wally West is dead and it's not fair.
She stands there for an hour—a month, a year, a lifetime, and isn't it ironic that now she understands what it's like to follow a speedster's sense of time—and is just about to drag herself inside when her attention focuses on a particularly bright star, separate from all the others. It multiples in the pieces of glass, reflection bouncing back and forth until it is nothing more than an explosion of light, bursting from the inside out.
The mirror breaks just a bit more.
The next day, she is on a mission with Alpha Squad, struggling to stay strong. Bart is nowhere near her but still she sees a blur of red and yellow from her peripheral vision. Weapons slacken in her hands, craving her bow so he knows it's her, so she can become his partner again. They were always supposed to be partners; he was supposed to take her to Paris; she was supposed to become his bride—
Too late, she registers the ominous shadow falling over her, and the blow to the head takes her out of battle. In the cracks of her subconscious, she stumbles over icy rocks and scattered mementos, calling for Wally. She screams until she tastes blood when she swallows, but her words are lost among the wind. It's carrying them like a certain red-head used to carry her.
"Artemis? Artemis? Please, Artemis, wake up."
Eyes fluttering weakly, she forces herself to sit. The throbbing pain in her skull is nothing compared to the sudden pounding of her heart because he's back, sitting right in front of her, mouth slightly twisted with concern. With a laugh, she launches herself at him, squeezing him against her. "Oh, God, Wally. I thought you were dead."
Only after she begins to kiss him does she realize the others are staring, pityingly and concerned and shocked, and only after he jerks away with a whispered, "Artemis?" does she realize what has happened.
"Artemis?" Bart repeats, voice constricted. "It's, it's me."
"You're not Wally."
She's not angry at him, she can't be angry at him because he's done nothing wrong, but the statement is venom and she is a black-necked spitting cobra. On target, it makes the teen shrink and whither. Wordlessly, she stands and moves to the furthest seat in the Bio-ship. No one intervenes. No one tries to comfort her. No one pretends to stop watching. There are hundreds of eyes on her, so many replicating in her damaged psyche, but none of them are the right color.
They're barely in the Watchtower before she zetas home—they can handle the debriefing without her—and as she's travelling, she almost wishes that the machine would break mid-way so she's stuck like this, like Wally, and maybe, somehow, she'll float to him and they'll drift together on the currents. Being nothing with him is better than being something without him, and the thought strikes her to the core, so much so that she curls up on his side of the bed and takes deep breaths, inhaling all that's left of him because she's so lost and alone and hurt. Nelson snuggles besides her, whimpering softly, and she feels like that star, tearing itself apart.
A knock sounds at the door and, forcing some composure, she answers it. Bart is standing on the porch, chin to his chest. He's still in his Kid Flash uniform.
"Hi," he offers quietly, addressing his sneakers.
"Hey," she returns, somehow speaking around the boulder in her throat.
"I…About today…"
"Right," she mutters. "Look, what happened…I'm sorry."
"That's not why I came," he says quickly, and there's a sudden desperation. "I…It's…I mean…If, if you…You know, I, I had this planned in my head…"
"Bart, what's wrong?"
"I can be Wally."
The world stops turning, and the silence is positively deafening. She can barely process what he's saying, much less offer a response, so all she manages is, "What?"
"If, if you want. I mean, you can pretend. I, I don't mind. I'll, I'll be him, if you need me to be. I can pretend. What happened, it, it, I just know you miss him and it was kinda nice and I wouldn't mind, really."
"Bart, this is…sweet. But Wally's gone. And I have to accept that."
Even as she responds, she works it over, and the idea embeds itself within the jagged splinters, dripping melodically into the river of her thoughts and causing gentle ripples. In that uniform, he looks so much like Wally, and when she contemplates what happened, maybe it wasn't that awful after all.
"I mean it. I know, I know you miss him a lot. And I guess, I guess we kind of look similar. So, if you need me to be him, I can. I'll try. If you tell me how, I'll do it. Promise."
What he's offering is ludicrous and tempting, and the more she stares at him, the more the mirror ruptures until it's nothing but shattered shards drifting lazily along the water. "Come in."
They spend the night talking; rather, Artemis does the talking, a torrent of memories pouring from her, all of Wally's quirks and mannerisms, and Bart sits attentively, nodding every so often. Only when the pastel fingers of dawn inch through the windows does he stand. "I should probably go."
"Yeah. Yeah, that's probably good."
He hesitates a moment, then leans forward and brushes his lips against hers. "See you later, babe."
His voice hitches from insecurity and there's more doubt than passion, but she can teach him, the way she taught Wally the first time around.
It's wrong, what she's allowing, and it only worsens with every passing night as discussion fades to kissing, her tongue invading his mouth, tasting of apples, her teeth carefully nipping his bottom lip while murmuring encouragement and assurances that he's doing just fine. When they break apart, they hold hands and remind one another of moments they never truly shared. For both of them, this is unhealthy, a forbidden game with no rules and dangerous consequences, but she can't bring herself to stop it, not when she feels real for the first time in weeks. Besides, the remnants of her mind are sharp and cut into her skull, tainting the river with blood and staining her vision with hazy crimson, and nothing seems so taboo anymore.
One night in July, she takes a quantum jump. Three years to the date, Wally had admitted that he loved her, and she feels the glass dig itself deeper and deeper as she waits for Bart. Barely a foot inside, she embraces him, mouth finding his. They don't break contact even while they move toward her room, and before it really sinks in what she's doing and to whom, she has shoved him onto the bed. Nimbly, after years of practice, she is easing his uniform off his upper body, leaving gentle, sensuous kisses along his newly-exposed flesh and trailing her fingers down his muscular form. There's so much damage now, so much blood destroying her sight, that she truly believes she's with Wally until she sucks on his pulse point and earns a strangled yelp.
"Bart," she breathes, vision clearing just enough to notice her love marks, maroon petals blooming across his pale stomach and neck. "Oh God. Oh, God, Bart—"
"Wally," he insists with a small smile that isn't all there. "Wally, remember?"
"I'm sorry."
"Noting to be sorry about, babe. I'm alright. Keep going."
The river, once calm, is churching violently, threatening to flood, and the mirror fragments warp her world, presenting a thousand images of Wally until she can resume guiltlessly, convinced of the identity of her lover.
Nothing changes for over a month. Their nightly escapades continue without fault, and their relationship while on the job is professional. It's amazing what a cat mask can do to her personality, what kind of detachment it can offer.
It's not magic, though, and the fragile balance tips dangerously one day at the Watchtower. A successful mission for all squads, the Team is celebrating. Bart is in the middle of a heated video game battle with Mal—after the younger members took to sharing the space, the League was more than happy to liven it—and as she watches in amusement, a hand settles gently on her shoulder.
"How are you faring?" Kaldur asks her softly.
"Fine."
"Bart's talks are helping?"
It catches her off-guard, and she stammers, "W-what?"
"His talks," Kaldur repeats. "He says he speaks to you at night?"
"Oh. Oh, yeah, they're helping. It's nice, just talking to someone so…similar, you know? It, it makes everything hurt a little less."
"I am glad to hear it. I can only imagine how difficult everything has been for you."
She shrugs and is saved from answering by Robin and Garfield. "During these talks, does he happen to tell you who his girlfriend is?" Robin asks casually.
"What? He doesn't have a girlfriend," she responds quickly.
"He so does," Garfield protests. "He sucks at hiding hickeys."
"It's really obvious," Robin adds. "I think he's using Megan or someone's cover-up, but it doesn't match his skin."
"And Robin would know. Since him and Cassie got together, he's become a pro at hiding hickeys."
"Gar!" Robin hisses, blushing.
"What? It's just Artemis and Kaldur. Now, if I happen to call up Nightwing and let him know what you're doing while he's on a leave of absence—"
The Bat makes a grab for him, but Gar morphs into a howler monkey and leaps away. Robin gives chase, and Kaldur chuckles quietly, "Those two."
Artemis only nods weakly, barely hearing him, as she returns her attention to Bart. Bart, who is not Wally. Bart, who bares the proof of her sin. Bart, who is friends with Robin and Garfield because he is their age because he is thirteen and oh God she's been playing this charade with a teenager, a survivor from the Hell of a future and already traumatized and what has she done?
Murmuring some excuse about checking on Nelson, she returns home and collapses on her bed. Behind closed eyes, she sees Wally, disgusted and disappointed, and when she opens them again, his reflections are multiplying, a conquering army surrounding her. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry."
She doesn't know to whom she's apologizing. Maybe the whole world.
He arrives on time, but when he reaches out for his usual hug, she steps back; through the red curtain, she observes Bart, not Wally, the first time since that fateful night. "We can't do this anymore, Bart."
"What?" Confusion overcomes his features. "I'm Wally—"
"No, Bart, you're not. You aren't him and you have never been him and I can't keep pretending that you are."
Mistaking the self-loathing for anger, the young speedster cowers. "Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, Artemis. I'll do better, I swear."
"You've done nothing wrong," she promises, lowering her voice. "You have done absolutely nothing wrong. But this? What's going on between us? This is wrong. I'm using you."
"No, you're not! I'm letting you. So, so it's okay."
"It's not." She drops slightly so she's at his eyelevel. "You're just a kid, Bart. I'm an adult. What we do together…that can't happen. I have no right to use you as a surrogate for Wally."
"It's alright, really—"
"Why are you so adamant about this?" Cautiously, she takes his chin in her hand. "How can you be okay with me doing this?"
"Because it's my fault he's dead."
"Bart, that's not true."
"It is! He, he reached adulthood in the future. You and him, you were on the frontlines against the aliens together. You were amazing, you were my heroes and now he's dead and I must've done something wrong." Tears snake down his cheeks. "And, and, and I c-can't have you hate me, too, so, so I'll do whatever you want, Artemis, really, p-please let me, I need you. I don't, I don't want you to hate me, please."
"Bart, I don't hate you. What happened to Wally wasn't your fault."
"It must have been! I came back."
"And you helped save the world. You didn't do anything wrong. You had nothing to do with Wally's death."
"I should have slowed down! I should have kept pace with him! I—"
Her embrace muffles the rest. "You didn't do anything wrong," she repeats. He fits right within her arms, and it sickens her to realize how small he is.
They remain this way for hours, Bart sobbing uncontrollably into her chest until, exhausted and extinguished, he falls asleep. With ease, she picks him up and places him on the couch, draping a blanket over him before retreating outside.
In the darkness of night, she screams.