There had been a point in Artemis's life during which she was obsessed with anything containing the word 'cross'. Cross fit, cross hatches, Alex Cross, and most importantly, cross stitches. The definition of cross stitch was as follows in the dictionary:

noun

noun: cross stitch; plural noun: cross stitches; noun: cross-stitch; plural noun: cross-stitches

1.

a stitch formed of two stitches crossing each other.

That phase taught her a lot about life- Cross fit wasn't her thing, fairy tales created excellent premise for novels, and that some things just intersect.

The thing about cross-stitching is that it holds itself together, really. Over, under, over, under, it was a rhythmic sense of purpose. And she believed that her team was the same way.

Though they got mad at each other, and they fought, and they really didn't understand each other, they were there for each other. Like different colors to make a picture on a pillow, they worked together to become part of a whole.

She'd never admit to coming up with such a girly metaphor, but she couldn't help it. The association comforted her, in some strange way. She herself didn't understand it, and probably never would, but it fit.

Cross-hatched words are stronger than plain old sewn words. The reinforcement makes for a stronger, more durable product. The team did that for each other.

Each of them was a different color (String, not race. She wasn't racist.), and those colors came together to form a picture none of them would ever get to see.

When something pierced any one part of the cloth, they could all see and feel it.

They flowed together. Sure, there were rough patches, but they smoothed out in the end.

Artemis believed in being a part of something bigger than herself, bigger even than her team, It was by choice that everything was connected, in her mined, in cross stitches.