Split-Brain Syndrome
CHAPTER THREE
Though it's true that she's fairly caught up to sleep by the time Artemis wakes up at 2:20pm on Sunday, she's also grumpy and guilty for her actions, along with kind of bored out of her mind. The searing anger at others' deciding what was and wasn't best for her mostly subsides, and leaves in its wake some numbness and bewilderment at her own stupidity, but she's not a wreck today because she spent a good amount of time last night texting Dick, and it's seemingly impossible to be upset with his foolhardy grin lurking in every message he sends.
Presently, Artemis checks her phone and finds that she crashed in the middle of typing a response, the words incomprehensible from how she slept on her device the entire night (one advantage of the not so fancy models? they're sturdy like nothing else, though it'll be awesome when her upgrade comes in because the newer models look gorgeous). Dick sent her a final text after her lack of a response; it reads, Heh. Sweet dreams. and is time-stamped three hours after she failed to reply.
Somehow she feels she owes it to him to apologize, so she quickly keys in an apology and an explanation, then asks if he'd like to inform her of the contents of their math project. Then she sets her phone aside and gets up and stretches, thinks maybe she'll go get some chocolate at the local gas store, because her stash ran out a few days ago and she's sure she needs to do some groceries anyway. Artemis dresses herself and pulls on a coat, grabs her house keys and her wallet, stuffs them in her pockets. Her hand hovers over her phone for a moment before she picks it up (—nothing, no messages from anyone, what was she expecting, anyway?—) and pockets it, too.
"'Milk, eggs, syrup,'" Artemis recites as she enters the living room, where the TV's running but Paula's reading the newspaper. "Is that all?"
"Good morning, Artemis," her mom says good-naturedly, and Artemis goes to give her mom a hug – because she's there, because they're still together, and if that doesn't warrant a hug, what does? They hold each other for a moment longer than she expected to but she doesn't mind, and when they're apart she's kneeling in front of her mother and she's smiling, but her mom is not. "You looked upset last night," the woman speaks, and she's not asking for an answer but her expression betrays her unconstrained concern.
"It's nothing," Artemis insists, and as she starts her hand moves to her pocket again, but she's not sure if she does that in anxious wait or from the memories of last night—The Cave, her anger, New York, Dick. Paula doesn't prod further, just tells Artemis to make sure she's taking care of herself, and Artemis sort of half-smiles because, yeah, she's been getting that a lot lately, hasn't she? But Paula is her mom and her mom is allowed to worry about her—sometimes Artemis wonders if that's the only thing she does.
"Be back in a bit!"
"Stay safe!"
And Artemis laughs.
It's strange, really, how happy she is right now; she's got reason enough to be upset and she should probably be thinking about what she's going to say to the team later—she's going back next weekend, she can't not, because they're her family and she was being stupid yesterday, she knows it. But she finds that her attempts to think about what to say are thwarted by memories of Dick from throughout the night, echoes of her reading his texts ringing inside her head. She doesn't even know what they talked about, now that she thinks about it: just that they did, and, hey, Dick's not bad company in a place of misery—he's not bad company at all.
On the way down the stairs of the complex she finds she's humming a song she doesn't remember listening to, but the cheery tune suggests that it's something she might've heard M'gann singing, or maybe something she caught while passing through the music hall at school. She can't recall the words, but that's okay, and she's still looping the same thirty second snip of it in her head when she reaches the mini-mart two blocks down, even with the drizzle and the cold wind. She's got out her canvas bag and she goes through the grocery list easily, but when it comes time to stop at the chocolate aisle she has to stop and seriously consider what she's in the mood for.
Artemis isn't really picky when it comes to chocolate. Sure, she doesn't go all out and buy the super fancy stuff, but peanuts? Caramel? Raspberry filling? It's all the same to her, another layer of deliciousness on an already amazing deal. That's why, when she's presented with a choice, she has to think about it, consider her options and her cravings and her mood. She's standing there and surveying the aisle when the TV suspended from the ceiling blurts out some obnoxious tune and catches her attention, and, yeah, she snorts out in laughter, because there, caught by some rogue cameraman for Gotham News, is Robin. He's in full costume and looks kind of embarrassed, which Artemis is left to assume is because he's been caught while trying to sneak past them. The lady's asking him all sorts of dumb, intrusive questions: So, Robin, any words for your fans? Would you sign my son's plush of you, he's a big fan? Any lady making Gotham's favorite little bird sing?
Robin grins through it all, his charisma guiding him smoothly—Artemis would be impressed, if she wasn't already acquainted with the kid's amazing people skills—and he even throws in a "Nope, still single, I'm available, ladies!", which Artemis's certain he got from Wally. Halfway through one of his answers to the woman's questions he makes a weird face and tells her to hold on a second, he's getting a message, and he pulls out some crazy red-and-yellow contraption that Artemis knows isn't his real phone, but he checks it and almost comically shouts out, "Uh oh, gotta fly! Batman's gonna ground me for sure!" And he's off in the storm, and Artemis is left remembering that Robin may act like he's always acted, may giggle and play with toys and pretend that he's still nine, but he's thirteen now.
He's a teenager.
Whoa.
It's not something that totally hit her before. Gotham's little songbird, as the news woman put it, brought light to the Dark Knight four years go. But the boy is becoming a young man now – soon his voice might even start cracking like Wally's still did when she first joined the team. It seems all too easy for Gothamites to forget that Robin isn't just a pop culture icon – he's a person, too, and he grows out of his old tights just like everyone else does.
She shakes her head to clear her thoughts—why is she even thinking about this?—and decides on her chocolate. Just as she does, her phone begins to vibrate.
Morning, Sunday Sunshine~!
As if on cue, the thunder claps loud and some lightning flashes, and Artemis shakes her head, smirking. She drafts the response in head immediately, but doesn't want to make it seem like she's been waiting for his response all day or something, so she pays for the groceries and pulls up her hood before standing to the side of the exit and replying: good day for algebra, mathlete?
And his response, when she puts down her bag and checks the rain-splattered screen a block from home:
Pfft. Always.
Her alarm is loud and obnoxious, a sound that she's grown used to over the past few years, but it does its job and jogs Artemis from her dreams. She yawns and does her best to avoid the temptation to rest her eyes again, distracts herself by staring up at the ceiling and trying to recount her dream. It's a useless attempt; she knows she was in Gotham and she knows Zatanna was there, but other than that the details are lost forever, like they've been wiped from her mind and there's only scattered bits of eraser shavings left. She grumbles to herself—she's never been very good at recalling her dreams, but it's a talent she wished she had—and turns on her side so she's not facing the poster on the wall. By the time she's given up on remembering, she's properly awake, and it's been ten minutes and the school is a city bus ride away, so Artemis forces herself out of the comfort of her bed and gets ready for school. Clothes, phone, keys, check; she does a quick sweep of the contents of her desk and dumps them in her backpack, swings it over her shoulders, and she's out the door.
The rain from yesterday leaves angry flooding all through the city, so the buses are more crowded than is normal, and the ride to school seems all around longer, too. She almost nods off halfway there, almost misses her stop, but she catches herself and dismounts the bus right in front of Gotham Academy, and if she's too early, that's okay, because it gives her more to time to sleep, or to do, you know, the homework assignment due next period. It sounds like a plan, Artemis decides; so she heads to the library and settles in a chair, searches through her backpack to pull out her book, and… it's not there.
Her eyes widen. Panic erupts, her blood's in a frenzy—no, no, this can't be happening, she can't lose another book, can't pay another fine—Artemis grabs her backpack and dumps all its contents all over a table, shifts and searches through it. She checks all the little pockets and all of her folders, maybe the book got stuck in one of them, it's small after all, but it's fruitless, and as she puts stuff back in her bag, piece by piece, she tries to remember where she last saw her book. The classroom? Mount Justice? Maybe her—dread settles in, but a wave of relief follows after when she knows for sure the book's not lost—bedroom.
Okay. She breathes. She can easily picture the book on her desk, right in the corner next to The Looking Glass Wars, and it's not a big deal. Sure, she needs it for class, but she can easily borrow another one just for the day—in fact, she stands, swings her backpack over her shoulder and heads to the computer lab, where she knows her English teacher spends her mornings, helping nervous juniors with their sample SAT essays.
She's not surprised by the amount of students she encounters on the way there: it's apparently a private school thing to show up everywhere obnoxiously early, maybe have some fancy breakfast at the school cafeteria. Senior students especially seem to arrive early with their big, intimidating textbooks, crouching over them in the back of the libraries because they have tests that day and they can't be bothered to study at home, and Gotham Academy doesn't have a school bus, so plenty of students are dropped off an hour early because their parents are off to work. With all the excuses and justifications for their being there, Artemis shouldn't really be as surprised as she is when she turns the corner and finds Dick and Barbara at the latter's locker. Dick's talking in hushed, excited whispers, which would be audible if not for Barbara's rustling through her locker. Stray words of the conversation play in the air; Artemis catches "please", "dance", and "come on!" in Dick's whine.
"You ask every hot girl you see to the dance, Grayson?" Artemis chimes as she gets closer, and she's smirking because it's a joke, but Dick's caught halfway between saying something and he looks like Conner caught complimenting a monkey.
"—Artemis! Hey, what're you doing here so early?"
Artemis raises an eyebrow. "I'm always here early," she says, as though it's obvious, and she looks pointedly at the two of them, as though examining their faces will reveal the reasons behind their suspiciousness. Though Dick's schooled his expression into a winning smile, Barbara looks exasperated, even when she shuts the locker and zips her backpack, turns to Artemis with a smile. "Hi, Artemis."
"… Did Dick skip another mathlete meeting or something?" asks Artemis.
"Always," chirps Dick, and he's pulled out his cell phone to check the time. "We actually have to be getting to an emergency one right now." And he's pulling at Barbara's arm, like, hey, we're going to be late, aren't you the one that's always complaining about me?
"What? No we d—"
And though she's resisting, Barbara's easily dragged away and Dick smiles and waves as they turn the corner, crying, "Sorry about this, Artemis! See you at lunch!"
So she's ditched and she feels alarmingly sore about it—(hey, no, stop that, Artemis, what does it even matter, Dick's been weird from the beginning)—because she realizes she meant to thank him for keeping her company the other night, even though she was keeping him company, too. And she realizes that she doesn't want it to be just Dick-and-Barbara-those-two-mathletes-that-I-hang-out-with-at-school; she wants it to be Dick and Barbara and Artemis, that trio of friends that sits together at lunch and has fights over which Saturday morning cartoon from their childhood was the best.
And she realizes that, yeah, okay, maybe she does mind that he was talking to Barbara about the dance that she rejected him for. Even though she has no right to mind… right?
It's all too frustrating and she's not in the mood to think about it or read the book for class or do that homework due next period, so she glares at the spot where the two of them disappeared, crosses her arms, and heads to her first period.
Artemis arrives at the cafeteria before Dick and Barbara, and she's brought her own lunch again anyway, so she sits at a different table than their usual, expecting for them to leave her alone. She's barely sitting for a minute before Dick joins her, however, and she looks up and glares at him and says, without hesitation, "I know when I'm not wanted around, Dick."
Dick frowns. "We had a meeting," he says firmly, and he waves Barbara over from the other table, where she's standing nonplussed at the absence of her friends. "I swear on Bruce's statue."
Artemis takes an angry sip of her juice to let him know she isn't convinced.
"Artemis, Artemis, Artemis," Dick sighs, shakes his head forlornly, and offers Artemis a French fry, which she rejects. "Do you honestly hope to compete with my affections for derivatives?"
"Not everyone is in love with you, Dick," Barbara says as she takes her seat next to him, sliding her tray on the table. She turns to Artemis and smiles again, and, okay, there's a warmth about Barbara that makes it impossible for Artemis to be mad at her. "What are we talking about, other than Grayson's hard-on for math?"
"She thinks I made up the emergency meeting to get away from her cooties or something," Dick says. "A little support, Babs? She'll believe you."
"It's true," assures Barbara, and she offers Artemis a fry, which the other girl accepts. Dick looks absolutely hurt, and Artemis makes a face at him. "Dick did not make up the emergency mathlete meeting." She gestures at Artemis's phone. "The advisor sent out a mass text and I hadn't seen it yet."
Artemis feels the tension in her shoulders lessen and mentally scolds herself for getting worked up about the ordeal at all, though she knows that she's got reason enough to be upset when people leave her out of things. With the team, it's because Roy thinks she's a potential mole. At her old school, it was because everyone knew who her parents were. Here… well, it's always good to keep up your guard.
"Um," says Dick, "Sorry, again."
"All is forgiven," grins Artemis, and the other two grin, too, and just as Artemis goes, "Hey, listen—" , Dick tries to say, "By the way", and they cut themselves off and stare at each other while Barbara watches on in bewilderment for a second before Artemis cocks her head to the side, says, "You first."
"I just wanted to let you know that you totally saved my life on Saturday... Sunday, whatever it was," Dick tells her. "I was just about dying from boredom before I'd thought to text you." His features seem to soften and Artemis knows he's being genuine; in fact, when he sees her eyes widen in curiosity, he almost turns red from the embarrassment of admitting it, and he snaps his attention to his food. "Um, what were you going to say?"
"The same thing, actually," says Artemis, and it's like a tiny warmth in her heart to realize she wasn't being dumb and annoying to someone that night, and, yeah, she's saved lives literally before, but hearing it like that is something different. "Thanks, and you're welcome."
"Aww," says Barbara, "aren't you two cute? Late night texting and everything."
"We're not…" starts Artemis, and she's startled that it's Barbara of all people to suggest it, but Dick shakes his head, snickering.
"She's just jealous that she can't get with either of us."
"Sure," says Barbara. "That's totally it."
And their conversation goes on as it normally does, and somewhere in her head Artemis hears the chime that means their friendship has progressed farther, that maybe it actually is Barbara and Dick and Artemis, and not Dick-and-Barbara-plus-Artemis like she thought.
When the bell rings and they're heading to class and it's just Dick and Artemis, just as they're about to enter the classroom, he pulls her aside again, and for a moment Artemis is worried that he's going to ask again (and what frightens her is she doesn't know if she'd actually refuse him this time, at least as friends), but he doesn't; instead, he says, "Hey, so Babs and I are planning to check out that fair that's supposed to start up today a few blocks down—we weren't going to go before since it's usually crowded, but the rain cleared out most of the people for us—any chance you'd like to come with us after school?"