I imagine she loves her dad a lot.
Character: Artemis Crock
I do not own this.
"Mom?" Artemis calls, tossing her school bag on the ground. "I'm home!"
She walks to the kitchen, kicking off her runners as she goes. When she turns the corner though, it isn't her mom who's there.
"Dad?"
The blonde man turns around, a grin on his face. "Hey sweetie," he says, holding his arm out for a hug. His other arm is—oh god he's cooking.
Artemis races to his side, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "Hi dad," she murmurs against his shirt, and he smells just like she remembers, Axe and sweat and just a bit like blood. "Where's mom?" She asks, pulling away and looking at what he's cooking. The spaghetti—well the noodles aren't supposed to look like that.
"Gone for the weekend to her sister's," he says, stirring the noodles more. Artemis grabs his hand, prying it away from the spoon. "You fucked up the noodles," she tells him.
"Language," he mutters, walking towards the table. "You got a phone book? Let's order pizza. Your mom told me not to but—eh, what the hell?" he's grinning again, and Artemis feels herself grinning also. He notices her new uniform, but he doesn't say anything.
Once the pizza is there, and the two are chowing down, he asks, "So how is the team?"
His eyes are hard, but his face is relaxed, and something inside her tells Artemis that this was all just a little trap to make her spill the beans. "Good."
But her dad cares. If he didn't, he wouldn't have taught her how to defend herself, right? He wouldn't have been so nice. He wouldn't have come home, and she likes when he's home because everyone is so happy again—
"And things are good with you? The Martian and Atlantean don't suspect anything?" He bites into his pizza, and Artemis' gaze flits to behind him, where his duffle bag is. "Are you leaving?"
He can tell what she's trying to do. "I asked you a question young lady."
"I know," she says. "But we haven't seen each other in a long time and I was hoping maybe we could rent movies?"
His mouth turns down, and he reaches out to grab her hand, "I know baby, but I've got work—"
Snatching her hand away from his reach, Artemis says, "Superboy can't control his powers, M'gann can't read minds, Kid Flash is having problems with M'gann, Aqualad is having troubles using his sorcery and Robin might be leaving the team."
Her dad nods at all of these things, believing them. And when he leaves, she immediately reaches for her cell phone, dialing Ollie's number.
"I did it. Are you happy?"
"I know it was hard," he murmurs on the phone, and tears sting at her eyes. "But you're saving a lot of people. Especially your friends."
"I know."
She knows, really. But all she really wants to do is have her family together, and for her team to trust her and to just be fucking normal for once. She wants to stop being everyone's toy that they can fuck around with. Someone they can control. She wants, wants, wants.
But wanting? It never gets your anywhere. You have to do something. And soon, she'll have to decide what she wants to do. Her dad, he'd never hurt her, but he could just as easily get Jade to do it. And her mom—well her mom would be an easy target too.
She has to choose. Light or Justice.
She remembers when she was small, small enough to believe in hope and happiness and handsome princes saving the day, her father was there.
He wasn't there all the time. He couldn't be. His job was too important, and one mistake could mean hurting her or her mother.
But when he would come home—always too late for her to be awake, he would stand in her doorway of whatever cheap apartment they could afford at the time, and he would watch.
Through the years, his sweet, innocent little daughter lost it. Lost her innocence the first chance she got lost the braids for a stiff pony tail. She lost her happiness.
Her walls, once bright green (because she doesn't like pink, never has) were covered in drawings and crayon and joyfulness. But the years went (four, six, eight, ten) and the green walls became less and less vibrant.
Lawrence Crock notices this now, as he watches his fifteen year old daughter sleep. She mumbles and moves, but never wakes.
Something inside him wonders if this was right. If making her—if training her to be the best, was really worth it.
And when he thinks about it…really thinks hard and long about it, he knows it's not. Artemis will never be the hoping, wishing, praying child she once was, and he'll never be the father she wishes he could be.
