Tempest: Chapter Eleven: Mechanisms For Coping
Not being able to use her legs was probably the worst thing that could have ever happened to Amara, and that was counting her father attempting to electrocute her when she was younger.
If Amara actually liked her birthdays, then she would have found her twelfth to be the worst birthday ever, but she didn't, so it was just like any other day.
It'd been a week since her release from the League's hospital ward and Amara's physical injuries were fully healed, and Amara was already ahead on her studies, which left her with a lot of spare time. Unfortunately, she'd usually spend her free time training or patrolling with Speedy, but that wasn't really an option for her now. She could train her upper body, obviously, but Amara had been too focused on her moping for that, so Robin had given her a second option.
Hacking was not what Iris considered a good past-time, but Barry seemed to be grateful that she had something to take her mind off her condition, hence why he had had one of the spare rooms in the Cave decked out with computers just for her use. There was the large one in the main area, but Amara preferred something a bit more tangible than holographic.
Thankfully, she'd had some hacking skill before, though she was nowhere near as good as Robin was (and the boy had agreed to drop by on the weekends to help her hone her skill), so it didn't seem nearly as difficult as it would have been if she'd just been starting out.
Her fingers flew across the board, typing out some code before an image from a video camera popped up.
"Are you sure you're not just having me do this to keep busy?" Amara asked, unamused, pursing her lips as the comm.-link in her ear transmitted to Roy's.
"Come on, like you need me to distract you," he responded and Amara could practically hear him rolling his eyes.
Amara ignored him, adjusting the camera's view until it fixed on him where he was crouched on the edge of the building's roof. "Turn around and smile, Speedy."
Roy swiveled until he was looking on the camera with its blinking red light and he flipped it off with a smirk.
"Well, that's not very nice," Amara said with a bit of faux-affront, "and here I thought you liked me."
"It depends on the day, to be perfectly honest," Roy replied, and he wasn't lying. The first few days of adapting to not be able to fully use her legs had probably been the worst, back when she'd been angry at everything.
Amara grabbed a few M&M's, plopping them in her mouth. "I just love it when you say such sweet things to me, Speedy," she said around the chocolate.
"Yeah," he said dryly, "I'm sure you do."
"So, where do you want me?"
"Can you hack all the security cameras on all the floors of the building?" Roy asked and Amara could practically hear the wince in his voice. "I'm not sure how he's going to try to get in."
"'Can I hack all the security cameras on all the floors of the building?'" Amara muttered to herself, glaring as he chuckled. "Screw you buddy! Why don't you try your hand at hacking, which frankly, I know you're quite terrible at—"
"Well, can you?"
"Of course I can!" Amara spluttered. "They're all on the same system, so no problem, honestly, you're asking me these questions like I'm a complete novice."
Now she was pretty sure his eyes were fixed skywards and he was wondering what on earth he had done to deserve such a partner (which was something he did at least two times every time they were in each other's presence), but she focused on coding until several different cameras popped up on the various screens.
"All right, looks like Clock King hasn't shown up yet," she said, eyes glancing over all of them. "He'd be rather easy to spot, in that ridiculous outfit of his…honestly, what was he even thinking?"
Amara supposed she couldn't really be one to judge, given her tendency to favor darker colors, but even that was better than wearing images of clocks all over your body. The Clock King was a fashion disaster.
Speedy chuckled and Amara spun in her chair.
"You know, Kid Flash is fighting with his parents again," she told him after a moment of silence while Amara glanced over the footage.
"He is?" he asked, startled. "Why?"
"Well, it was a bit difficult for him to convince them to let him be Flash's sidekick in the first place, and after they saw what happened to me…well, I guess they're afraid of what'll happen if one day he isn't fast enough."
Amara chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Could you imagine him not as Kid Flash, though? I think that would probably kill him the most."
"Probably," Roy agreed. "Is he staying with you, then?"
"Not yet, but he does drop by a lot to visit, so I guess things are still a bit tense at home," Amara surmised, tapping her fingers against the desk in thought as they settled into silence once more.
"Oh, yeah, happy birthday."
Her expression soured.
"And I know you hate celebrating, but I still got you something; it should be at your house when you get home."
"You really didn't have to do that," she said with a sigh.
"If I want to buy my partner a present for her birthday, then that's what I'm going to do," he sniffed in an arrogant manner than Amara didn't believe for a second. "So you can just suck it up."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
She shook her head, smiling fondly. No, she didn't.
When she got back to her room that night there was a red box and a small note on her bed. The note was from Oliver and read: There's a pot of my chili in your fridge, for the girl with great taste in chili. –O
Amara couldn't help but smile at that.
Then she opened the red box –clearly Roy's gift, he loved the color red far too much– to reveal a small crossbow that was solid black.
Just in case you need some backup when no one's around, it read in Roy's untidy scrawl.
And no matter how angry Amara was about her situation, she was grateful for the gift.
Then her eyes caught what lay beneath his gift and she lifted it up. It was a framed photograph of the heroes of Star City out of uniform, Dinah with an arm wrapped around Amara's shoulders and Oliver's around Roy's as they all laughed at something out of the frame.
Amara chewed on her lip, swallowing the lump in her throat. Trust Dinah to give her a gift that would choke her up.
Late into that night Amara woke up screaming, terror in her throat and in her eyes, because there was nothing more frightening than trying to run from something you couldn't see only to remember that you couldn't run at all.
Not even the soothing tones her parents spoke in nor the calming circles they rubbed into her back helped calm her racing heart.
Pamela was becoming bored, which she hadn't thought was possible being surrounded by plants and flowers, but it had been over two weeks now and there had still been no trace of her daughter.
Pamela tapped a finger against the counter when the automatic door swung open.
"Welcome to Bouquet Boutique," she said cheerily and automatically before pausing as a wheelchair rolled through the door bearing a young girl with a head of dark messy curls, wet from the rain, and green eyes the color of leaves, the same shape and color of Pamela's own. And her breath caught in her throat; she was more beautiful in the flesh than she was in the images.
Amara, her daughter, blinked at her in surprise.
"Where's Sandra?" she asked, looking at the woman blankly, and Pamela memorized the sound of her voice.
"Oh," Pamela said weakly before clearing her throat, "she's sorting out a new shipment…I'm her new hire, Pamela Quinley, but everyone calls me Ella."
Amara nodded, wheeling forward. "I'm Amara Allen, but everyone calls me Amy."
Pamela gave her a smile. "You're the girl that got the bouquet of Chrysanthemums, right?" she asked, pretending like she didn't know.
Her daughter's eyes glittered. "That's me. My cousin Wally thought they might make me feel better…" Her smile fell and she looked down mournfully at her legs.
Pamela felt a spike of unadulterated rage towards Merlyn for the current condition of her only child.
Instead, she took a calming breath and said, "Sandra says you're her most enthusiastic volunteer."
Amara smiled sheepishly, a pale flush of pleasure adorning her cheeks. "I just really like plants and flowers."
Pamela gave her a wink. "Me too."
Amara gave a short laugh that rang in Pamela's ears even hours after she'd heard it, and it echoed with the sound of the distant thunder as the rain pattered against the windows.
Then the door opened again and a blond-haired man entered, holding it open for Sandra as she thanked him with an easy grin, carrying several bundles of flowers in her arms, and she gave Amara a red-painted smile as she made her way to the counter Pamela was standing behind.
"Hey, Amy, how're you doing?"
It was clear that the reason Amara's father had lingered in the rain was to explain his daughter's condition to Sandra.
"Building up my upper body strength," Amara responded easily, her hands on the wheels of her wheelchair in order to spin it slowly in a careful circle, "what else?"
Sandra laughed and Amara's father gave a small sigh. "Your dad is finally letting you volunteer, huh? Officially."
Amara grinned. "It's a birthday present. I conned him into it…besides, who can resist a face like mine?"
Pamela supposed that being in the wheelchair might've helped in her favor, but she certainly wasn't one to complain. Instead, she cast her eyes to her daughter's adoptive father. The only reason she could think of him being reluctant in allowing his child to be around plants was if he knew about Amara's birth mother.
"I'm sure that's it," her father said, leaning down to press a kiss to her brow that made her pout.
"And I see you've met our new hire," Sandra continued, gesticulating towards Pamela and his eyes flashed to hers, allowing her to see a flash of surprise and a bit of befuddlement; he might have known that the biological mother to Amara Allen was Poison Ivy, but he had never seen her in her civilian form. "This is Pamela Quinley."
"Just Ella will do," Pamela said kindly.
"I think Pamela's a pretty name," Amara told her, turning to look at Pamela once more. "It's my middle name."
Pamela gave her another wink as Barry checked his watch.
"Well, I'll leave you ladies to it," he said, sweeping a stray curl behind Amara's ear. "Sweetie, I'll be back for you around four, all right?"
Amara made a shooing motion with her hands. "Get back to work, Dad, I've got roses to de-thorn."
He gave her a small laugh in return before bidding her farewell and leaving her with Pamela and Sandra and Amara sighed.
"He's worried about me," she lamented, "last night I woke up screaming and just about gave him and Mom a heart-attack."
Her calling someone else 'Mom' was like a knife in the heart, but Pamela couldn't blame her for that, she was sure that from how Amara had reacted around her father, it was clear that they were good to her, and for now, that would have to do.
And for the next few hours Pamela was in a prolonged moment of bliss, merely being in her daughter's presence, listening to her speak, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile…for now, it was enough.
A small box tumbled out of the backpack looped over the wheelchair's handles when Amara was getting ready for bed, pulling herself from the wheelchair into the bed, her hair wild and wet from the shower. She ran a hand through her hair, tangling her fingers into the grey locks before reaching over the edge of the bed to grasp the box and pull it back up with her –in an impressive display of balance despite the lack of use in her legs.
She examined it with a frown, scrutinizing it intently. It couldn't have been a gift from her parents, because they'd already given her her birthday present, a brand new laptop, and Amara certainly didn't recognize it from anywhere.
Amara couldn't help but be suspicious. Getting random gifts didn't usually end well for the recipient –Amara had once seen a well placed grenade take out a man the second the lid to the box he was holding had been lifted…it had been startling and horrifying and gave Amara a steep suspicion of unmarked boxes.
But she still had a boundless curiosity that couldn't stop her from opening it. She tilted the box's lid open, pulling out a folded piece of paper on which were scrawled the words: Happy Birthday, Daughter.
Amara's breath caught in her throat as she read the words in a curly, unfamiliar scrawl. She knew her mother's handwriting, and it was nowhere close to the handwriting on the paper.
She swallowed, closing her eyes. Her mother, her real mother, she had left this for her. And Amara thought about all the times Barry had said that he didn't have any idea who her mother was…but now she knew who Amara was.
The thought got Amara unexpectedly choked up; a biological parent of hers that didn't actually blame her for existing…how strange it was to her.
Her fingers traced over the word 'daughter' before she passed the paper over beside her to lift a delicate silver chain from the box that bore a single charm, a green ivy leaf.
And Amara spun it around her wrist twice over before clipping it in place and examining the charm that glittered in the light.
"We'll meet someday," she murmured despite knowing that whoever her mother was couldn't hear her. "I hope you'll be proud of me."
And then she pulled her laptop towards her, opening to her profile on the JL Database. The image of a sidekick with green eyes peering through a black mask dominated the page, but under Status, Amara changed it from Active to Retired/Inactive before saving the details and shutting it off with a sigh.
Storm Chaser wouldn't be out on the streets anymore, so might as well make it official.
It still hurt, though, shutting away what had been a part of so much of her life…but Amara would have to adapt, good thing she was so good at that.
Wally and Amara were propped up on her bed with her laptop between them as they watched Star Wars: Episode IV: A New Hope, which was Wally's favorite of the Star Wars movies, even though Amara was sold on the one that followed.
It was a Friday night and Wally had zipped over to his aunt and uncle's place with a bag readily packed, eager to be out of his house, where the tension was so heavy that Wally was practically choking on it.
Amara had been unsurprised to see him, greeting him with a lily tangled artfully in her hair ("Like it?" she asked with a grin, "Ella helped me with it.") which clashed with her tom-boy-esque fashion sense, but Wally knew better than to comment on it.
"I heard you retired," he mentioned over the sound of lasers firing.
"News spreads fast, I guess," Amara grumbled, pulling her bowl of raspberries towards her (seriously, she had some kind of addiction with the fruit). "Yeah, I retired. It's not like a Storm Chaser without use of her legs is much use at all."
Wally could practically taste the bitterness on her words.
"Dad wants me to see Dinah as a therapist," Amara added, wrinkling her nose with distaste. "Well, that didn't really go over well."
Wally could imagine.
"Have you ever heard of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross?" she asked him instead.
"Not really," Wally admitted, scratching his head thoughtfully. "Who is she?"
"This lady that came up with the five stages of grief," Amara said before ticking them off on her fingers, "denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance…I keep going from depression to anger and I don't think Mom and Dad really know quite what to do with me."
She had been even-tempered before, but now…her mood swings were sudden and generally violent. Ironically like a storm.
Wally paused the video to twist his head to look at her. "Don't say that, they're probably just learning to deal with their daughter being in a wheelchair."
Amara bit her tongue to keep from mentioning that that was better than actually being the one in the wheelchair.
Then Wally scratched his cheek. "That may have come out a little wrong."
And she gave him a rather wry smile. "It came out fine, Wally."
"Hm," Wally said in reply before his eyes brightened and he grinned at her, "what about this? I read a study about how when you lose one sense your other senses try to compensate for the loss."
Amara arched an eyebrow as if to say 'And?'
"Well, think about it like this…you can't use your legs hardly at all, but your upper body strength is the same as ever and you've still got that big brain of yours that Rob says you've been using for hacking—"
"I'm not all that great at it," Amara discounted.
"But you're practicing at it, aren't you?" Wally asked her and Amara gave a small huff. "Why don't you do something for the League while you heal, behind a computer screen?"
"And what would they call me?" Amara asked dryly.
Wally thought for a moment.
"Oracle," he decided and Amara blinked, "you know like those Ancient Greek prophets of Apollo? They were pretty all-knowing, and you can be too, you know, once you get a bit better at it."
Amara, who had been smiling thoughtfully at the idea sudden elbowed him in the side once he finished speaking.
"Hey," she warned, "I'll hack into your school and change all your As to Cs."
And Wally went positively white, recoiling away from her in a manner that made her release a short laugh before starting up the movie again as her cousin looked on her with grudging respect.
"So, what's she like?"
Pamela's partner Harleen Quinzel's –otherwise known by the persona she'd taken on, Harley Quinn– blared through the speaker of her cell as she unpacked boxes in her apartment.
The eco-terrorist had always come from money, old money, but it certainly didn't show in the apartment, which was rather modest, but it would probably have looked a bit strange if a floral assistant could afford a larger apartment than her salary could cover.
"She's perfect," Pamela sighed, "she's beautiful and wonderful and snarky and…and she's mine, Harl, I never would have thought her possible, but here she is!"
Her girlfriend was sure to hear the emotion clogging her throat. "Did you send her that bracelet?"
"Yes," Pamela said, a wide smile gracing her face as she did so, "she was wearing it the very next day."
She had had to contain her enthusiasm when she'd seen the silver chain around her daughter's wrist, especially since she'd worried over the gift for the whole day (and slipping the box into her bag when she wasn't looking had certainly been a trial), but it seemed that she'd worried over nothing.
"So, she does know you exist," Harley said on the other end, following the sound of a shotgun, but Pamela wasn't concerned; Harley could take care of herself, "she just doesn't have any idea who you are."
"No, she doesn't," Pamela said, sounding as though those words alone had brought the wind out of her sails. "But I think it would be better for her to know me first as a person before springing the whole 'Hey, Amy, I'm your biological mother, Poison Ivy!' on her…besides, she's not in a good way…"
Harley growled. "Want me to swing by Star City and shoot up Merlyn for you?"
Pamela honestly considered it. Merlyn certainly deserved it for putting her baby in a wheelchair for perhaps months, but… "No, at least, not yet…people might get suspicious about things like that."
And Pamela couldn't really afford heroes being suspicious about her assumed identity right now.
"Just say the word, Girlfriend, and I'll stick him with so many bullets he'll only be identified by his uniform," Harley responded flirtatiously and Pamela gave a small giggle.
"I'll keep that in mind," she promised, hoisting a thick fern from a box to the ledge by her window. "I was thinking about coming back for the weekend, what do you think about that?"
"I think I've got a bit of an opening," Harley responded and Pamela imagined her winking at her for good measure and it made her smile. "Bearing the week alone for an angel on the weekend…who wouldn't want that?"
And Pamela fell in love with her all over again. Their current situation was complicated especially with how Pamela had left Gotham City so suddenly when she'd heard the rumors only to discover that they were true. And in order for Pamela to familiarize herself with her daughter, she had to remain in Central City, even though her home was in Gotham City.
Anyone other than Harley would have called quits on a long distance relationship like that, but not Harley, she was determined to make it work, and so was Pamela.
"Harl…I know this isn't easy for you," Pamela added, switching off the speaker to replace the phone at her ear, "and just…thanks for being so understanding."
"Well, she is one half of you, so she can't be all bad," Harley reasoned though there was a bit of gentleness to her voice. "Besides, you've always wanted a child of your own and what kind of person would I be if I denied you that."
Pamela swallowed before she spoke thickly blinking rapidly. "I love you, Harl."
"Same, Red! Oops, looks like the police are on their way, gotta go!"
Her girlfriend's mad cackle was cut short as the phone shut off and Pamela gave a small sigh, sitting down on her small bed and looking around the blank room.
"Here's to starting fresh," the woman murmured.
But, being Pamela Quinley couldn't be so bad, there were worse things to be by far, and not everyone could say that they got a chance to meet the daughter they'd never known that they'd had.
So, things were looking up for Pamela Quinley.
