So in my vague defense, I originally had every intention of publishing this in a reasonable amount of time after the first chapter. Not that that means much.
I had to work with a lot of aspects of writing that I'm not too good at with this chapter, so it may not be fantastic. I hope you still enjoy it.
This is still unbetaed, and the invitation to beta will always be open for anyone who'd like the responsibility.
Eventually, Artemis's white-knuckled grip on the chair's back slackened, only adding one more stiff muscle to the deafening cacophony her body was howling at her. She ached everywhere and, with the mask off, she found not heeding her body's demands much more difficult. Though the tight, padded armor of her uniform clung to the curves of her body, sticking painfully to the sweat the pooled around her hips and arms under the sweat suit, not having on the mask meant the problem still presented itself. To her, it was the only part of her uniform that truly signaled her alter-ego to emerge and that alter-ego brought with it a better pain tolerance than Artemis-the-person could ever aspire to. Without it, she felt naked. And, the clarification flitted across her mind once again, not in the fun way.
Tempted, she fingered the mask. Obviously, if she were to talk to Dick she needed to the liberty to not be the just-Artemis and putting it on would reveal her identity anyway, but Artemis-the-person was much more susceptible to pain than the former. The just-Artemis didn't often hurt, but she was used to heeding her body's aches when Artemis-the-person got to take center stage. Being stuck in this middle ground didn't seem to allow her escape from the aches the just-Artemis had acquired. It was unfortunate, if she was going to understate. And the way she tended to deal with confrontation as of late, understating was an expression she was getting more and more comfortable with.
Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from her pocket and its hidden comforts and sunk into the welcoming leather of the fireside seat. She was surprised to find it soft and worn, what looked to be well cared for even rough and cracked in some places. Artemis had expected the chair to be stiff and unused, much like the mansion itself seemed to be, but as soon as her eyes moved from tracing each flaw on the chair she understood why. Looking anywhere but down, it was nearly impossible to not see the portrait of the elder Waynes staring kindly from their eternal perch above the fire place. She could imagine someone sitting here often to stare at the image of their lost parents, and while Bruce Wayne did seem to be an impersonal, detached character, Artemis wouldn't be surprised if he often chose to sit with the immortalization of his family. When she was younger, parts of her mattress springs had worn and broken from the many occasions she would curl up in the corner of her bed and stare at a picture of her smiling mother taken before Artemis was even aware enough to understand who exactly the Huntress was.
As the stuffing in the chair shifted to accommodate her weight, Artemis allowed it to swallow her shape and her reverie. Idly tracing one of the veins in the leather with a rounded fingernail, Artemis carefully steered her thoughts towards her current situation. Her silent beration towards her own neglectfulness was ever bit as vicious as her father's had been when she was a child. Artemis was surprised by how instinctually she had reacted when she decided to come to Wayne Manor, how visceral her response to what should have been a standard mother's worry.
In fact, on reflection she was surprised by a lot of things, and most of them weren't her own doing. Not, obviously, how it was that the Wayne Foundation continued to offer such weighty scholarships- that was obvious by the decorum; she wouldn't know how to use all that money, either- but why was it that Alfred was so unaffected by her appearance? Why was it acceptable, conventional, even, for Wayne scholarship receivers to just show up at a billionaire's door? Who exactly did the scholarships go to? And why would Dick and his guardian would be "taking care" of anything at eleven on a Wednesday?
The explanation of "gang operation" was almost convenient- and amusing- enough for her to entertain.
Still, she dismissed the theory immediately as ridiculous- though that didn't assuage her curiosity- as the foreboding of hushed voices and returning footsteps quieted her theories. She had to be guarded around this kid. Artemis had no doubt he was talented enough to deduce her identity if given enough slack.
After all, he was Dick Grayson. Thirteen years old. Brilliant. Charming. Talented enough to catch the adoptive eye of Bruce Wayne. But to say he had boundary issues would be putting it politely.
The footsteps soon quieted, leaving, she assumed, Dick Grayson and Alfred the Butler- she really should've asked for his full name- standing in the waiting room's doorway. She didn't crane her neck to see them from her fire-facing seat. Instead, something in the glow of the fire must've become epiphany-inducing-level interesting, as her eyes stayed on the paneling beside the hearth, mapping the swirls of grain in the wood.
Alfred's crisp tone drew her ears to him but not her eyes. "Master Bruce permitted Master Richard to bow out of his other engagements for the night, Miss Crock, and has also instructed that I show you to guest quarters if you were intending to stay the night."
As their conversational tradition seemed to be dictating, she paused again. Picking her way through the sentence carefully, Artemis managed to veil, however weakly, her elation at the offer. "I….yeah. That would be great…good, I mean. Thank you." She hadn't even requested to stay and yet the invitation was being extended to her. Maybe they were all smarter- no, not smarter, cleverer- than she'd originally assumed.
The rustle of cloth was subtle but deliberate enough to finally pull her gaze towards the two of them. Alfred smiled just slightly as he dipped his head. The smile actually seemed strangely reminiscent of the rare ones Batman would sometimes reward the team with after a difficult mission. Welcoming, prideful, purposeful, as was everything about the dark knight. Though, sometimes Artemis doubted whether Bats would purposely show as much emotion as she credited him for. Maybe it was just the way the smile contrasted the cowl.
"You'll excuse me then, Miss Crock, as I must prepare your room. Tea will be ready shortly." Alfred didn't wait long enough to hear the customary thanks mumbled after him, but Artemis was fairly confident he would assume he'd been given one.
Dick followed Artemis's retreating eyes back into the room; while she resumed memorizing the subtleties in the cherry wood, he picked out a seat opposite her near the fire. Though her gaze stayed firmly and stubbornly away from the very person she had designated as her weight of sanity, his scrutinized her shamelessly. The look wasn't hostile or particularly unpleasant, but Artemis felt the corners of her lips turn down in a deep frown.
"You know," Dick said finally, leaning further back into his own chair. "You can look at me. I'm not Medusa or anything. I won't turn you to stone."
Her frown twitched upwards slightly. Brat.
Still, she let her gaze flit towards him and return his examination. She was surprised-once again, she noted with vague, unjustifiable annoyance- to find his hair hanging limply over his forehead, unrestrained by the copious amount of gel she had come to expect. It looked like it had been hurriedly adjusted, as hers was whenever she ran her fingers through in place of her comb because her sister decided to make an impromptu visit. There was a thin, pink ring around his eyes, too, something Artemis could only liken to having duct tape attached to and then ripped off your skin.
Then he shifted and she could make out dark bruises pressed into his skin just above his pant hem before he movesd again, his thin shirt concealing them from her once more. When she looked more closely, she could see just the faintest outline of gauze wrapped around his bicep, though his eyes caught hers and he quickly crossed his arms to hide it.
"What happened to you?" Tactless again, Artemis acknowledged silently, though at this point she wasn't sure anyone could expect anything else. If complete and utter tactlessness were lightning, she'd be the one standing on a hilltop in a thunderstorm in copper armor shouting obscenities at gods.
"Nothing," Dick replied smoothly, though it was a more hurried excuse than the ones he usually met her questions with. "Why?"
"You just look…disheveled."
"You don't look particularly hevel-" Artemis only just caught the slight hiccup in his speech as he tried to correct himself without her notice, "heavenly yourself."
They lapsed into silence again, mutual acceptance that neither was keen to explain their appearance flashing between them. The warmth of the fire flooded the space their silence left in the room. Each allowed the other to entertain their own thoughts until Alfred joined them again a minute or so later, trailing what Artemis was sure had to be the scent of lavender and death. She was fairly certain no tea existed on the world that actually smelled so strongly.
"Artemis might need more than a couple heaping teaspoons of sugar, Alfie," Dick warned as Artemis's nose unconsciously wrinkled.
"Miss Crock?"
"What he said," she agreed, and despite the force of the aroma coming from the cup Alfred passed to her, the heat that seeped through her still rooftop-chilled fingers was worth any assault on her other senses. Artemis actually found the smell rather pleasant, anyway.
After Alfred offered him the other china cup, Dick smiled at Artemis through the fingers of steam rising from it and suggested, "There are better rooms in my house to talk. This one's just for Bruce's business associates. It's not supposed to be that welcoming."
Artemis hesitated a moment, just long enough to smile at Alfred's encouraging nod. "Alright," she agreed.
"Great! Follow me." Dick stood up quickly enough that his tea almost sloshed onto what Artemis imagined to be the astonishingly expensive carpet. Amused, though not really for any other reason then how starkly unamusing the rest of the night had been, Artemis jogged to catch up to his surprisingly quick steps.
He led her deeper into the mansion, and once they'd penetrated through what seemed to be a bubbly of formality intended to make a professional initial impression to guests, the hallway was laden with memorabilia. Photographs, framed certificates, an elementary diploma, and other such keepsakes lined the walls. She honestly preferred the ones at home: blank and unrevealing, secretive enough to be comfortable.
Artemis felt even more out of place as the house's cold façade started to peel away, revealing warmth and happiness and family. All she really wanted was to be back in their dank, dirty apartment in the worst part of his Gotham to allow the car alarms and angry shouting to lull her to sleep. She didn't want to be in this clean house with its sweet smelling air.
What exactly had driven her to think Dick Grayson, of all people, was an appropriate kid to pour out her feelings to? The kid that Robin, when he'd finally pestered her into revealing details of her social life, had dismissively dubbed a "dweeb"?
He was, and a mathlete to boot, and he had stupid, gelled back hair and a dumb laugh and he texted with complete grammatical accuracy. Sure, he was fun to be around in person and in text, in the late hours of the night or under the table when she was about to fall asleep in class, but he didn't really seem like the serious type.
"What did happen anyway?" Artemis asked, as way to break the silence that had really only been filled by the sound of soft soles on hardwood. "Did the hipsters beat you up for being more ironic than they were?"
"Mmhmm," he agreed easily, "all while declaring, 'There are no hipsters, only Zuul!'"
She shook her head, the mock disappointment never reaching past the turn of her lips. "Seems like a bit of a reference stretch to convince me you're cool."
"Artemis, Artemis," Dick sighed, holding open a door for her, a courtesy she accepts begrudgingly, "do you really think the desire to impress you by being cool could compete with my love of being everything but?"
Artemis scoffed, but in lieu of a clever answer brushed past him, the sharpness with which her eyes scanned the room habitual and paranoid. She appreciated how accommodating he was- the room was comfortably impersonal, a few oil paintings the only embellishment to cream colored walls and stuffy-looking velvet couches. She settled into the closest one with a sigh, closing her eyes to the wealth on display around her. Artemis also relinquished the warming touch of porcelain, placing her cup on one of the side tables.
Dick let her sit there silently for a moment, but she could tell from the slight creaks in the adjacent couch as he shifts that curiosity was eating at him. To his credit, he took at least a full two minutes before broaching the topic.
"Not that spontaneous visits aren't always great, Artemis, but I'm thinking you didn't just come here just to try Alfie's tea."
Artemis had never noticed how interesting her hands were, and she turned them over evasively to study the creases in them. "Yeah," she admitted eventually. "I guess I didn't."
Dick leaned forward in his seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed how very difficult it was for him to restrain his interest. "Tell me."
Something in his tone, some entitlement, like he deserved to know why she'd come made her sit straighter. "Maybe I only came to get out and think. Why makes you think I should tell you anything?"
"Because you're a guest in my house, I seem to be your only source of food and shelter for the night and because it wasn't a suggestion," Dick answered without skipping a beat. It was the same tone of parental command Paula had used, the one that had driven her here. Strangely, in his lilting voice, it made her feel like she was safe in knowing hands, instead of restrained in overprotective ones.
Artemis was still going to protest, of course, but before she could, Dick added, "And because misery doesn't love company, it loves dark places where it can fester and grow. You kinda seem like a petri dish for it right now, Arty."
Her shoulders dropped, resistance gone. She did want to tell him everything. About her father and her mother and the team and Wally and everything that was clawing at her suddenly constricted throat for a chance to be expressed. But for all the earnesty scrawled across his face and the desire to tell him painted hastily over hers, Artemis just wasn't composed enough to articulate any of it. Not without revealing too much. She just sat there, mouth working silently, all coherency rattling uselessly at the back of her skull.
Finally, she managed ever so eloqently: "It's just…every time I think shit can't get more fucked up, it gets way more fucked up."
Dick scooted further to the edge of his couch, silently urging her to continue.
"My father is," Artemis began, then drew further back into the couch, its back feeling more like a restraint than a comfort as she does. "I mean, my mother says that he used to mean well, but…"
Her words trail thinly into the air. The enormity of her life wasn't something that could be dumped haphazardly onto someone. Certainly not if she has an identity to protect.
"You and your dad don't get along?" Dick prompted. "He wants you to change?"
Artemis gave a sharp bark of laughter that was completely devoid of any mirth. No one else could have understated so innocently. Some of the bitterness she felt must have shown on her face, because Dick suddenly looked uncomfortable.
"No," Artemis said, laugh tapering off. She gave a lopsided, almost nasty smile. "No, unless you're talking about changing the current amount of oxygen in my lungs, I think he wants to do a bit more than that. I'm a stain on the Crock name, y'know?
"Around him, being independent is like being radioactive." Her hands were clenched into fists that shook ever so slightly. "He was away for so much of my life, but he still thinks he gets a say in what I do."
Dick nodded encouragingly, but Artemis figured that if he was going to be asking questions, she'd present some of her own, for peace of mind if nothing else.
"Why did it seem like Alfred expected me, anyway?"
Dick shrugged, then offered, "Precognition?"
Artemis snorted. She was perfectly happy to let the conversation end there. Time was wearing her confidence in why she'd come thin. Without dwelling on the decision, she started to make her excuses and leave, but Dick reached across from his couch and grabbed her wrist before she could fully stand.
"Artemis, you obviously came her for a reason. You're family life is bad. Talk about it."
"Bad?" Artemis demanded, yanking her hand away with far more force and suddenness than she needed to. When he relinquished his grip, she stumbled back a few steps before she could regain her balance. "Dick, he's tried to kill me. He broke a bottle when he was drunk and shoved it at my throat. He pushed me out into a street when I was five claiming it was atonement for Mom going to jail!"
Dick reached for her shoulder but she twisted away before it could touch her. "Artemis, talk to me. Let me help."
"No," Artemis snarled, hands gesturing wildly at nothing. Her eyes burnt and her body shook and she didn't know why. God, why did she come at all? "You don't know what I've been through, so don't even try to give me that fake sympathy crap."
Dick brushed away the hand Artemis was holding out to keep him away, only taking two steps to wrap his arms around her. She didn't know how it happened. One second, he was on the other side of the room, at least four feet away, and the next Dick was in Artemis's personal space like he'd been there all morning.
"It's sympathy, not empathy," Dick murmured into her shoulder, his voice muffled by her hair, "so I can give you as much as I damn well please. I'm your friend, Artemis. You're just going to have to get used to it."
They stood there still for a moment, Artemis not returning the hug, but Dick not giving up on his.
"Dick," she managed eventually. "I can't breath."
"You're going to have to tough it out," he grunted. "This is friendship crushing your internal organs."
Still, he slowly uncoiled his arms from her waist and stepped back, a freedom she used to inhale a comically loud breath. They stood there for a moment, silent.
Artemis laughed first, but Dick wasn't far behind.
They didn't know why it was funny. Sometimes you laugh because you don't want to cry. Sometimes you laugh because table manners at the beach are funny. And sometimes you laugh because you're alive and healthy and with your friends when you really probably shouldn't be.
"It wouldn't be so bad if my sister had been there," Artemis admitted quietly, after their laughter had faded. "Cheshire wasn't great, but at least before she left I-"
Artemis's hand flew to her mouth, but the significance of her words wasn't lost on Dick. He was already smiling that smug, knowing smile that made her wonder why she'd ever befriended him in the first place.
Dick clucked his tongue and sat back down, patting the cushion beside him. "I guess someone lost control of her pronouns."
Green Arrow was going to kill her.
Okay, so I admit. Not a great chapter. It was kind of choppy, but there was a lot I had to abbreviate and dialogue transitioning is really my weak point anyway. Suggestions are always much appreciated!
If anyone caught the Arrowfam comic continuity reference, hooray! Mention it if you end up reviewing. Even if you didn't, any bit of review, even a word or two, would be amazing.
Curious readers can note that there will only be one more relatively long chapter with a break or two more relatively short chapters in the story.