AN: This chapter contains mild sexuality. Enjoy the update!
("You have to admit, Beautiful, we made a really good team back there."
Before she can stop herself she's looking back over her shoulder in an attempt to send him a depraving look; true to what she's seen on the news her lack of enthusiasm only seems to encourage him, another charming smile breaking out under the triangles of the Kid Flash mask. "You sure you want to face feral boy alone?" He asks her, teasing.
Sand is rapidly filling her boots, making her stumble when she finally faces forward. "I can take care of myself."
She nearly knocks into him when he appears in front of her, sand whirring around them at his speed and another goofy smile adorning his cheeks when she can't help but be surprised. "Yeah, but how do you know I can take care of myself?" He counters, looking pleased when she blushes at the closeness, her feet fumbling to find their footing. "Do you really want to send me on my way only to have me be killed by someone else? Kind of a waste, the whole sparing my life thing, really—"
For some reason she nearly smiles at his babbling; for a moment she can't look at him, her eyes dropping to where his feet are shifting, mere inches from hers. When she looks up again it takes more effort than it should to set her face into a glare. "... Are you suggesting I kill you now instead?" She asks dryly, eyes blazing through the holes in her mask.
Rather than look afraid Kid Flash seems to inflate at the challenge, his grin widening the longer she keeps her eyes on him. "Or, you know. Let me live long enough to get us out of here."
The words hang in the air for several seconds and mentally she weighs her options; glancing away from his raised brows she looks all around them, eyes raking the abandoned skyline and the sloping of empty sand dunes. "... Alright, Kid." She sighs, a ghost of a smile crossing her cheeks as she turns back to him. The nickname tastes sweet on her tongue, smooth like honey and sounding almost drizzled rolling off her lips. "Which way are you thinking?"
The unknown boy cracks an endearing grin that makes her stomach twist before he raises a fist to his chin, looking teasing as he marches in a full circle around her, pretending to take in their surroundings with fascination. For some reason she can't bring herself to look at him as he does this, having a hard time fighting back the smile on her cheeks even before he stops behind her and places a gloved hand on her shoulder, the other pointing out to the emptiness in front of her.
"How about that way?" He hums into her ear.
The words make her shiver for a moment before she gets the sense to jerk her neck away from the warmth of his breath, skin blazing underneath his fingers. "Any particular reason why?"
"No." He says easily, shifting until his elbow is resting on her shoulder and he's back to standing beside her, the two of them staring into the pink of the fading sun together as if they've known each other for years. "... You have any better ideas?"
Unconsciously her gaze shifts towards the masked face that only minutes ago reveled its secret of freckles and pale skin, eyes raking the boyish jaw and the blooming muscles signalling nearing manhood. She still can't place his familiarity, or her reasoning behind not sticking an arrow into his eye; despite herself she can still feel the lingering throbbing of pain that had burst so violently at the front of her mind, can still feel the hot and anxious warning from her subconscious that had told her to stop. But her instinct has yet to steer her wrong, and she supposes she has to trust it— she's meant to be with this boy, they were meant to find each other in the desert.
The boy in question catches her gaze, not quite smiling as his eyes flicker between hers. Vaguely she feels his arm shifting, pausing only to rest hesitantly between her shoulder blades. "... Beautiful?"
One of his fingers twitch, dangerously close to the scar her father carved there; habitually she shrugs him off. "Come on." She says fiercely, shaking her head. "Let's go.")
She jerks out of a half sleep, neck aching from tilting at such an odd angle. Her legs hurt from sitting in her seat for so long.
The desert in her dreams is no longer real to her as she blinks, thinking she can hear the tail end of a mumbled conversation finishing; when she looks around at the two of them she's not surprised to find Connor already looking at her—he must be able to hear her heart beat, no doubt can sense the thumping of wakefulness. "You talk in your sleep." He tells her.
She scowls, pretty sure he's lying but not brave enough to call him on it; instead she studies his heavy brows and well chiseled chin, speaking dryly. "... Did I say anything interesting?"
There's an awkward beat of silence. "No." M'gann says for the both of them. "Look out your window, we're almost there."
Her head turns automatically to look out the window. Her chest aches when she sees sand dunes.
The ground is spongy when her feet finally step onto it, weaving her way through a field of sweet grass she doesn't recognize. The feeling is jarring, unsettling, as if her sister is lurking just out of sight in the green wisps, about to strike. She hears unknown voices and for a moment she convinces herself that her father is about to come burling at her.
Before she can even brace herself M'gann rams past her, two swatches of reddened hair running straight at them; all at once Marie and Garfield bound towards them with matching smiles on their faces, shouting hello.
Connor shoulders past her, impatient with the way her muscles have frozen, waiting on a threat that isn't coming. "What's your problem?" He asks gruffly, not looking at her but no doubt hearing the horrified pounding in her chest.
(The sweet grass smells like Jade, the sand reminds her of Wally, and her father could lie only a few miles from here. She becomes vaguely aware that she's entered her own personal hell.)
Keep it together.
Don't be a baby.
Swallowing down the instinct to run— towards the wildness of the Bialyan border or the sterility of the Bioship, she's not sure— she loosens her muscles, soldiering on.
Marie has to be in her early thirties, her cheeks littered with freckles and eyes crinkled with the ghosts of a thousand lopsided grins that have come before. Wally wasn't kidding when he told her—M'gann is Marie in miniature, the two sharing the same auburn hair and stature; seeing the two women embrace warmly feels odd, as if she's seeing double.
She's not one for children and she supposes it must show when Garfield turns to her expectantly, green eyes eerily bright and excited after greeting both Connor and M'gann with an overwhelming amount of enthusiasm— for some reason when he looks at her with such delight she feels as if she's about to be pounced on by an overexcited dog. Her prediction comes true startlingly quick; while his mother had simply nodded when they were introduced Garfield practically throws himself at her, a mess of scrawny limbs and bony elbows that wrap around her waist so tightly it's all she can do not to squirm at the closeness.
(Nobody has touched her—really touched her— in a while.)
"Who's this?" He asks them all, cheek still pressed flush against her stomach before he abruptly cranes his neck back to look her in the eye, his chin digging into her abdomen. "What's your name?"
She doesn't like this about children; she always feels as if there's a better answer to their questions than she can give, no matter how simple they are. She's thankful when Marie takes him by the shoulders, steering him backwards until he's forced to let go. "… I'm Artemis." She mumbles, sounding unsure, as if she doesn't know the answer herself.
"Do you have superpowers too?"
"Garfield." Marie clicks her tongue, scolding. "Sorry. We're still working on the whole manners thing."
"What?" The little boy huffs, tiny hands flailing outward. "It doesn't matter if she does or if she doesn't, I'm just asking!"
She's relieved when M'gann decides to scoop the little boy out of his mother's arms, fingers rapping his sides until he's squirming in ticklishness. "What's new? Huh?" She coos, grinning when he blows a raspberry.
Apparently nothing much in the eyes of the nine-year old, and confirmed by M'gann and Connor's familiarity with their surroundings as they walk around the property. Nothing but the sprawling bungalow and the barn, more animals than she can count and a wire fence that looks as if it's always in disrepair. Unconsciously her head cranes around, taking in a sparse forest and rocks spotting the landscape in the distance. There's nothing else for miles, no real landmarks for her to use if she needed to find her way back...
"Artemis." Connor calls for her sharply, and with a jolt she realizes she's stopped walking, fallen behind the rest of the group again.
Feeling sheepish she turns her back on the desert. "Sorry."
Maybe that's why Marie and Garfield seem so excited to have them, and don't seem at all bothered by the extra mouths they have to feed; it must be lonely, just the two of them, the only visitors a bunch of animals with nothing to say. She tries not to over think it as M'gann passes her plates to set the table for dinner, instead focusing on her feminine jabbering in an overlong explanation as to how she's been since the last time she saw Marie.
"What's your name again?" Garfield asks a little jarringly a while later, looking especially tiny in his seat around the kitchen table, his little arms trembling as he passes her an overloaded bowl of mashed potatoes.
She glances at M'gann, who smiles encouragingly. "Artemis." She says shortly, relieving Garfield of the bowl.
"Artemis. Artemis." Garfield repeats, humming the word vaguely as he spears an overlarge piece of broccoli on the end of his fork. For a moment he considers the vegetable as he glances at her, eyes calculating.
She's not entirely sure what to make of all this staring, and instead turns to Marie and gestures to the water jug on the table, giving her son up as a bad job. "Can you—"
"Artemis!" Garfield exclaims loudly, cutting off her request for a drink. "Wait, you're not— oh my gosh!"
In an instant Garfield's leapt from his seat and sprinted out of the kitchen, little feet pounding down the hallway; her cheeks reddening Marie rises out of her seat too, yelling after her son. "Gar, you're supposed to excuse yourself before you—"
But it's too late for her scolding— in an instant he's returned, flinging himself back into his seat and slapping a piece of paper onto the table beside her. "Mom— Mom, this is Artemis!"
"I know that, Gar—"
Instead of answering Garfield waves off his mother and it takes only a glance at the piece of paper to know why— it looks like a print off of an American newspaper, a tabloid of some sort, the ink smeared from the ferociousness of being ripped from the computer. Even in black and white she can recognize herself, can spot the familiar features of the rest of her teammates, and the outline of the Hall of Justice.
(Her hair was so long.)
She squints, picking out a few blurred words on the page; New Years Eve. Brave young heroes. S.T.A.R Labs technology... It all feels like it happened forever ago; back in the first few weeks of the New Year when their time was so preoccupied with debriefings and running between the Cave and The Hall of Justice. The photo here catches one of those rare moments on their way in and out of the latter building, uniform clad and refusing to acknowledge the cameras flashing around them. With a twang she sees her mouth open, mid conversation with Wally.
"That's you, isn't it?" Garfield asks her excitedly. "I mean, obviously you cut your hair— but it's you, right?"
Across the table Marie looks caught between embarrassment and curiosity. "Garfield Logan, you can't just as a superhero about their secret identity—"
"But it's not even a secret!" Garfield whines, still grinning and hardly quailed by his mother's protests. "Her real name is her superhero name! It's like, asking Brad Pitt if he's actually Brad Pitt..."
She doesn't want to look at the photograph anymore, doesn't want to listen to the little boy's jabbering; instead she forces herself to flatten her expression, taking her potatoes a little more savagely than she should. "... Yeah, that's me."
She can tell M'gann senses the flare up of emotion in the back of her throat, but she's much more tactful than Connor, who looks at the photograph and snorts. "I thought the Team was supposed to be covert." He mutters, looking sour.
Instead of being upset at how disgruntled they all are Garfield punches the air, looking excited. "This is so cool— you're like, the coolest archer. Weren't you trained by Green Arrow? Like Speedy was?"
For some reason the mention of Roy makes her mouth grow bitter, the way it used to when Wally would compare the two of them. "That's right." She says as coolly as she can. "... Green Arrow trained me. No powers."
She reminds herself to try to smile and listens intently to Marie as she laughs, trying to break the tension. "Hear that Gar? No powers." She chuckles. "So there's still some hope for you."
By the time they finish dessert she decides she still isn't sure she made the right decision, tagging along with Connor and M'gann—although she will admit that it's nice here, with the wide open space unencumbered by buildings; with Garfield and Marie, who are interested in her but not in the overbearing, too-caring way the Team has been since she broke it off with Wally. Still something about being here doesn't quite feel right...
Things seem slower here. She just can't decide if that's good or bad.
The air here is salted, warm in her lungs as she sits on the front porch that evening, watching the sun disappear into the pink cotton sky. Without thinking about it her head keeps turning towards the sand dunes, towards the dessert plain and the heat of Bialya—she can't help it. Even though it's too far to see she can sense it, the swirl of feelings that seems to reside there.
She pauses in the thought, listening. Through the open window she can hear Marie and M'gann chatting. She's sure if she went off now she would be noticed.
... But maybe she really shouldn't have come here. Before arriving a few hours ago she had been sure the place would have answers for her, some sort of closure; she had thought being here, being close to Sportsmaster would... Would what? Make her feel useful? Make her feel important? Make her feel the aching something that's been absent from the hollow space inside her chest ever since she walked away from Wally?
The painted front step is peeling, old brown paint sticking under her nails as she curls her hands around the wood. Now more than ever she feels useless— she feels like a child again, charging ahead before she can think of the consequences. What did she think she was going to do? Sprint off into the wilderness? Abandon Connor and M'gann? Somehow find her father? Face him? Is she even ready for that?
(No. She'll never be ready.)
... No. She had chased after her father without a second glance backward, impervious to all the destruction she was leaving behind. Her mother alone and defenseless at home— what if Jade comes calling again? And Oliver... He's probably worried sick. And Wally...
… It really is over with him, and yet it doesn't feel like it is. She had thought that when all the tears and the brokenness were over she would feel better, not like… This. Not numb, not like a whole part of her were missing, as if she'd lost a leg or a hand in battle. She feels haunted, head turning at the sound of the wind rolling on the dried out grass, half convinced Wally is there, his head resting on her shoulder and lips whispering in her ear. Is this what it's like for everyone when things between two people end? Is everyone haunted by ghosts of those they used to love but can't anymore? Do they see their faces in crowds like she does, hear their voice in the creaking of the stairs or their laughter in the back of their mind?
Is she finally going insane like Jade?
(Wally blinks when she pulls back from the kiss, the two of them ignoring Zatanna's jeers from the shore. Almost immediately he grins mischievously at her, voice teasing as the water laps at their calves. "You said yes." He pauses, as if waiting for the weight of his words to wash over her. "You said yes to Prom."
"Shut up." She tells him, for some reason both embarrassed and pleased as she shoulders around him, resuming their walking through the water.
"You said yes to Pro-om." He repeats, voice now slightly sing-song as he follows her, cackling. "Which means you also said yes to taking photos with me. And dancing with me when slow songs come on. And—"
He must expect the half-hearted punch she throws behind her because he easily steps around it, eyes glinting the way they always do when he can sense she's starting to get riled up. "Guess what babe. If I get crowned Prom King—"
"—Which you won't because you are completely disgusting—"
"— You get to be Prom Qu—"
The words are cut off when she finally catches him about the shoulder, shoving him as hard as she can into the water; Wally emerges after a second, drenched from head to toe and sputtering. "You're crazy!" He shouts after her as she stomps away, but she can sense the smile on his face as he scrambles to chase after her. "Certifiably nuts, Babe!")
Yeah, she's definitely going insane.
She realizes her head has turned back to look at the sand, a frustrated sigh leaving her lips— this time she doesn't look away though. Every memory with Wally seems sharper than reality now, in this place... She inhales the Quarac air and braces herself for what comes with it: the heat, the lack of humidity; she doubts anything she tries will ever erase the memory of waking up to Wally in the desert. The thirst in the back of her throat and a thigh wedged between her knees, an unfamiliar voice muttering sweet nothings at her and running a finger under her lips. Her reflection in his glasses, the fear and the tentative way she had trusted him, how it felt when he swept her off her feet and shielded her eyes from the violence of the desert wind...
It makes her heart ache with a kind of pain she's sure there isn't a name for.
What would have happened if they had never found M'gann? What if she had simply run off with the boy in the desert? What if they could have lived in the imaginary reality forever, the one without the snide remarks and the hard feelings; what if there exists another world where her and Wally are alone and happy and not divided, not broken apart because of the burdens of her reality—
Her throat goes tight and she blinks quickly, tearing her eyes away from the dunes again. She supposes there isn't a point in wondering.
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" She turns to look over her shoulder when M'gann speaks; she hadn't noticed an end to the conversation inside. Wiping her cheek hastily she's thankful when the other girl pretends not to notice, hand clutching around the door knob as she looks at her with the slightest bit of pity. "… Wally, I mean."
She shakes her head, ignoring the sour taste in her mouth as she faces forward, continuing her sulking on the Logan's front steps. "No."
"Do you miss him?"
This question bothers her so much she can feel the tenseness gathering in her shoulders; involuntarily she gives a twitch that she tries to pass off as a shrug. "No."
The front door knocks against the frame and she's half convinced that M'gann's gone back inside until the other girl is sitting beside her, legs folding demurely and creasing her skirt. "You don't have to lie to me, okay?" The other girl says with a strange air of politeness. "I mean, you can if you want. But there isn't a point."
She scowls at her feet, not seeing the dried dust caking into the creases of her sneakers. When she doesn't say anything M'gann continues, her arm cool as it brushes against hers. "… I can feel it, you know." She says gently, as if this is new information. "Not that I'm trying to." The other girl adds quickly when she sends her a scathing look. "… Most of the time I try to block it out but… At night it creeps up on me. Like a fever or something."
She can feel the wrinkle over her nose popping up but she can't quite smooth it; instead of looking at M'gann she stares directly into the setting sun, as if hoping to blame it for the scrunching of her features and the wobbling of her chin. "… Sorry." She tries to say, the words refusing to get past her teeth beyond a small squeaking noise in the back of her throat.
M'gann understands as always, one of her green tinged arms wrapping around her and pulling her close, fingers pressing her hair off her forehead. It takes too long for her teeth to unclench and for the real apology to slip out of her mouth.
She's not crying—she's run out of tears long ago. But it feels as if a part of her is; that something inside herself that had been clinging to the false memory of the Bialyan desert, the same something that had been digging her nails into the denial she buried in the sand that was scalding her fingers with heat. Her eyes pull themselves back to the sand dunes and her lungs pull in another breath, as if hoping to find a part of Wally inside her.
They sit like that for a while, M'gann's arm around her and her head tucked into her shoulder; by the time they pull apart she's sticky with sweat from the heat and her cheeks are flushed in pink blotches that leak up her temples.
Instead of leaving like she wants her to M'gann looks at her, not understanding the sheepish way she goes back to staring at her sneakers. "… You love him, don't you?" She asks suddenly.
She swallows. She's never said the words out loud, not to herself or to Wally or anyone else. But something about the desert makes her feel like out here the words are safe. Hidden.
"Yeah." She says thickly, blinking at her laces and nodding. "I do. I really do."
She doesn't expect M'gann to understand and isn't surprised to see the confusion in the corners of her eyes. "Then why…?"
For some reason her mouth twists into a bitter smile, the muscles aching and feeling strange as she does so. "Because it's not enough, Meg." She says simply. "Love doesn't fix everything."
There's a disbelieving pause. "... What's more powerful than love?"
"A lot of things." She hears herself mutter, not wanting to see the naïve look on the other girl's face. "Things I don't know the name of."
They sit in silence for nearly twenty minutes, the sky turning from pink to a blazing red before the other girl excuses herself. She doesn't expect M'gann to understand, doesn't expect anyone to. Maybe this is the kind of thing it's only okay to admit to yourself.
She thinks of Wally, where he is in the moment, what he's doing— it must be nearly dawn at home. She imagines him restless in bed, imagines the way his muscles seemed to twitch out of sleep, demanding, as always, to move. She wonders if he's dreaming of her. She wonders if he's rolled onto his side and felt the empty bed, looking for her.
She swallows. She shouldn't be wondering these things anymore.
It's so warm here; even with the sun disappearing it's still hot, hotter by far than summer in Happy Harbor. Sweat seems to well behind her knees, in the folds between her fingers.
... Summer always seems so hopeful in its possibilities. Before everything that happened... Happened, she had been looking forward to it. She had thought it would be her most exciting summer; she had imagined getting ice cream with Wally and afternoons spent lounging on the beach. She had thought of cool evenings spent curled up on the couch and how they would turn into warmer ones, confined under one of their bed sheets. She had thought it would be memorable.
She had thought she would be one of those girls she had heard in the hallways when she first arrived at Gotham Academy, the ones who bragged about boys they met at the beach and late nights with their backs pressed against the flat wood of docks. She had thought she would have her own stories, her own things to brag about, should anyone want to listen.
... It doesn't matter, she supposes, her mind settling itself to the task at hand. It doesn't matter if she can't brag about it on the first day of school, can't whisper it behind her hand before class starts. This will be the summer she gets over Wally. And that alone will make it memorable.
She rises from the front step, craving the feeling of the dirt here on her skin; kicking off her shoes she walks until she can feel the particles of sand sticking between her toes, pooling in her hands when she crouches and flexes her fingers in the dirt.
It's okay. It's okay if she's not the girl Wally dreams about. Or the one he dances with at Prom. Because maybe in some ways what they had... It was enough. What they had was enough to show her what kind of life she was supposed to live, where she was supposed to be— and where she's supposed to be isn't with Wally. It isn't with anyone.
It's okay. And that's all she wants to be: the girl who he sometimes thinks about five years from now when he's exhausted from working on his assignments for his fancy college courses, the one that his memory only half recalls in his tiredness. She'll be the girl he thinks of when he starts drinking coffee because his new girlfriend drinks it, and maybe he'll remember how he once hated the taste of it on her lips when he kissed her. Or maybe one day he'll have a cup of tea and remember where the habit came from— and maybe think, just for a moment, about the girl with the steely eyes and the platinum hair— before he continues on with his day and onto better things than her.
Maybe she can do this.
She stands up straight, smacking her hands together until the sand unsticks from her skin.
(Until no part of Wally is there to cling to.)
She inhales and for the first time she doesn't taste Wally there.
She lets him go, lets the memories she's clinging to run away from her as fast and as unyielding as Wally did on the 28th of May; and it hits her, suddenly, how it feels like the end of everything, not the beginning. It's over. Hour by hour, the days that have passed— it's been a process, a grueling one, that's not complete but almost. It's unlike anything else she's felt, a physical sensation, like how she imagines it feels to let go of a kite. The string slips through her fingers, except the string is unfurling from her heart.
The feelings leave, and she has only more of the numbness.
(And everything she's ever let go of has had claw marks on it—Paula, Jade, Lawrence and now Wally. But it's time, time for her to start forgetting about the past, forgetting about who she used to be when she was selfish, when she thought she could redeem herself and her filth and somehow fall in love too. It's time she forget the childish idealism she's been operating under for the past few months, time she forget the feeling of Wally's hand in hers. It's time she moved on, once and for all.)
The sun disappears, and she turns her back on Bialya and whatever it might have promised her for the last time.
The day after they arrive Garfield insists on giving the three of them a full tour of the sanctuary, despite the fact that little has changed since M'gann and Connor's last visit. The other two remain patient and pretend to be excited over the rebuilt barn and she does her best to be interested rather than focus on the expanse of numbness inhabiting the place where her heart used to be.
The Logan's property is actually much larger than she first thought; when they had landed she had judged the place to be only a few acres, enough for a sprawling bungalow and a few animals, but not even half-way through the tour she's told otherwise.
"We can thank all that Hello Megan royalty money." Marie admits sheepishly, sharing a secret sort of smile with M'gann. "And the generosity of my parents when they passed on. The fenced in area is just where we tend to the animals, take care of them if they're sick; we own farther than you can see on the horizon... Not that the Bialyan soldiers respect much in the way of property rights."
"You don't smile much." Garfield tells her, interrupting his mother; automatically she forces her mouth to stop quirking at the sight of Connor's misstep into a pile of oryx dung. "You must be really tough."
M'gann ruffles the little boy's hair, sending her a too-kind smile. "You don't know the half of it."
The days pass and despite herself she starts to become fascinated by Garfield, who is childish in the best way possible—she hasn't spent much time with kids, and although she does often bumble through their conversations she does enjoy them. It's just nice, being around someone so untouched by the darker parts of the world; for every sullen comment that comes out of her mouth he seems to have a cheerful answer for it, even her dullest silences being broken by another one of his questions. She realizes within a few hours of their arrival that he's long since had an obsession with the Justice League, every inch of his bedroom walls plastered with photos of Superman, Wonder Woman, and Batman.
She jumps the first time she hears a delighted chortle come out of his mouth, an exuberant and high pitched giggle that seems to reverberate somewhere in her stomach. When Garfield laughs every part of him quakes with shaking giggles, breathing impossible as he clutches his sides or her arm— it's a noise full of reckless joy, unhindered happiness, that seems to be the only thing that cuts through the numbness inside her, even if for the smallest second. It's amazing to her, how happy a single person can be; she doesn't understand how everything ignites laughter from him, be it the way she's taken to blowing her too-short hair out of her eyes or unconscious way Connor whistles along to the foreign bird songs that burst out of the desert each morning and night. In only a few days time he begins to feel familiar in his boyishness.
"He kind of reminds me of that other kid on your team." Marie throws out carelessly one night as they all sit on the front porch. "The fast one. Kid Flash?"
For some reason Connor's eyes meets hers first and nobody asks why she goes to bed so early.
When Garfield tells her that he knows every animal by name she doesn't believe him, but she realizes quickly that it's true—it's hard to hold a conversation with him for all the interruptions, what with him either calling out a name or being chirped at by animals that recognize him.
M'gann is off chatting with Marie when Garfield introduces her and Connor to the oryx herd currently occupying their barn. "We've had them about a year and a half." He tells them, hands raising and rustling against the heads of the several horned creatures as they move to greet him. "You remember them, don't you?"
Connor shifts awkwardly. "Yes." He says shortly. She has the feeling the animals make him nervous.
She doesn't blame him—each oryx is at least a hundred pounds, slightly larger than an antelope with foot long horns that come to a deadly curved point. Even she feels uncomfortable as dozens of the beasts turn towards them, brutish hooves stomping hard on the ground and all intent on receiving a petting from Garfield.
"That's Amara and Khari, mother and daughter—and Jelani, Zula, and Talib. Oryx's used to be almost extinct here, I think Mom and I have the largest domestic herd. They're breeding faster than we can keep up though... There's supposed to be another reserve opening in Mexico that we might be able to import to— that's Emika and Nuru—"
"How do you know all their names?" She asks, astounded as more of the animals work their way forward, wanting their snouts rubbed. "They all look the same to me."
She steps back when Nuru turns towards her, curious at her tone no doubt, nostrils and lips flaring as he smells her; Garfield only laughs when she knocks into Connor, her cheeks flaring when the older boy grabs her elbows and steadies her, looking annoyed. "Once you get to know them you can." Garfield says teasingly, fingers rubbing behind Nuru's ears. "They're like people. If you see them in a crowd you don't really see them, you know?"
The oryx makes a low grunting noise in the back of his throat when Garfield stops petting him; for a long moment she stares at the endless black eyes and the strips of white down the creature's nose, trying to find something familiar in the depths. "Well don't just stand there." Garfield says after a moment, looking expectant. "Nuru loves getting his ears scratched."
She hesitates before extending a hand, and Garfield looks delighted when Nuru whines and dribbles saliva on her forearm.
(Her eyes open slowly in the half light, blinking. She feels warm fingers on her back.
She's in no rush to be awake and shuts her eyes again, hardly registering her nakedness or the sheets pooling at her waist.
Wally hums beside her, fingers running up the slope of her spine and attempting to press wakefulness into her joints. Traitorously her muscles twitch under him, neck lolling backwards and a low groan sounding out of her mouth as he strokes her; down her shoulders, down her waist, down her hips—
"Good morning." He whispers into her ear just as his hand cups her rear, squeezing tightly in a way that sends her stomach instantly twisting. His other hand pulls her hair from where it's covering the side of her face, looping it back behind her ear.
She can already feel the want pooling in the low part of her stomach, the sensation only doubling when he rolls closer, pressing tentative kisses into her neck. The elastic of her pony tail digs into her head as she arcs her back, rolling until her breasts are no longer pressing into the mattress. "Morning." She whispers back, voice cracking when she feels the length of him pressing into her, already hard.
Wally breathes another kiss into the milkiness of the skin on her neck, and she moans when she feels him squeeze her again, fingers shifting to find the wetness between her legs...)
Her skin darkens the first week they're there, the baby hairs on her arms splitting into the palest platinum— when she catches her reflection in the bathroom she double takes, convinced for a half moment that she sees Jade and her Vietnamese painted skin staring back.
When the almost white scruff on the top of her head still refuses to fit into a pony tail she hisses, slamming the door shut behind her.
The days pass and before she knows it they've been at the Logan's for two weeks.
Even after they finish the initial tours and talking it isn't boring; their mornings are spent helping Garfield and Marie with the animals, filling feeding troughs and lifting crates of supplies. By the time the sun rises properly they're all famished and Marie and M'gann make several attempts at cooking that always end with slightly charred pancakes and fresh berries that burst with flavor in her mouth.
And she tries her best to smile, to laugh when Garfield makes jokes. The whole thing feels incredibly forced and fake.
The afternoons are their own, almost always spent out of the house while Marie does her paper work. The three of them go on hikes along barely trodden paths or follow the highway until they reach the thin strip of civilization that consists of a gas station, a supply store, and a dingy restaurant where no one speaks English.
Garfield takes a shining to her—probably, she assumes, because he has to. With Marie busy with work and M'gann and Connor occasionally busy with... Each other, it leaves a lot of time with just her and the little boy. He asks her plenty of questions about her life that she isn't really sure how to answer—
("Do your parents knows you're a superhero? Do you have any siblings? Are they superheroes too?")
("... Do you have a super-boyfriend?" He blurts out this last one very quickly and promptly blushes, scampering away before she can figure out how to reply.)
— Still, for the most part she supposes it could be a lot worse. Garfield talks enough for the two of them.
He's on one of his bouts of questions at lunch time one day, this time preoccupied with her archery. "—Do you have to be strong to be an archer?" He blurts out over sandwiches.
She's forced to swallow the mouthful she has, raising her brows. "Depends on the style and size of your bow."
"But you have to be able to aim good?"
"—Aim well, Gar." Marie interrupts.
She feels the corners of her mouth quirk up. "I think it helps." She says dryly, taking another bite.
The little boy nods, allowing enough silence for M'gann to ask for another glass of water before he continues. "But you can learn how to aim, can't you?"
"A lot of it's muscle memory." She says reasonably, shrugging. "Knowing your weapon, how the arrows are going to fly. But yeah, I guess you could, in theory. It's something a lot of people are just born knowing how to do though."
"Oh." There's a beat in which Garfield peels the crust of his bread off, thinking hard. "... Can you teach me how?"
She blinks, a little taken aback. But it's impossible to say no to that exact shade of green eyes, the ones that remind her so terribly of Wally's.
She nearly laughs after lunch, when they both stand opposite the stack of soda cans she's scattered along the fence—Garfield's much too small for the bow Oliver's built her, tiny arms nowhere near strong enough to pull the strings taught. "Here, Gar." She chuckles affectionately, crouching behind him.
Garfield listens intently when she tells him how to set the arrow on his finger, how real archers balance themselves by placing their back wrist along the line of their jaw. "But you're going to have to do it differently." She tries to say kindly, placing her fingers underneath his on the string and helping him. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. All superheroes have to adapt to their circumstances."
She allows him to aim, which turns out to be a mistake; when the arrow is released he misses her row of cans altogether and instead sends it straight into the trunk of a nearby tree. "Garfield!" She hears Marie hiss over M'gann's cheering from the front porch.
This time she does laugh when the little boy turns bright pink about the apples of his cheeks, pretending not to see the look of surprise Connor sends her—she can't remember the last time she laughed herself, it must be strange for anyone else to hear. Ignoring this she marches over to the tree. "Nice shot." She tells Garfield, one hand raising and hardly trying to remove the pointed tip from the wood—between her strength and his aim only the very end of the green feathered tip is showing, far too deep to be retrieved.
"Sorry." Garfield mutters sheepishly.
"Don't be sorry." She scoffs, reaching up to snap off the end. "I have dozens of these back home. Wouldn't mind if I lost a couple here. In fact—" She passes the feathered end to him, smiling properly for the first time in weeks. "Here. Souvenir."
Garfield grins at the back end of the arrow, and it takes her a second or two to place the twisting the words have put in her stomach.
Some days Marie drives into the little stretch of buildings along the highway to get supplies and on one of these occasions she accompanies her. Marie seems thankful for the company, and even more thankful for the help she gets in filling the water tanker.
"Between us and the animals we go through a lot of water." Marie tells her, leaning out the window of her truck. "Am I getting close yet?"
In answer she gestures with her fingers. "Still have a ways."
She's not sure how Marie usually does this on her own: she's learned filling the tanker is quite a production that requires hoisting it onto a trailer attached to her vehicle, towing it into town, then somehow positioning the trailer and the jutting end of the truck close enough for the hose to reach. Standing behind it now she feels as if she doesn't have a clue as to what she's doing, and she's simply giving directions.
She does admire Marie, she thinks to herself as she watches the older woman clamber out of the truck, sweat glistening on her forehead as she gives her instructions as to how to attach the hose and open the water valve. It must be hard, being out here alone, taking care of so many. She wonders if the older woman ever gets lonely.
They've never really been alone, just the two of them, and once the water is sloshing into the tanker they run out of things to talk about; in the silence she can practically hear the heat waving up from the gravel road.
After a few minutes the tanker isn't even a quarter of the way full, and the quiet gets unbearable. Finally Marie wipes the sweat from her face, apparently getting bored of watching her scuff her sneakers in the dirt. "So." She starts, hands bracing on her hips. "… Am I ever going to hear what you're running away from?"
The question takes her by surprise, and she sends a rock twanging out against the truck's tire by accident. "… What?"
Marie laughs at the stunned expression on her face. "Come on. Nobody comes all the way out to the desert for no reason. Not unless they're trying to get away from something."
She can feel sweat clinging to her scalp, the too-short ends of her hair sticking to her skull. She's not sure what to say and instead shoves her hands in her shorts pockets.
Marie chuckles and looks at her for a long moment before dropping her gaze, growing serious as she rests her elbows on the bed of her truck, one finger picking at the chipping red paint. "Sorry." She says suddenly, sounding like she means it. "… I didn't mean to pry. You just… Remind me of me, a bit. You have the same look in your eyes."
She can feel the sweat sticking her tee shirt between her shoulder blades. "… Did you come out here to run away?"
Marie straightens. "Sure." She shrugs.
"What from?"
It feels like too personal of a question but she supposes Marie just asked her the same thing; she watches as the older woman removes the clip from her hair, letting her russet waves fall about her shoulders. "Lots of things." She says. "I was in the dumps after Hello Megan ended—had a lot of money too, which wasn't that great for me. I got into the drug scene and blew out my early twenties so high I couldn't tell up from down."
It's all so startlingly honest that she doesn't quite know what to make of it; her surprise must show on her face, because when Marie glances at her she laughs. "God. I keep forgetting how young you are—you seem a lot older than you are, you know."
"I'm fifteen." She reminds her, leaning on the truck too. "Sixteen in July."
"Well, you seem older than M'gann, that's for sure." She muses. "Don't tell her or Garfield any of this, by the way. Connor will be okay, of course, that kid's practically made of steel. But the other two… Well, they're both still my babies."
When she says this last part she catches herself glancing at her, eyes narrowed. They're both still my babies. So M'gann hadn't been exaggerating—Marie really does think of her as a daughter. "… So you ran away from all the drugs?" She prompts.
Marie shakes her head. "… I wish. Drugs would have been easy to leave behind. No… My parents died. Dad had a heart attack and didn't recover and Mom went right after—she just refused to take care of herself, and I was such a mess that I... They weren't even that old. Mid-sixties, both of them." Something in her voice falters and it seems to take her a few seconds to figure out what to say next, the only noise between them the gurgling of water.
"… I went downhill after that." Marie finally says roughly. "It was too much money—Dad owned a drilling business and had everything tied up in oil, my inheritance was enough to make sure I never worked a day in my life again. And soon it wasn't just the drugs—I treated myself like garbage. I couldn't stand being sober. I screwed around—girls, guys, it didn't matter. I just couldn't stand being alone.
"And then, of course, I got pregnant." She sighs, fingers twitching. It's an old gesture that she recognizes from another lifetime—she knows the movement too well, can tell that subconsciously Marie Logan is craving a cigarette that probably hasn't touched her lips in years. "And I forced myself to quit everything. Dropped the drugs, dropped my friends. Tried to drop the money too but it just kept coming in—royalty checks from DVD box sets or money automatically put into my trust fund from some old deal my Dad made but I couldn't get out of."
There's more silence and she clears her throat to remind Marie that she's there. "Doesn't sound like things turned out too badly." She tries to say kindly.
"Of course not. I had Garfield, best part of the whole thing... And that's life, isn't it? The awful parts are what make the good things so worthwhile..." The older woman trails off for a moment, shifting her feet in the dirt before she remembers she was telling a story.
"But I couldn't remember who Garfield belonged to. Who out of that flurry of people might have... I couldn't even be brave enough to try to track down the father, and— and I was scared shitless. My parents were dead, I was alone and struggling to be sober, scared I would screw up and social services would come... I kept on getting worried that some guy would show up and try to take him away, try to bully the two of us out of money, and I was too stupid to have a reason to say no because I was such a wreck. So I just packed up everything I owned. Bought the largest plot of land I could as far away as I could get. And I ran away into the desert." She says almost bitterly, trying to smile. "… Doesn't stop some things from following you, though. You can't get rid of your mistakes by moving from one place to another.""
This last part makes her frown, and she thinks again of how excited Marie and Garfield seemed to see them, how happy they were to have guests. She wonders how the girl who was afraid of being alone is fairing in the emptiness of the desert.
Marie shrugs again, turning to look back at her. "Well, I spilled. Your turn."
The easiness with which it's said makes her chuckle, eyes scanning the empty horizon and not registering how strange it is to hear laughter on her lips. One again she feels as if anything she says out here will be lost, as if the words will leave her mouth and blow away, forgotten in the wind. "… You're right." She admits after a moment. "I'm running."
"Now we're getting somewhere." Marie grins. "What from? A guy? Or… a girl?"
She blushes. "A guy." She confirms, pressing her elbows harder into the edge of the truck. "... Wally."
Marie lets out one note of laughter. "Wally? How old was this guy? Fifty?"
"My age." She clarifies, smiling slightly. "A year older."
There's a pause, as if Marie is waiting for more information. "Well, what was he like? Awful?"
"No." She says quickly, shaking her head but not knowing where she's going as the words trail off. There aren't sentences kind enough to describe how she feels about the boy with the apple eyes. "... He was great. The kind of boy you bring home to meet your mother." She pauses again, thinking. "The kind of guy I think my father would have liked, if things were different."
(Wally West was the kind of boy who you build a future with. He's the one she once— in the hidden, more secret parts of her mind— saw being it. He was the one— the one person who was her home, the one she saw coming home to, the one she saw building a proper— four walls, a ceiling, a big couch with a dog sleeping on it— home with. He was warm, always, and soft in the right places and the best kind of hard in others. He was kind; even when he was being mean he was being kind. He was caring, and loving, so full of the kind of love she's never known that she couldn't stand it, she had to ruin things—)
Marie seems to sense there's something she isn't being told, and for a long time there's nothing but the sound of water thundering into the tanker. "... Did he break your heart?"
She hesitates, debating between lying and the truth. It's hard to see through all the numbness inside her, and even when she utters an answer she's not sure which one she's going with. "I don't think so." The answer sounds so uncertain that she reconsiders. "He might have. I don't know. He hurt me enough."
"Hurt you enough?" Marie repeats, sounding confused. "Don't tell me someone was stupid enough to say no to you."
She wants to disappear behind her folded arms, cheeks blotching. "No… I don't know. I was the one who broke it off."
"Why did you break it off?"
She can feel herself getting ashamed, beginning to wonder how much is safe to tell Marie without saying too much. "… I'm not a great person." She admits, trying to remain vague. "And my family isn't exactly that great either. It just seemed… Better. To call it before things got worse and something bad happened." Marie makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat but doesn't say anything, waiting for her to continue. "… It's stupid." She admits shaking her head so hard her blonde hair flops in her eyes. "I'm just having a hard time getting over it. We both are. I know I shouldn't have come here but—staying at home wasn't an option. I was going crazy there."
The older woman shakes her head, auburn hair tossing down her back. "... Can I be honest with you?" She shrugs in response, not caring, and Marie smiles. "It's like I tell Garfield: one thing you realize when you get older is that the world is very... Big. Bigger than any one person, no matter how wonderful that one person may be... And sometimes the world likes to stomp on our heads to remind us that we're minuscule. Sometimes being wonderful doesn't mean that much, when you're looking at the rest of the world."
Marie re-clips her hair, and with its renewed done-ness she registers the change between a parent addressing a child and a woman addressing a peer. "You know, sometimes when you're close to someone... It's hard to see who they really are. You only see the wonderful, not its meaning in the rest of the world." The older woman pauses again, sending her a blazing look, scrutinizing in the heat of the day. "You love this boy?"
She can't bring herself to say the words like she did to M'gann, and instead makes a funny twitching motion with her head.
The older woman sighs, leaning back to check the tanker. It's almost full. "... I think at the certain point the only thing you can do is let things be. Live with the decisions you've made, let pieces fall into place. If he loves you, he'll find his way back. And if you love him, you'll follow your way back to him too. Just live your life right now, okay? Kiss a couple other boys, flirt with strangers, hug your friends... Be an idiot, while you're still young enough for it to be cute."
The last part isn't worded that well and she snorts out a laugh; Marie cracks a smile of her own, the tip of her nose reddening. "Sorry. Love's never been my thing— neither has advice. But if it makes any difference I don't think you're a bad person—M'gann feels the same too, and Garfield hasn't had so much fun in a while. And if you ever need a place to run to you're welcome here." She says kindly.
"Thanks." She hears herself say. For the first time in weeks she smiles, genuinely.
There's a pause as Marie switches off the water valve, and her brows seem to knit together for a moment. "Unscrew the hose." She tells her, and hardly another second of quiet passes before the older woman sighs, leaning against the bed of the truck again. "… Although I have to warn you." She says quietly, as if afraid of being heard. "Running might seem easy at first, but it does get tiring. You might be too young to understand it now... But sooner or later everyone has to slow down. And sometimes what's chasing after you catches up."
Her eyes narrow as she passes the hose back to Marie. She wonders if the older woman knows more about who she's running from than she's letting on.
"How old are you?" Marie asks her again when they're back on the road.
The sound of the gravel grinding underneath the truck tires is so loud that the two of them almost have to shout to be heard. "Fifteen." She answers.
Marie nods, hands gripping the wheel. It's slow going coming back now that the tanker is so full. "You have a driver's license?" She asks suddenly.
"Learner's permit." She answers. It had been one of the only things she had bothered with when she turned fourteen—she remembers studying for weeks and going down to the registry to take the written test, determined, despite not having a car and nobody to teach her, to get a tiny card with her name on it in her wallet.
(Something to identify her with if her body was found in a gutter.)
"You should get one." Marie tells her, smiling over at her. "If you're so keen on running, I mean. Might make things a little easier, once those feet of yours get tired."
She knows it's supposed to be a bit of a joke but the idea takes hold of her, and by the end of the afternoon she's prowling the estate searching for Connor and planning her attack.
"What do you want for your birthday?" She blurts out when she finds him.
She's not surprised when he turns to look at her as if she's crazy, the glass of water he's raising suspended halfway to his mouth. There's several long seconds of silence in which the only sound in the living room is the blaring of the evening news—"Live from the impeachment hearing of Rumaan Harjati—"
"I already had a birthday." He says stoically, impossible to read as always.
Her eyes narrow as he turns back to the television, fumbling with the buttons until it's impossible to focus on anything other than Cat Grant, still babbling in a shrill voice about Quarac's president. "No you didn't." She argues, sitting down on the chair opposite. "You were freed from Cadmus on the fourth of July, right?"
Connor scowls. "That was the date of my liberation. My birthday's in March."
This catches her off guard, and after a second or two she remembers the annoyed look on his face as M'gann had forced them to sing around a well frosted cake. That particular party had been unpleasant and broke up quickly.
Ignoring this she waves her hand. "Well, whatever then." She huffs, annoyed.
Connor makes to turn back to the television but seems to notice the way she's still looking expectantly at him, her teeth gnawing on the inside of her cheek impatiently. "What?"
"My birthday's on July 20th."
"So?"
She leans back into her chair, crossing her arms over her chest as if bracing herself for impact. "So, ask me what I want for my birthday, genius."
Connor glares at her for a long moment before he sighs, practically growling as he switches the television off as if he can sense this is going to take a while. "What do you want for your birthday, Artemis?"
She leans forward, pressing her elbows to her knees and trying not to grin too wickedly at him. "I want you to teach me how to drive."
It takes a full day of pestering before Connor finally gives in; she knows it's more to get her to be quiet, but she can't shake her excitement—Marie for her part thinks keeping busy will be good for her, and the next evening after supper she tosses her the keys to her old truck, telling her to be careful.
She's out of her depth—the last time she was in a car was months ago in Athens and she had nearly gotten herself and the rest of the Team killed in the process; it takes several days to stop hearing screaming in the back of her mind whenever she sits behind the wheel. Despite the automatic transmission she's repeatedly confused by the buttons and knobs, accidentally setting off the windshield wipers when she means to use a turn signal or pressing down on the brake when she means to hit the gas. She'll be the first to admit that's she's a nervous, jumpy driver; it also doesn't help her anxiety when she discovers that Connor's an impatient teacher.
"The angle you're coming in at isn't right." He tells her angrily when he's showing her how to parallel park between the fence and two old water barrel's Marie's placed there. "You're going to be too far away from the curb."
She nearly loses it when he reaches across her to adjust the wheel, yanking it out of her hands— vividly she remembers the sound of crunching metal and bodies being shredded under the impact, the uncontrollably rolling jostling her body, knocking her head around on her shoulders... "Will you relax?" She barks, swatting his hands away and feeling as if she's just slapped her palm against cement. "God, not all of us came from the test tube knowing how to do everything perfectly."
He opens his mouth to say something back but at once he closes it, looking strained; she's sure the maniac thumping of her heart isn't hidden from his ears.
Each evening they practice until one of them, usually her, gets annoyed and stomps off muttering curses; finally Marie gets tired of all the swearing and Garfield is brought in as a mediator to remind them to watch their tongues.
As much as she starts enjoying life on the reserve she can't shake the strange clenching in her stomach that's been lurking there since their arrival; there's a nervousness, the sensation that she's forgotten something. She checks her bag multiple times, trying to find the missing thing, and each time comes up empty handed. When she tries to put the feeling into words she can't describe it to M'gann, and when Connor rolls his eyes and tells her to get over it she can't.
It gets hotter, and soon one of their favorite things to do is disappear off into the sparse woods she had spotted half a mile away from the property—on one of their first days there Garfield had led them inside it, down a weaving path of brambles and willowy trees until the sun became eclipsed by the shade of a large cliff, a billowing waterfall splashing over the end of it and creating a warm pool at its feet.
"Wow." She had said without thinking the first time she had seen it, the air around them humid and almost cold despite the heat.
Garfield had grinned at her, already racing towards the water. "Cool, isn't it?" He laughed. "Mom likes to drive to the top when she needs to think. It comes from one of the only rivers around—that's how we get so many animals near the property. Not much to drink around here."
It's so hot now that almost daily the three of them make the trek towards the small pond of water, occasionally joined by Marie when she isn't working or driving into town. Each time they come it's a relief to peel off her damp socks and shirt and wade into the water in only her shorts and sports bra, as if she's finally breaking out of a fever that's set itself deep inside her bones. The water isn't deep, and despite not really knowing how to swim she manages, the tips of her toes skimming the water bed in the deepest part. It takes several trips there before she finally works up the nerve to fully submerging herself in the water—after nearly drowning so many times in the last year it takes a few attempts before she can really talk herself into it—
(And before she can stop it she feels an unfamiliar swinging sensation in her stomach, her lungs constricting as if flattened, and the muddy water under the Metropolis bridge flashes before her eyes.)
(Wally. She needs to find Wally, make sure he's still alive and—)
She inhales, screwing her eyes shut, and forces herself under.
It's a strange sensation, the pressure of the water weighing down on her ears and cutting out all noise, her too short hair billowing out around her and tricking her into thinking it's long again. Wally's gone. She reminds herself, bubbles spewing out her nose at the force of the thought. He's not yours anymore. Don't be a baby.
She floats, weightless, as if all the numbness inside her has consumed her and is holding her, suspended in the water. She isn't brave enough to open her eyes but she senses movement in the water, as if all around there are little fish and tiny crabs suspicious of her, wondering why she's invaded their home.
She had thought she was doing better. Ever since the conversation with Marie... She's felt almost happy. Half-normal again. She can't keep remembering these flashes of him, she has to let go, she can't keep losing herself to all these memories...
It's peaceful, time almost meaningless beyond the slow ache building in her lungs. Before she can test their strength she feels the pond weeds tangle between her legs and she rushes to the surface before anything can snare her.
When she emerges, lips sputtering and one of her hands pushing her hair out of her eyes, the first thing she sees is bloody orange blossoms. "For you." She hears Connor say sweetly, plucking the flower from a branch and extending it towards M'gann.
Her stomach clenches as she thinks only of white lilies. She wishes she had drowned herself when she had the chance.
Keep it together.
It's Garfield's laughter that jolts her out of the memory. "That's poisonous sumac." He chortles, coming between him and a blushing M'gann. "Come on, we have to get back and wash your hands—you'll be breaking out in hives if we don't."
There's more laughter, the sound of Garfield asking if she'd like to come back too. She submerges herself in the water so she doesn't have to hear it.
So that's what it is—loneliness. She doesn't know what she expected, tagging along on Connor and M'gann's trip. They're supposed to be there together, having fun without her, sneaking off together and enjoying their time in love. She's not exactly wanted.
(Or maybe it's just that the whole weight of what she's lost is hitting her— she made a vow to herself, didn't she... No more love. Not with Wally. Not with anyone, ever again...)
(Is she naive enough to miss it? Is she really that weak?)
After that she spends a lot more time alone with Garfield, trying to keep her mind busy and keep the two of them out of Connor and M'gann's hair. She feels a bit like an idiot, not realizing this sooner. But she had asked M'gann and she had been fine with it—still, it probably wasn't right for her to tag along.
Selfish.
The days pass and she tries to ignore the sensation creeping up on her, pretending that she isn't still being haunted by dreams of red hair and smirking lips. Pretending that she isn't going to come home to more nothingness with Wally where there was at one time so much.
(Pretending she doesn't wake one night to find M'gann's bed empty in the spare bedroom they share. Pretending not to notice her and Connor wrapped up on the couch in the morning, necks sore from sleeping there all night. Pretending one evening after everyone else is asleep not to hear the giggling coming from the bathroom. Pretending not to hear the sound of the shower running and moans being barely contained.)
She had thought she was getting better. Had thought she was moving on. But she can feel it, memories of Wally, the longing for him, for that kind of closeness… She can feel it sticking to the ends of her hair, seeping into her pores. She ran all the way to Quarac to escape it, and she's beginning to wonder if that's even possible. She can sense herself thinking in circles and tries to stop, getting out of a chair in the living room for the sake of moving.
She does a double take in when she enters the kitchen, squinting at the familiar russet hair glimmering in the early morning light shining through the window above the sink. "We must have made a real mess at breakfast if you're already doing the dishes. Need any help?"
Strangely, Marie doesn't answer her; instead she lets out a dreamy sounding hum, up to her elbows in soapy water and not looking bothered by it. "Marie?" She says her name, slightly confused. "Hello?"
Marie doesn't react until she's only a foot beside her; when the older woman looks at her she's got brilliant pink blush coating her cheeks, eyes glassy as if she were drunk. "Oh, Artemis." She mumbles, looking down suddenly at the sink as if she's surprised to find herself there. "Hi— Sorry, I was..."
Her brows raise when the other woman doesn't finish; she's never see her like this before. "Need any help?" She repeats, trying to smile. "With the dishes?"
Marie goes pinker still, pulling her hands from the water and reaching for a tea towel hanging over the oven rack. "That would be great, actually—" She sounds unfocused, almost frazzled. "I'm supposed to be meeting—someone—soon, I don't want to be late. You can finish up yourself, right?"
She blinks, still confused. "Yeah—I mean, sure, I can." Marie checks her reflection on the microwave and presses her hair back behind her ears. It strikes her as incredibly out of character; Marie's a practical woman, she's never seen her primp before. "… Who are you meeting?"
Marie blushes again, licking her thumb and scrubbing at some dirt on her cheek. "No one, just a friend up in town." The older woman looks almost girlish, and she catches herself adopting a teasing grin.
"Does this friend happen to be extremely good looking?"
Marie pretends to scowl and doesn't answer the question. "I'll be back later, around dinner time." She says sternly, grabbing her truck keys off the counter. "It's going to be hot again today, if you're planning on going to the waterfall you should go early."
"Sure." She says vaguely, sinking her hands into the dish water.
In typical fashion everyone avoids the kitchen while there's work to do, seeming to all come in at once the second she places the last glass in the drying rack. Garfield's on her at once, arms flying around her middle and head fitting under her ribs. "And what do you want to do today?" She herself say in a slightly winded voice.
His reply is immediate and predictable. "Driving lessons!"
She catches herself grinning as Connor slouches in behind M'gann, flinging himself down and already looking annoyed at the idea; the last few times they had gone out she had let Garfield sit in her lap rather than in the back seat, his bony hands covering hers and feet banging against her calves. She has to admit he's picking it up far quicker than she did.
Instead of being surly like she knows he wants to Connor shrugs, tamed slightly by the look M'gann sends him. "We could. Although I don't think there's much else to learn."
Garfield continues to look excited and she hates being the one to disappoint him. "Maybe later tonight, Gar. Your mom just took the truck into town for a bit."
"Into town?" M'gann asks, brows raising as she picks up one of the clean glasses and fills it with water from the sink. "I thought she just went yesterday? Did she forget something?"
She shrugs, running a hand through her hair. In the three weeks they've been here it's grown almost an inch, now tickling against her jaw. "No idea. She said she was meeting a friend."
"A friend?" Garfield snorts, stealing M'gann's glass when she sets it on the counter and taking a swig. "That's weird. There aren't a ton of local people there, mostly truckers and people going between the borders. Did she say who?"
Again she shrugs. "No. Although she did say it was supposed to be hot today, she said we should get a move on if we're going to get to the waterfall."
Garfield makes an excited noise and starts jabbering about his swim trunks and in the cross fire between glancing at him and the others she catches the look on M'gann's face as Connor braces an elbow on the table; maybe it's just that she knows M'gann so well, or maybe it's just because she herself has worn that look on a few occasions back home. Either way, she decides to throw the couple a bone.
"Tell you what." She interrupts Garfield. "You and me will head out early and beat the heat, and M'gann and Connor will pay me back for doing the dishes by putting them away and making us a nice lunch. Sound good?"
Garfield squeals and she tries not to make eye contact with the other two.
"I can't believe you guys are going home in a few days." Garfield says grouchily nearly an hour later. Marie wasn't kidding about it being hot today; they're only about hallway there and she can feel the sun beginning to burn the bridge of her nose, long waves of heat warbling off the ground around them.
For the umpteenth time she presses her hair off her forehead, thinking longingly of her pony tail and a breeze on the back of her neck."Don't tell me you're going to miss me, Gar." She teases, looking down at him.
Childishly Garfield throws his arms out in frustration, reminding her of something she can't place a finger on. "Of course I'm going to miss you!" He huffs. "It's going to be so boring with just me and Mom around here again."
"It won't be that bad." She rolls her eyes, one sneaker kicking out and catching on a rock, sending it skipping further down the familiar path. The sparse woods are beginning to balloon up around them.
"I know." He whines, stretching out the words as if she's just scolded him. "I just can't believe it's almost over. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun."
She shifts her bag on her shoulders—it's light, only containing a towel and a few bottles of water, but her shoulders are so burnt from the last few days that no matter how her straps sit they bother her, the canvas digging into the tie of her swim suit top and sticking to the sweat pooling through the back of her tee shirt. "Me either." She admits after a moment.
A bird flies above them and twiddles out a song; without hesitation Garfield whistles back the way Connor's taught him, the tune imperfect but close enough to peak the creatures interest. It's true, she supposes, watching the bird rustle down onto the lower branches and whistle again. She's felt lighter and a happier in the last few weeks than she has in a while... Still, it doesn't change the fact that it was selfish of her to tag along with M'gann and Connor. It doesn't change that she invented the possibility of the encounter with Lawrence to hide behind; doesn't change that she left a wreck of people behind: Paula defenseless, Oliver worried, and Wally—
(It doesn't change that all her mistakes... They're all counting down the seconds until she gets back and owns up to her awfulness.)
Garfield looks up from the bird, smile faltering when he catches the unhappy look on her face. "What's up?"
"Nothing." She mutters quickly, shrugging and continuing to walk. "… If it makes you feel any better, I'm not excited to go home either."
Garfield catches up to her—she's not going too fast for his sake, his little legs no match for her long ones. "That doesn't make me feel any better about anything." He tells her. "What's wrong with home?"
She wants to tell him the whole story, every awful thing that's ever been tossed on her shoulders and made her feel worthless—her mother being thrown in prison, Jade abandoning her, her father giving up on her. Every foul thing her sister has ever spit at her, how Lawrence can be miles away and still terrify her so much that she's afraid to be normal. How she was stupid enough to make Wally fall in love with her and how she'd rather die a thousand times over than see the broken expression on his face when she had ended it, when she left him for the last time—how she was too much of a coward to stay behind and deal with the shattered remains of her life, how she hates herself and doesn't think she's ever going to deserve to be as happy as she tricked herself into being the last few weeks—
(Worthless. Pathetic. Selfish.)
She bites her tongue very hard to keep from saying this, reminding herself that nine years old is too young to hear about some things. Instead of speaking she swallows, trying to shrug easily and ignore the sun burn on her shoulders. "Nothing. Here is just better."
Garfield looks doubtful. "Why?"
She's expecting the question and manages to smile teasingly, one hand reaching out to ruffle his hair in a way she knows from M'gann that he hates. "Because you're here, obviously." She says, snorting when he ducks out from under her fingers and pretends to look annoyed.
"Well then maybe I can come there!" He counters, beginning to look excited the way he always does when an idea really takes hold of him. "Maybe Mom and I can come in a month or two—of course, we'd have to find someone to take care of the animals… But why not?" He bursts out, not noticing when she looks a little skeptical. "It'll be so cool—you can introduce me to the rest of the Team, we can hang out, and I can tag along on missions and stuff—"
She stares into the green eyes, bright and shining like emeralds, and finds it very hard to disagree. "Maybe not so much that last part." She says kindly. "We'll talk when you finally get the hang of shooting my bow straight."
They're getting close to the waterfall now, the sun high and past the heat of the day; Garfield's just about to argue with her when there's a shout behind them, and M'gann and Connor start racing towards them.
"That didn't take you two long." She hears herself say when they finally get within a few yards, pretending not to notice their flushed cheeks and mused hair.
"You two are slow walkers." Connor says plainly.
"Or maybe we're just fast cooks." M'gann counters with a sweet smile, gesturing to the basket in her arms. She decides not to think too much on what that could possibly be an innuendo for.
Garfield continues blabbering at them about his plans to visit them back in America, and while none of them can find the heart to tell him that it probably won't work out they do have a good time answering his questions about home; Garfield doesn't distinguish between important and unimportant information, and seems to find as much excitement in hearing about past missions to Yellowstone National Park as he does in M'gann recalling her favorite classes in high school. After a while she grows tired of walking and longs simply to be there, and as her feet begin to ache she slips back to walk in silence with Connor.
It must be almost half past two by the time they round the final bend towards the clearing they all know so well; the second they get close to it she can smell the humidity in the air, the unknown sweet scent that seems to linger in the grass here hitting them all hard in the face. "I always wonder what that smell is." M'gann sighs almost lazily, inhaling. "It's almost like honey suckle, but I don't think those grow here. You'll have to be my guide, Gar, whatever that plant is it has to grow around—"
M'gann cuts herself off with a gasp, freezing as the waterfall comes into view. Even from here there's no mistaking the peeling red paint of Marie's truck, flipped upside down and half-submerged in water.
She blinks, spotting blue toned flesh and lifeless russet hair skimming the water's surface.
(Each time it seems to happen slowly; either in the actual memory or her dreams about it, it always happens in the same methodical manner. Her heart beat stops and her mother seems suspended, simultaneously in the air and on the ground, her face blank except the beginnings of the puckering about her brows.
She's ten years old; tiny and unimportant in her black suit that looks better on Jade.
Her mother locks eyes with her as bullets shred through her body.
Things speed up when she hears the gunshots, splintering into Paula's body the way her pulse splinters against her ear drums. Shoulder, neck, hip, spine; years could pass and she will always remember the locations, feel the pain as if she's the one who's been shot. Muscles contract and release, and her mother— always brave, she was always so brave— doesn't scream. Paula Crock crumples and the pavement is colored a special shade of Huntress red.)
Garfield screams.
It's the worst scream she's ever heard in her life—not just because it's high pitched and snarling and leaves ringing in her ears; it's because she's uttered that same scream herself, felt that noise echo inside her bones when she realized her mother was gone, gone, gone. All at once Garfield and her are the same, the howling inside her head so loud she can feel parts of her brain bursting, aching, throbbing; can smell imaginary blood in the air and she's a child, she's ten years old again—
(And they're both too young, too fragile. Too innocent to contain that kind of grief.)
(Focus.)
She sees his tiny freckled body charge forward and she moves without thinking, the Metropolis girl awaking inside her and snapping into action with such ferocity she might as well be saving the ten year old girl in the black suit— because there are some things you are too young to see, and your mother's dead body is one of them. She doesn't even think about her aching feet, the scalding of her shoulders; she just throws herself in front of him, arms clasping tight around his middle and refusing to budge.
(She looks to the right as Garfield screams in her ear. M'gann's face is frozen in a look of horror.)
(She can only save one of them. She can't—)
(("And I..." Wally whispers inside her head. "I wasn't fast enough—"))
"Connor, go." She snarls at him in the most commanding voice she can muster—there will be time for feelings later, time to mourn when it is her place to. She won't allow herself to think of anything outside of the little boy screaming her arms, won't allow herself to shut down, not again, not when Garfield is clawing at her, trying desperately to reach his mother and not caring that he's breaking the skin on her arms, drawing blood, yanking her hair from her scalp—
"Connor!" She repeats, and the shocked expression on the older boy's face melts into seriousness as he rushes towards the water.
Several feet behind her M'gann's knees give out, the crisp white of her shorts crumpling into the dirt. Her eyes are so wide she's afraid she'll be able to see the reflection of the drowned truck behind her if she stares too long. "M'gann?" She whispers, hardly able to hear herself over Garfield's wild howling.
The other girl doesn't look as if she hears her. She registers the sound of a heavy object being pulled from the water and she yanks Garfield down into the safety of her neck, determined to hide his dead mother from him.
AN: And another chapter up! Please read and review.