AN: Aaand another chapter. I have a few Q&A's to take care of, but I'll save that for the end. Enjoy!
There's a second, a long one, where all she can hear is the sound of the library door clicking back into place; the noise seems to flow through her, latching under her skin and filling the spaces between her bones with some emotion she can't identify.
(And she can feel it, pulsing in the blush still on her cheeks; like a limb awaking from sleep, or nerves frozen from winter air being suddenly warmed... For the first time since Marie's death the coldness inside her retracts, curling deeper inside of her, hiding from the heat seeing Wally has suddenly put there—)
She inhales without thinking about it, mouth opening and wanting to taste the scent of walnuts still lingering in the air; she's greeted with only the staleness of old books.
And something, a more feral and desperate part of her, seems to flare up; in the loneliness in front of her she can't stop the coldness from returning, consuming her, sweeping her under like the freezing current of the ocean. She shivers, only half registering the sensation of her hair coming untucked from behind her ears.
(She should second guess the impulse, but she doesn't; Wally (as she once knew him) means warmth and comfort and she can't do this anymore— she can't live with this coldness, this ice, the nothingness that's been hollowing her out for so long—)
She should know better by now— nothing good can come from this.
(... But...)
Her bones crack when she moves, running after him before she can freeze to death.
The library doors crash around her as she tears through them, shoess slipping on her feet and digging into her heels as she struggles to keep her balance. "Wait!" She calls out, this time much louder than she means to, her voice catching in a flurry of movement and wildness as she spits her hair out of her mouth.
Wally glances back in time to watch her skid to a stop, the bottom of her sandal catching under her foot and sending her stumbling; in the twenty second head start he's gotten he's only made it about halfway down the hall, as if he's been dragging his feet and indecisive about where to go. When he looks back over his shoulder she can see the surprise flashing about his eyes, ears still a faint shade of pink. "What—?"
He stops short, still looking startled as she struggles to kick her shoes right on her feet; even from down the hallway she can see his eyes flicker to where her chest is heaving in frantic breaths, breasts rising and falling as she tries to drink in his scent. It occurs to her that with her mused hair and reddened cheeks she must look like a lunatic.
She stares at Wally and he stares at her, and once again it feels as if nothing exists in the world except the two of them. And for a long moment she takes in the startled expression on his face, the angles that are unfamiliar and familiar all at once, and when his mouth quirks up in that bemused and crooked half-smile actual lightning seems to strike through her, lighting up the truth she's been unable to admit even to herself...
The night she lost him she lost something inside herself—or, perhaps, several things.
And although she can never love him again, she needs him. To talk to her, to be her friend. To bring back that part she lost to him.
She needs him.
(She needs him to help her feel something, anything, other than frozen.)
"... Artemis?" He finally says, looking more puzzled than ever.
She's always loved the way he says her name; he's never shortened it, made it less than it was. Although by his lips she's been Blondie and Harpy and Babe and Beautiful she always loves being just Artemis best— and it's about the only time she can ever remember liking the bizarre name her parents gave her. "Just—" She starts, voice breaking. "Just wait, for a second, alright?"
She's expecting him to look confused again; instead he blinks at her almost thoughtfully, simultaneously muddled and curious at the strange girl standing in front of him"... Okay." He says slowly.
She does her best to breathe evenly. "Okay."
She's beginning to feel very stupid, the words she wants to say whirling inside her so quickly she can hardly catch hold of a thought to focus on: she wants to tell him so badly about Marie's death, how they found her; she wants him to listen as she cries and acts childish and whispers her darkest secrets about her father, about how little Garfield is now alone and sick and it can only be her fault; she wants to be held and told that things will get better, that one day Paula will not look at her and see Lawrence underneath her skin; she wants, more than anything, to hear him whisper that despite all these terrible things that she is a good person, even though she knows she's not...
These things boil inside her but do not bubble out; more than once her lips open, trying to speak, only to fumble over her tongue and close again.
It should not be this difficult, facing the new Wally. But it is. Oh, God, it is.
True to his word, Wally waits— his hands in his pockets and his now-broad shoulders rolled, looking politely expectant. Nearly a minute passes before she forces her mouth to work, a jumble of words slipping out before she has time to make sure they're the right ones. "... You said— if I needed to talk." She mumbles out badly, wincing when her voice comes out almost warbled, uneven.
Wally's brows raise, the arcs beginning to blend into his fringe. "Oh." There's a very short silence in which she can practically see his thoughts clanging behind his eyes, wondering what's changed in the past few minutes that would force her to run after him. "Right. Yeah."
It's not an invitation, not really, but suddenly his face is changing— she can see the faint lines of tenderness beginning to blossom around his eyes, his brows furrowing slightly; before her stomach can even stop twisting he's taking a step closer to her, head ducking as if to better see her face.
Once again her thoughts torpedo inside her, wanting to burst out but not managing to; it feels as if everything she's been burying in the worst part of her mind is suddenly fighting for escape, words and fears and emotions all hammering at the contours of her bones, threatening to explode out of her skull. It shouldn't be so difficult to talk to him; for months now he's been the keeper of her secrets, the only one who's been able to see through her and figure her out. But standing here now, trying to confess something to a stranger— or at least, someone who looks like one...
It's Wally. She tells herself over and over again. It's Wally. It's Wally.
Her mouth starts working before her thoughts catch up. "... When Marie died..." She says before she can stop herself.
... When Marie died it might have been her fault...
His eyes narrow as she trails off, his concern sharpening into something more adult than she's ever seen; at once he's taking another step forward, jaw dropping to survey her in that x-ray fashion he always does. "What?" He prompts her, nodding in encouragement. "... What is it?"
He frowns at her and she blinks back, unfocused and nervous and not sure if she can still trust him with her secrets even though she desperately wants to; she can sense his frustration beginning to build, gaze flickering over her face as if for the first time his apple eyes can't see through her exterior. She can feel her hands twisting in front of her stomach, and as if sensing something is much bigger than she's letting on he takes another step forward.
She can't do this.
For some reason voicing her fears out loud would make them more real, more damning; when things are just inside her head they're contained, sterile, only hurting her. Once it's out there, it's out of her control.
(Everyone would blame her. She would be off the Team. M'gann would hate her—)
(That's not true, that's not true—)
The silence stretches on and Wally's face seems to grow darker, somehow becoming more fierce and handsome. "... Artemis?"
(His walnut scented breath splashes across her face; suddenly her knees are quaking and she's drowning from the inside out and her mind is too busy for her to breath in. She wishes so badly that he was just a boy again— she wants his old muscles and the reassuring jutting of his bones against hers; she wants to be able to press herself into him and feel his heart without the layers of paneled muscle. She wants to be held by someone who isn't a stranger.)
((And she wants to kiss him, that boy she once knew. She wants to kiss him more than anything she's ever wanted in her whole life.))
"I—" She starts, cutting herself off before trying again. "I just—"
Wally reaches up to rub at the sunburn on his nose again, and this time she's can't stand to look at the his freckles or his height or the new angles of the serious look he's wearing as he survey her; trying to keep it together she drops her gaze, wondering vaguely if his mouth would still taste the same—
Her heart stops beating in her chest, eyes blowing into focus.
Wally continues scratching his nose, the wrist still wearing her elastic bobbing between them.
And suddenly her very blood is freezing and anger is spreading through her like venom, any lingering affection for Wally West evaporating and being replaced by snarling hatred; every reason for not loving him, for not trusting him, is ripping into her skin like bullets— and some burl by her and scare her (like the effect he has on her, how weak she is for this boy— this man—) and others seem to tear into her like the one that once lodged into her thigh. How dare he still wear her elastic, how dare he still taunt her with that night, that last conversation, that last kiss—
How dare he stand in front of her, wearing the souvenir of the worst night of her life, as if he were the only one hurt by it.
The words die in her throat, instead being replaced with bile; at once she can feel her face growing sour, twisting into a scowl so full of fury that the wrinkle she inherited from her mother pops up over her nose. Almost immediately Wally's brows raise at the change, looking bewildered. "What—" He starts, and she has enough time to watch him glance bemusedly at his wrist before she turns on her heel.
"Never mind." She snarls, her limbs frozen and stiff from her own coldness. "It doesn't matter."
Her heart seems to flood boiling anger through her icy veins, a clashing of hot and cold so disorienting she can hardly focus on anything; by the time she stomps her way into accidentally finding Connor in the hanger of the Cave she feels as if something has exploded inside her, an earth shattering thundering in her eardrums that simultaneously sends her shivering and sweating with fury, every fiber of her still thinking of Wally.
It's very hard not to start swearing or tell him bitingly what's just happened; if Connor notices her heart beat he doesn't acknowledge it, probably just assuming she's tittering like an idiot over Wally again. He hardly glances up at her when she comes to a stuttering halt beside him, focusing instead on all the sheet covered motorcycles and jet skis around them. "We have a problem." He tells her. "There's no car here."
"Car?" She says vaguely, still fuming; it takes a second for her to catch up to what he's talking about. "... What? No car?"
There's a pause where her shortness seems to register even to her own ears; at once his head swivels round to look at her properly."... Yeah." He says slowly.
(It's so strange to her, how months ago she hardly talked to Connor— all at once it seems so sudden, the fact that he can now look at her, like the way he is now, and tell that something is wrong. And it's strange too, that she can even tell what that hardened and closed-off expression he's currently wearing means.)
There's a sticky moment in which Connor's eyes narrow, but before he can ask her what's going on she beats him to it; ducking her head she makes to scrub along her cheeks, trying to dismiss the blush still lingering there. "Guess it makes sense. Not having a car round here." She mutters gruffly, avoiding his eye and glancing instead at the collection of tarps that distinctly resemble motor boats. "Dick and Zatanna are too young, M'gann has the Bioship and you have Sphere. Kaldur and—" She pauses, feeling bile gather angrily in her throat. "—Wally don't really have an interest. No need for one I guess."
The last part sound bitter, Wally's name coming out sour and too-sharp at the end of the ramble— there's a half beat of silence where he watches her scowl at her feet. "... What's your problem?" He asks predictably.
She jerks her head, ignoring the question. "... Not that I need any more driver training, you said it yourself. I might as well book my test."
Connor blinks once, watching as she slouches and peels back the tarp on one of the vehicles, revealing a shiny red motorbike he used to ride. "... You're upset." He says after a long moment.
Her hands fumble and there's a quiet tang of her nails against the metal. "… So?" She snarls, crossing her arms.
There's more silence in which they both stand there a little awkwardly before Connor shrugs. "... I'm not good with upset girls." He tells her gruffly; when she glances at him he's scowling vaguely at the ceiling, as if worried the slightest look will cause her to burst into angry tears. "So if you... If you need... Do you want to go back and be with everyone else?"
She's a little caught off guard by the offer, feeling herself blink in surprise as she considers him. "No." She says carefully, before hesitating. "... Do you want me to go back and be with everyone else?"
"No."
It immediately gets quiet again, the awkward kind of quiet between her and Connor that never seems to go away; she gets the sense that although he's hit his limit for talking about feelings or saying kind things he's still curious about what just happened with Wally.
"Well, okay then." She says in a stupid, forced kind of way, her hands unconsciously shoving themselves in her pockets. "Then we'll just... Hang out."
"Fine."
"Fine."
Hanging out with Connor, she discovers, includes spending a lot of time in various states of silence; the two of them hardly speak to each other for the rest of the day, instead flickering through activities that don't require more than a few words. She'll read in a chair while he stares at television static from the couch. They spar. He barks out the names of tools from behind his old motorcycle and she guesses which ones are right. She brews him a proper cup of tea and lends him her favorite books.
All the quiet is good for her head and for her temper, and Connor's sturdy presence is reassuring.
That evening she haunts her bedroom at the Cave, which for some reason no longer feels like it belongs to her; the room seems to have developed a strange presence, simultaneously untouched but different, as if someone's been in there while she was gone without her permission. For nearly an hour she sits on the edge of her bed, debating sleep but feeling uneasy as she looks around, studying the inconsistencies: the uneven spacing of hangers in her closet, pens sitting atop her desk rather than in the drawer she keeps them in, photo frames half an inch from where she knows they should sit.
It's all small things, the kind that would be crazy to voice out loud.
So instead she sits in silence, observing them and untrusting in her own mind.
At half past nine there's a faint knock on her door, one rap of sound just loud enough to force her out of her own thoughts. For a long moment she considers ignoring the knocker before her own curiosity gets the better of her.
When she opens her door it's to Kaldur, who's looking down at her with that strangely serious smile he always seems to wear. "Greetings, my friend. I thought I would find you hiding in here."
The way he says this is odd, not like he's accusing her of anything but as if he simply finds her predictable; before she can prepare herself for it he's leaning in, arms bracing around her shoulders and forcing her into a hug. "Hi." She says awkwardly, uncomfortable with the closeness and pulling back too quickly; she doesn't know why she doesn't want to be touched, why it feels like she's secretly worried she'll taint him. "Sorry, I just— it's been a long day."
"So I have heard. You and Connor have been busy." He says kindly. "... Although I hope it is still good to be home, despite the circumstances."
Again, this sounds strange— not accusatory, just as if he knows more than she wants him to. "Uh." She starts awkwardly, twitching her head in that funny shrug she's been doing so much lately. "... It's okay, I guess."
"Hm." He makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat; once again she's being stared at, analyzed, as if every confusing emotion is whirring obviously behind her eyes— she doesn't know how or when she became so readable, as if all her secrets are suddenly public domain.
For the first time in her memory the silence between them feels almost uncomfortable, unfamiliar. Gradually the welcoming smile fades from about his lips, his face settling into something more muted and solemn as he continues to watch her, only speaking when she starts flexing her toes into the carpet, wishing she could shut the door on him. "... I came to invite you to watch a movie with the Team. But I suspect you would rather be alone."
She's grateful when he says that last part; exhaling slightly she tries to wear an apologetic smile. "... It's just been a lot to process... You know. With everything." She tells him, dropping her eyes to her feet.
She can sense his gaze narrowing as her hair flops forward, watching her carefully as her thumbs press the fringe back behind her ears. Without looking she can sense the last bit of humor disappearing from the lines about his eyes, and when he speaks his voice is quiet, as if worried about waking the dead. "... Are you doing well, Artemis?"
"I'm fine. I was just about to go home, actually." She tells him without being asked, jerking her head up quickly and forcing her mouth into a fake feeling grin. "... I'm okay."
A muscle in her cheek twitches and the fake smile cracks; although his face remains almost set she can sense a change, something about his cheek bones tightening. "I do not wish to intrude." He tells her politely, probably sensing that she was just about to reach for the door to begin closing it. "But we both know that you are lying."
She feels her expression sour. "... No I'm not."
Kaldur nods as if indulging her, eyes still fixed on her face. "But you are not being an 'open book' either."
It's not meant to be rude, but for some reason the repetition of her old words feels more like a low blow than harmless teasing; he seems to recognize this when her face suddenly bursts into a glare. "Apologies." He says smoothly, not wincing when she whips the door forward, one of his hands reaching up to stop it from closing in his face . "I did not come here to test your temper. I simply—"
Uncharacteristically he cuts himself off, seemingly trying to think of better words to say; feeling annoyed she lets out a huff of breath, blowing hair out of her mouth. "What?"
There's another half-second before the words come to him. "... I simply wanted to make sure you were alright. I know things have been very... Difficult, for you. Both before and after Quarac."
She doesn't like his gentle tone, or the surprisingly comforting phrasing of the words; rather than indulge his kindness she forces herself to scowl. "I'm fine."
(And she thinks of how many times she's repeated the words in the last few days— I'm fine and I'm okay, playing on an endless loop out of her mouth. And the more she says them the less meaning they seem to hold, losing a definition and simply sounding like noise as she reiterates them; I'm fine and I'm okay and I'm fine and I'm okay, again and again until it sounds less like words and more the howling of some sort of animal, the thing inside of her than is hurt and crying out but nobody can hear it— I'm fine and I'm okay and—)
The words are practically spat at him, and even though it's obvious she's lying again he doesn't acknowledge it; instead he blinks and straightens his spine— and she registers the fact that he's no longer speaking to her as a friend, but rather as a commander addressing a soldier. "I also wanted to update you."
Her brows raise, nose wrinkling. He seems to take it as a sign to continue.
"You were not informed prior to your leaving because of the sensitive nature of the assignment... With the help of your arrow Robin and I have been tracking—"
"Sportsmaster." She cuts him off, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I know. And I know he was near Quarac when Marie was killed."
There's a long moment of silence, in which none of Kaldur's surprise shows on his face except his eyes narrowing a tiny fraction; before he can ask any questions she waves him off, slouching. "I can track someone as well as you can." She huffs, choosing in spur of the moment not to tell him about her eavesdropping; before she has time to feel guilty about it she rushes on. "So is that what you're here to tell me? That he killed her?"
And she can't hide the desperation under her cutting tone, or the way she's suddenly staring at him too hard.
(And in that moment, she's an open book.)
Kaldur hesitates, and it's about the longest few seconds of her life; his face in unreadable, an impenetrable wall between her and the truth. She can feel her heart creeping up into her throat, choking her as the silence stretches on.
Say no. Please say no.
"... It is a possibility." He says at last. "We cannot rule anything out yet."
She exhales, the air in her throat emitting a tiny squeak; forcing the tears at the back of her eyes to stay in place she swallows, trying to ignore the sensation of her heart aching as it plummets to the pit of her stomach. "... Okay." She grits out between her teeth.
Kaldur disappears as she screws her eyes shut, but that does nothing to shake the feeling of his eyes fixed on her. "Artemis—"
"Is that why you had Connor following me?" She demands, eyes snapping up and nostrils flaring. "So someone could keep me in check if I figured too much out?"
The weight of the silence seems to sit heavily on her lungs again, cutting off air; for a moment Kaldur's lips part before he inhales, as if bracing himself for the worst. "I know you are more than capable of self restraint, Artemis. That decision was not mine to make."
Her eyes narrow, a disgusted noise sounding in the back of her throat. "Then whose was it?"
"... The League," he says stiffly, and from his tone she takes this to mean Green Arrow, "thought it pertinent to advise Superboy that you may be vulnerable while there."
She doesn't know what this is supposed to mean and takes a wild guess. "So I was being baby sat the entire time."
"Connor was not tasked with watching your every move." Kaldur says firmly, looking annoyed when she lets out an angry exhale. "He was, however, instructed to keep you with the rest of the Team. And, if need be, to follow your orders in the event of an altercation with the Light or Sportsmaster."
There's a beat in which this seems to settle into her mind. "... Oh."
As if he can tell what she's thinking Kaldur reaches out, bracing one hand on her shoulder. "You have proved yourself as a leader more than once, Artemis. I did not think you would forget your first trip to Athens so quickly."
She wants to keep arguing, although something in the firmness of his tones stops her; not wanting to accept his compliment she bites her tongue, waiting for him to continue. "... I also did not think you would forget the events of Quarac quickly either." He says quietly, eyes narrowing when she's not fast enough to hide the flash of gloom that crosses her face. "... I know why you are hiding Artemis. Even if it was Sportsmaster who killed Marie, her death is not your fault."
She much more careful this time, forcing her face to stay guarded; he must still be able to see something shift behind her eyes because at once Kaldur's hand is tightening, the edges of his fingers pressing reassuringly against the swell of her shoulder. She can't think of anything to say.
"The Team has missed you." He tells her quietly. "... And they are worried."
Although once again emotion is flaring up inside her she forces it to be buried; shrugging out from under his arm she takes a step back, gripping hard on her bedroom door like a lifeline. "I'm fine." She says, not sure if she's trying to convince him or herself. "... I just want to be alone, okay?"
She is alone and she is being swallowed whole; she can't trust anyone with her feeling or her suspicions, can't trust herself not to cry. She is a natural disaster, a tidal wave of a person, and if anyone speaks to her or looks too closely she will burst open and drown everyone—
He's not fooled. "You are punishing yourself for something that you had nothing to do with—"
"Nothing?"
The word fires out of her before she can stop it, anger and misery and grief forcing it to burst out of her uncontrollably; for a long moment Kaldur stares at the furious blush on her cheeks and the trembling of her sealed lips, as if trying to decide what to say. "... Artemis—"
"Leave it alone, Kal—"
He takes a step forward, as if to enter her bedroom. "You cannot—"
"Leave it!" She shouts, and before she can think on it she's slamming the door.
It's a mistake, and she knows it, but she can't do anything about it now; she can still see Kaldur's shock and hurt imprinted on the backs of her eyelids, pressing through her retinas and seeming to latch into the grooves of her skin. Hating herself she lets out a panting breath, already wishing she could apologize as she hears his footsteps disappearing down the hall.
She doesn't know what's wrong with her, why all her emotions are suddenly driving inward and bubbling out of her at the worst possible moment; she wasn't even that close to Marie, it shouldn't matter that she's dead—
But it does.
On the first of July she walks down to the water's edge at day break, not stopping until her bare feet are ankle deep in the water; it's chilled as always, although nothing compared to the strange coldness that seems to have been inhabiting her body almost unceasingly the last few days. She had woken too early to the sound of Gotham sirens, the loudness so strange compared to the quiet of her shared bedroom in Quarac; she had thought the emptiness of the Happy Harbor beach at daybreak would clear her head, but in the silence her thoughts only seem magnified.
(The air is humid and the sand is warm, the breeze rolling off the water ruffling her too-short hair the way Wally's fingers used to. She wonders if he's even awake yet, if his twitching limbs have forced him out of bed, if he's up and thinking about her too. As always, she has to remind herself that she's not supposed to think these things anymore.
Wally is nothing. A blot on the page of her story. And she hates him, for making her feel these things.)
Not even ten minutes pass before she hears movement behind her; when she looks over her shoulder she doesn't know why she's unsurprised to find Connor there, walking towards her as if they'd agreed to meet.
He doesn't stop walking, not even when the bottoms of his jeans are submerged in the ocean. She finds she doesn't want to look at him when he comes to a stop beside her, instead staring unseeingly over the water until her eyes and pulled out of focus. "... This place doesn't feel like home anymore, does it?" She doesn't know why she asks him this.
Maybe she's just wondering if she's the only one going crazy.
She hears him make an indistinct noise in the back of his throat. "... No. Not without M'gann."
And the words are so simple, said so surely that nothing in the world could make her doubt them— he's right, of course. Home simply isn't home without the person you love.
But M'gann will come back. They may not know when or how but M'gann will find her way back. But Wally...
She can feel her throat going tight and forces herself to swallow, biting back the misery stirring inside her; she's making this harder than this has to be, she knows she is. But somehow, despite her burying them alive in the Quarac desert her feelings have followed her back home— she can sense them fighting to reach her in the looks Wally sends her when they pass in the hall, in the anger that had imploded inside her when she had seen her elastic still on his wrist. No matter how hard she tries those emotions are consuming her from the inside out, making her bitter and lonely no matter how many people are around her.
She's being stupid. She just has to accept the fact that certain things will never go back to how they used to be. The Cave feeling like home is one of them.
Out of the corner of her eye she watches as Connor turns his head towards her, obviously listening to the irregular pounding of her heart. "... You okay?"
"No." She says emotionlessly. It's the first honest thing she's said in days.
A beat of silence. "Is it Marie?"
"No." For some reason she says this too quickly, the word sounding fake.
"... Is it Wally?"
When she doesn't answer he turns towards her; the sun, still bursting out the beginning of the day, colors his skin a strange milky orange. "You keep telling everyone it's over between you two." He mumbles. He looks as if he hasn't slept in days. "... But I don't think it is."
She doesn't want to talk about this with him, and she thinks he knows that; he doesn't say any more on the subject, and after a while they both slip into the familiar but awkward silence.
The sun rises along the horizon, and she thinks of how she once watched the sunrise with Wally— in his arms, the both of them still sore from their constant fighting. What had they been bickering about? It takes a moment for the memory to surface— she had been keeping distance between them. Putting up barriers. All the other things she used to be smart enough to do.
But she had let him in, hadn't she? And now his memory is destroying her from the inside out.
It had been their own kind of magic. She had loved Wally because he had always come back to her— and he had loved her for the same reason. But when they parted ways that last time... She had known that would be it. She knew that when she left for Quarac what she was coming home to wouldn't be the same.
If she knew that, then why is this so hard?
... And it's sad, really. Because she knows, even if she won't admit it, why the world feels as if it's been flipped on it's head: she's still waiting. Waiting and waiting, waiting for Wally to unfailingly come back to her, or for her to come back to him.
She's waiting.
And she knows he's not coming to find her. And she knows she isn't looking for him either.
The people they used to be are older, wiser now— maybe broken, too. Too weary for their childish games.
... It can hardly be later than six in the morning, and even though she's been closer to him than she has in months she misses Wally— the old Wally— as if he's miles away. And perhaps it feels more powerful now, when he's so close and the world is silent and her mind is blaringly loud, whirring through emotions and screaming the one thought that's been on her mind since she returned home: everything has changed.
Connor inhales the sea beside her, eyes closing and skin looking more statuesque than ever before; the boy carved from marble beside her doesn't believe it's over between her and Wally. Perhaps he's right— maybe some part of it will always feel like unfinished business. But it's over, it's over, and she'll repeat the words inside her head until they become true: it is over, and she's more in love with the memories of the boy in the desert than she is with the man in the library.
Everything is different. She is friends with Connor and Wally is a tall, handsome stranger; Kaldur is not to be trusted and she might be responsible for a murder. Zatanna can only speak of unknown boys and Dick can only speak of Zatanna, and M'gann, her only trustworthy confidant, is miles away across the ocean.
Is it six in the morning and her home no longer feels like it belongs to her, and she feels like the girl trapped in a vortex of feelings inside the Gotham apartment all over again.
That afternoon she's pulled out of her book when Zatanna propels herself over the back of the couch, landing clumsily in the cushions beside her. "There you are." Immediately she gets the sense that this is going to take a while, and foolishly she starts reading as fast as she can, trying to reach the end of the paragraph before she's forced to stop. "I've been looking for you everywhere."
"… What?" She hears herself say vaguely, not looking up.
The other girl isn't fazed by this lack of response, make one annoyed click of her tongue before she reaches out, snatching her book from her hands and closing it before she can dog-ear her page. "Zatanna!" She hears herself say indignantly, fingers slipping along the pages as they're ripped away, leaving several long reddened lines in her palms.
"Bad move." She hears someone call out from the kitchen, and when both their heads turn to find the source they're greeted by a smirk from Dick, hardly glancing up at them from his phone. "Everyone knows not to disturb the beast while she's reading."
She glares, about to sneer out a retort before there's a blast of air from around the corner— at once she's gagging on the scent of walnuts and spitting hair out of the back of her throat, all of them watching as Wally skids into the kitchen in sock feet, stumbling as he catches himself on the counter. Even from here she can see her elastic still wrapped around his wrist.
She hates him, this person who wears her heart break like a trophy.
She hardly hears the greeting he calls to the common area at large; feeling a surge of anger run through her she slumps behind the back of the couch, her cheeks reddening as she glares. "Give it." She says as sternly as she can, extending a hand and pretending the kitchen is empty.
If Zatanna notices this exchange she doesn't mention it beyond the smirk rapidly adorning her face, raising the book above her head when she makes a grab for it; she's forced to slouch further into the arm of the couch in annoyance, not willing to sit up properly and risk the chance of having to look Wally in the eye again. "Are you done sulking?" The other girl taunts, looking pleased when she scowls.
She can feel her nose wrinkling and promptly does her best to smooth it. "I'm not sulking."
"Yes, you are." Dick's voice calls from the kitchen. There's the sound of buttons beeping on the microwave, presumably heating a bag of Wally's popcorn.
"See? You're sulking." Zatanna agrees, nodding at her. "Come on—we've barely seen you since you got home. All you do is stay shut up in your room and mope about— you know."
She doesn't like Zatanna dodging around Marie's death like she understands, and despite her best efforts she can feel her expression souring. "I've been busy." She mutters evasively, trying again to get her book back.
The other girl waves this off, extending the book higher and further out of her reach as the microwave sounds out, a few stray pops signalling that Wally's popcorn is finished. "Well, stop it then. Its summer, you're supposed to spend time with your friends—"
"Oh yeah, because I'm enjoying your company so much right now—"
It's Zatanna's turn to scowl, her face pinching for a moment before she tosses her hair over her shoulder, looking haughty. "See? Sulking. You get snarky when you sulk."
She's just about to say something biting back when Wally wanders into the living room, picking the remote off the coffee table and throwing himself into a chair. "She's right, you know." He tells her through a mouthful of popcorn, absently flicking through the channels. "You sulk."
She glares at him so hard that her nose wrinkles again. "Shut up." She snarls at him.
Wally isn't phased by her come back, instead shrugging and returning to the television; before she can reach something to throw at him Zatanna sends her a superior sort of look. "See?" She gestures to Wally, as if this is an explanation. "You need to do something fun." She tells her, with the air of explaining something to someone very stupid. "Listen, Fourth of July is coming up. Remember that guy I was tell you about— Kaleb? He told me a bunch of the Happy Harbor kids are having a bonfire on the main beach before the fire works. Want to go?"
Dick snorts loudly from the kitchen, scrolling through his phone a little more ferociously than he has to; Zatanna for her part ignores him, looking down at her expectantly. "... I don't know." She mumbles, pulling her knees up to her chest.
"Come on." The other girl sighs, beginning to pout the longer she remains unexcited. "Kaleb has this really cute friend, Owen— I was telling you about him, remember? You'll love him, Artemis. Look—he's hot, right?" Before she can brace herself Zatanna's waving her phone in front of her face, flashing through photos of herself and two good-looking boys.
"They both look like idiots." Dick says over her shoulder; she didn't even hear him get up from the counter yet suddenly he's leaning over the back of the couch, squinting at the photos through his sunglasses.
Zatanna ignores this, although privately she has to agree with Dick— both of them look a bit stupid, wearing matching pretty boy pouts and squinting their eyes at the camera. "That's Kaleb on the left." She tells her, gesturing to the better looking of the two, an older boy with green-flecked hazel eyes and perfectly tousled hair. "And Owen, obviously." She points to the other boy she's got her arm around.
She supposes the other girl is right; the unknown Owen is no doubt handsome, his jaw chiseled and his hair mused into sandy blonde curls. For a long moment she stares at him, willing herself to feel something for the well-tanned skin and the charming smile. "... Yeah." She says after a moment. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Wally's mouth freeze in the process of chewing a wad of popcorn, obviously listening very hard; ignoring this she clears her throat. "I mean, he's okay."
"Just okay?" Zatanna barks, looking annoyed. "You're kidding, right?"
She can feel her cheeks going off, her knees knocking together as she pulls them tighter to her chest. "Okay, okay, he's— He's cute." She mumbles, wishing she had picked a more private spot to read.
"Right?" Zatanna squeals, taking her phone back. "He's the perfect distraction from all... This." The other girl gestures to her a little vaguely, and she becomes very aware of the fact that she hasn't properly washed her hair in a few days.
"Well—" She starts, ignoring Dick when he looks at her a little critically. "... Okay, I guess. Whatever."
Zatanna's face bursts into a dazzling smile as she lets out one bark of excited laughter, eyes glinting mischievously. "Yes! I've only been to the main beach a few times but the guys say the fireworks show at the end of the night is amazing every year— and Kaleb said he'd use his fake I.D to get us something to drink too, but I told him not to bother— my Dad's old liquor cabinet has more than enough to—"
The last idea intrigues her, especially the suggestive tone it's said with; before she can agree Dick's interrupting them both, scowling. "So you two get to go on a bender with two guys you just met while we're stuck here? What about the rest of the Team? I thought we were planning on spending the Fourth of July together?"
Rather than look annoyed Zatanna smirks, looking like she's enjoying the challenge as she stares Dick down. "Then come. It's a public beach, isn't it?" She smirks. "In fact— let's invite the whole Team. How often do we get to go to a party-party? No mentors? Just us on a beach with a drink and some cute boys—"
"Don't public beaches have open liquor laws?" Wally chimes in dryly from the couch. His mouth seems to be working very hard to grind all that popcorn down before he swallows it.
They all ignore him. "Fine, maybe we will come." Dick says firmly back, glasses glinting.
"Fine!" Zatanna huffs; despite the argument both of them look quite pleased with themselves.
The prospect of a party—a real party, with real teenagers whose only worries involve summer flings and gas money for their first cars— seems to alter the mood in the Cave drastically; despite the glumness of her mood and her never-ending coldness she catches herself looking forward to pretending to be normal for the evening, even indulging the dithering plans Zatanna puts her through involving which swim suit to wear and what kind of alcohol to bring. The effect, however, is short lived.
"Dick's bringing someone." Zatanna snarls at her, yanking her head phones out of her ears and interrupting her running on the treadmill. "To the 4th of July thing. Barbara something."
"Barbara something?" She pants, still trying to maintain her pace. "Barbara something who he took to prom?"
Zatanna seems on the verge of explosion. "Yes."
There's a very pointed silence in which she gets the impression that she's supposed to say something cutting about the unknown Barbara; ramming a few buttons on the treadmill she slows to a stop, trying to catch her breath. "... I thought you had moved on from Dick?" She gets out. "After the whole prom thing?"
Apparently this is the wrong thing to say; at once Zatanna lets out an exaggerated sigh, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Why am I even talking about this with you? You don't know anything about boys!" She huffs, storming out of the training room before she can do much other than wipe the sweat from her forehead.
She suspects the whole party thing might be more trouble than it's worth— or at least, that's what she tells Kaldur.
"... You're coming, aren't you?" She asks, having just spewed out an invitation after bumping into him in the kitchen.
Instead of answering right away Kaldur simply surveys her with those milky eyes of his, watching as she shifts nervously from foot to foot; she had wanted to apologize for her behavior the other day and somehow she had started talking about the Fourth of July instead, too ashamed and embarrassed of herself to mention anything else. "... I believe Tula and I have other plans." He says smoothly. "Summer time on the surface world makes it very... Difficult, to hide that we are Atlanteans."
Before she can argue he gestures to the gills adorning neck; she supposes hiding them with high collars or scarves during the hottest month of the year would be impossible. "Oh. Right." She says dumbly, leaning against the counter and feeling slightly tactless. "... Might be for the best, actually. Zatanna's going to have us running around with these two idiots she met at the country club. You're probably saving yourself from having to take care of her all night after she drinks too much."
The corners of his mouth quirk up and for a moment they both share a knowing look; although she's not entirely sure if Kaldur approves of all the under age drinking he doesn't say anything on the matter, as if determined to stay out of it. "Perhaps you are right. Is that why you are going?"
She shrugs. "Sure."
"But then who is taking care of you?"
A part of her— an old, more habitual part— might take this as a challenge. Instead she runs a hand through her hair, pushing it off her face. "I don't need taking care of." She mutters, trying not to sound too defensive.
Kaldur nods, looking almost thoughtful, and like a coward she leaves the kitchen.
The morning of the Fourth of July greets her with a loud rapping on her bedroom door; before she can even get her eyes properly open Zatanna's whirling into her bedroom, already talking at her as if they've both been awake for hours. "— of plans. You're lending me that blue bikini."
She groans into her pillow. "I thought I was wearing that?" She huffs, feeling annoyed when she hears the sound of her drawers being riffled through. "What's wrong with what yours?"
"Changed my mind. I'm going for a red, white, and blue thing now."
"Red, white, and—" She starts, cutting herself off when she sits up and pushes her hair out of her eyes; her question is answered when she sees the red rimmed sunglasses and white shorts Zatanna has draped over her arm. Blinking sleep out of her eyes, she decides to accept the inevitable. "... What am I wearing then?"
In answer the other girl flings a black strappy thing at her. "My black one."
Ignoring Zatanna as she continues to go through her drawers she examines the swim suit in question, eyeing the thin straps and flimsy ties with a sense of unease. "I thought you were going for something a little more... You know." She says awkwardly, scrubbing the sleep out of her eyes as Zatanna finally retrieves the blue swimsuit from the back of her dresser. "My blue one is a little more... Covered."
There's a loud sigh. "I can't be too sexy if Dick's bringing another girl." Zatanna tells her, sounding annoyed. "If I'm sexy then it's easy for her to hate me."
This doesn't make a lot of sense. "... But you hate her." She says slowly, feeling stupid. "Why do you care if she likes you or not?"
For the second time in only a few days Zatanna sends her a dry look, as if completely frustrated with her. "Because if she likes me it will annoy Dick." She blinks and Zatanna sighs. "It's a strategy, Artemis!"
Although she thinks this all sounds incredibly complicated she decides not to push the point, instead gesturing to Zatanna's swimsuit, still strappy and menacing on the end of her bed. "... Any chance I get to wear something that isn't so... You know?"
"No." Zatanna say simply. She's too exhausted to fight it.
Although threatening on the end of her bed Zatanna's old swimsuit is hardly unpleasant once she puts it on an hour later; it's a little tight in a few places but she supposes no one will notice much with it hidden underneath her shorts. Yanking a shirt over her head she glances back once, almost self consciously, in the mirror.
God. She looks so normal.
Well, almost; she fiddles once with the hem of her shorts, tugging them down until they cover the scar still lingering on her upper thigh from Metropolis.
She knows she should feel nervous, what with the prospect of meeting two unknown and good-looking boys; instead all she can feel is a cool, almost numbing sensation pulsing through her, alienating her from her own body. Habitually she tries to fit her hair into a pony tail, grinding her teeth together when her blond tresses refuse to cooperate.
After nearly twenty minutes of stalling in front of the mirror she's distracted from the emptiness of her reflection by her phone ringing; expecting Zatanna she takes her time crossing her bedroom to pick it up from where she left it on her desk, not eager to be yelled at for keeping her waiting. One glance at the caller ID, however, is enough to send the annoyed huff dying in her throat before she can release it; at once her back goes rigid, stomach churning in surprise before she flips her phone open, talking before the speaker is properly by her mouth. "M'gann?" She blurts out in greeting.
There's a lot of static; at first she can hardly hear the other girl. "Hi." The familiar tone croaks through the line.
Her heart tightens at the misery in the other girl's voice; she sounds as if she hasn't done anything except cry since they left. "Hi." She says quietly, listening to the static as it cuts between them for a moment. "… What's going on, Meg? How are you?"
There's a strange sound, like someone sucking in a breath through a puddle of water. "I'm okay." M'gann tells her. Stomach sinking, she suspects M'gann's version of "okay" is the exact same as her own as of late; there's a long silence in which only static fills the air. "… Just needed someone to talk to." The martian says after a moment.
There's something odd in her tone that makes her feel suddenly inadequate; stomach twisting her feet start walking around her bedroom at random. "… Do you want me to get Connor?" She blurts out stupidly.
"No." M'gann says quickly. "No, he doesn't—I just wanted to talk to you."
"Oh." For some reason this takes her by surprise, her feet dragging across the carpet as she takes a few steps towards the door. "Okay."
Another silence, this one so loud she can feel it pressing into her eardrums through the phone. "How are things there?" M'gann prompts.
She swallows, unsure why her mouth is so dry. "Alright." She says dumbly, and then starting again to try to give a proper answer. "Zatanna's insisting we all celebrate the 4th of July. She's dragging us down to the main beach." She hesitates. "She's also making meet some idiot named Owen."
M'gann tries to chuckle and only manages to let out something that sounds vaguely like a mix between a snort and a sob. "Bet you love that."
Even though the other girl can't see it she smiles weakly, twisting her door knob open. "I don't really know how I feel about it." She sighs, hesitating only for a moment before continuing. "... Things here just feel so... I don't know. How are things there?"
She wishes immediately that she hadn't said anything; instantly M'gann lets out a wailing sob that's so loud in her ear she winces, nearly dropping her phone. "Awful." The other girl wails, trying to contain her crying and not succeeding. "It's been—I don't know what to do—"
A wave of panic runs through her, eyes wide and staring unseeingly at the blank stretch of wall opposite her room as she closes her door behind her. "M'gann? What is it? What's wrong?"
More sobs that make her chest tighten. "I—I got Marie's will today." She sobs. "This morning. Her lawyer came and dropped it off and… And at first I thought he was giving it to Garfield. And I told him he couldn't see him, because Garfield's still in the h-h-hospital—"
Another loud sob that makes her fingers tighten around her phone, the metal beginning to dig painfully into her fingers. "M'gann?"
"She mentioned me!" The other girl wails, hardly understandable through her sobbing. "There was a whole section—right at the top. To My Daughter, Megan."
Her knees nearly give out at the awfulness of it, air bursting out of her lungs as she sways back against her door. "Oh my god." She says more to herself than M'gann, screwing her eyes shut.
M'gann's still sobbing through the phone, talking so quickly she can hardly pick up certain words through the static. "And I s-sat down and I read it and—I was expecting everything to go to Garfield, I didn't… Oh, Artemis, I don't know what to do."
"What did she leave you?" She asks urgently, trying to get the other girl to get the words out before she starts crying too heavily to speak.
More silence mixed with sobbing and fuzziness, the line nearly cutting out. And then:
"She left me Garfield."
She nearly drops her phone, a large amount of rustling in her ear telling that she's just exhaled loudly into the speaker. "… What do you mean, she left you Garfield?"
"She left me h-him." M'gann repeats, sounding near hysterical. "She—I don't know what I'm going to do. He doesn't have anyone else—no grandparents, no aunts or uncles. She—I'm his g-guardian, Artemis."
She lets M'gann cry for nearly half a minute as her brain explodes into thought, trying to manage all this information; her stomach seems to have migrated to her ankles, knees trembling as she pushes herself harder against her bedroom door, trying to remain upright. "… Where are you now?" She breathes, free hand running through her hair and scrubbing hard at her face, trying to force herself to stay calm.
She did this. This is all her fault.
"The barn." The other girl wails. "I h-hate the house, it's too quiet— How am I supposed to take care of a little boy, Artemis? I can't even get him out of a hospital, I can't—"
She winces when the other girl starts sobbing again, her nails scratching hard at her cheeks as she runs her hands over them. "... What do you need?" She presses, going automatically into a kind of trance she only falls into in the direst of situations, her instinct to protect M'gann the same one that prompted her to shield Garfield from his mother's dead body. "Do you want us all to come down? Call the League?"
"League members are already here, Batman and—"
"You aren't listening, M'gann." She says sternly. "What do you need? Do you—should I get Connor?"
There's an odd strangling noise again that breaks up the sounds of M'gann's sobs. "I don't know what I want!" She bursts out hysterically. "I don't—I want Marie to be alive!" She howls, and before she can say anything remotely comforting the line slips into static.
"M'gann!" She says desperately into the phone; the other girl's name isn't even out of her mouth before the call goes dead, leaving her feeling helpless as she clings to her phone. "Hello? M'gann?"
She probably stands there for too long, clutching her phone to her ear and breathing heavily, face raw and hair standing on end from scrubbing her hands through it. Her heart is racing in her chest, her throat suddenly so tight she can hardly breathe. The line continues to sound out endlessly, screaming at her in a deadened and one-note tone, howling at her until she snaps her phone shut, hurling it as hard as she can at the wall opposite.
This is all her fault. All her fault.
(Worthless—)
She's past the point of tears now; her father killed Marie and now Garfield is alone and motherless and M'gann is only freshly eighteen and now responsible for a child. She always does this, always makes things worse for every one; she ruins things, she hurts every one, this is all her fault, all her fault—
The heels of her palms are pressing painfully hard at her eyelids, trying to force all the emotion threatening to burst out of her further inside; breathing hard through her nose she tries to force herself to calm down, to not be weak and cry as the imaginary clawing hands begin to pull at her skin, threaten to pull her into her own darkened corners—
Focus.
Don't be a baby.
By the time she registers the foot steps in the hall she's too late to compose herself, her hands shaking too heavily to fiddle with the door knob and hide in her bedroom; before the blotchy redness can retract up into her cheeks she smells walnuts.
Her head snaps in an almost feral manner towards Wally when he turns down her end of the hall; at once he stops short, heels dragging on the floor at the suddenness of the movement. "Oh." He says dumbly, ears going off.
She can't think of anyone in the world she'd rather see less.
He looks ridiculous; sunblock smeared across his burnt nose, wearing the same brightly patterned swim shorts she first met him in and an old faded button down splayed open across the new muscles of his chest. Looking at him now makes her want to vomit, the familiarity and differences so striking that she can feel the rise of confliction emotions in her chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
She doesn't say anything back, instead narrowing her eyes as he pushes one of the sleeves of his shirt further up his forearm; as ever, her elastic is on his wrist. The ferociousness of her gaze must make him uncomfortable, unable to stand the maliciousness of her silence anymore. "Uh, hi." He throws out.
It occurs to her how stupid she must look: hair on end, cheeks blushing, drenching in a nervous sweat with her phone thrown at her feet. "... Hi." She mutters, screwing her eyes shut and throwing her head back into her door, hoping the pain will snap her out of it.
She opens her eyes just in time to watch the confusion crossing Wally's face as he tries and fail to read her. "What—" He starts to say, stopping short when she glares at him. "Uh, what's up?"
"Nothing." She says grittily, feeling herself going crimson as she struggles to push her sweat slicked hair off her forehead. Muttering indistinctly she releases her door, not looking at him as she makes for her phone.
Before she can even get her hands on it he's appeared beside her, the familiar breeze hitting her hard across the cheeks; she can taste the old walnut scent on her tongue as her hair flutters about her chin, flipping in her face as the both of them straighten. "Thanks." She mutters glumly, feeling like an idiot as he hands her back her phone.
(And as he passes it to her she feels his finger grazing the back of her palm, his bare skin against hers striking her like a bolt of lightning; at once the numbness is replaced by a flood of warmth that seems to radiate up her arm and into her lungs, breathing fresh life into her—)
He pulls back and she freezes over again.
Blushing, she makes a bigger show of shoving her phone into her back pocket than she should; as they stand there, only a foot apart, it hits her again how tall he's gotten— a few months ago he had only an inch on her, yet now as she straightens beside him she's surprised to see that her eyes are hardly even level with his chin, let alone his eyes. It feels like only a little while ago she used to have to slouch to fit into the safety of the hollow of his chest; now she would simply have to step forward and—
She stops herself from finishing the thought, throat bobbing as she tries to force down the wanting twisting in her stomach. She can tell something must show on her face that he can't quite identify because for a long moment he simply stares at her, brows knitted together.
"Well—"
"Are you—"
They both try to break the silence at the same time, talking over each other in a jumble of words that makes both of them blush— she hates this, hates the swirl of emotions consuming her and how much he can make her feel so much with so little; she can't focus on anything, can't figure out how to help M'gann with him this close to her, this imposing. Grimacing, she takes a step backward, hating the awkward nothingness enveloping them again as they stand outside her door, staring at each other. "You go." He says politely after several seconds, hand scrubbing at the back of his neck and stretching his shirt open wider.
Seeing more of his bare skin does little to quail the twisting in her stomach; she catches herself reaching up to nervously run a hand through her hair and stops. "... I was just going to say that I was going to go find Zatanna now. For the—" She pauses, not sure how to phrase it. "Yeah. So, uh. Bye, I guess."
Wally's expression droops a bit before he nods. "Oh... Yeah, the date thing. With those guys."
She can tell he's trying to pretend like he's forgotten about it, his words sounding forced and too natural. For some reason she feels compelled to correct him. "It's not a date." She says quickly, blushing again. "I mean, I just said I'd go. It's more her thing than mine."
"Right." Wally nods, voice sounding hard and more hurt than expected. "Well, whatever it is. You don't want to keep Owen waiting."
It's not hard to notice the way he says the other boy's name, so different than the other, much more gentle words he's spoken to her; feeling herself blush she narrows her eyes at him. "Whatever." She says after a moment, feeling annoyed.
She makes a funny half turn, not missing the sharp exhale that fires out of his mouth as she makes to leave; she gets as far as stepping back onto one foot before something shifts in his face, something there that she can't read. It's enough to quirk her interest, her feet stopping. "… What were you going to say?" She asks suddenly. "Just now, I mean."
Wally jerks his gaze back to her, no longer glaring at his feet; for a half second she's met with an annoyed look before something about his eyes softens, traces of frustration fading into something she can't place."Nothing." He says quickly, and instantly she knows he's lying; he hesitates, then rushes on the way he always does. "...I just—are you alright?"
(I'm fine and I'm okay and I'm fine and I'm okay—)
This sends one of her brows quirking, and before she can answer he keeps talking. "You just seem… Flustered, or something. I don't know."
It's frightening, how well he knows her; feeling invaded she drops his gaze, turning her back on him. "... I'm fine."
Wally doesn't say anything when she starts to walk away, as if knowing what she's about to do before she does; she makes it about two paces before she stops, thinking hard.
Out of all her Teammates... She once trusted Wally the most.
... And if she's thinking on it, she would still trust him with her life.
Why can't she trust him with her secrets too?
"... M'gann called me." She says before she can over think it, turning back to look at him fully. He looks nothing like the boy she once woke up to in the desert but that other person... He's still there. She just can't see him. "Just now."
Wally's making an effort to keep his expression unreadable but he can't hide the sudden tightness in the angles of his jaw, popping and more severe than they were a few weeks ago. "Yeah?"
She hesitates. "She was crying." When she says it she doesn't sound like herself, less biting and strangely breathy, as if someone's hands were pressed against her throat. At either her words or the way she says it the muscles in Wally's shoulders tense, as if he's holding himself back from doing something. "They got Marie's will today. She—" For some reason her voice warbles and she has to take a deep breath. "M'gann got custody of Garfield—"
"Marie's son." Wally finishes, and she remembers distantly that he's met the little boy before.
"Yeah." She mutters, shaking her head. It's very hard to think, to not get lost in all the feelings slamming against her insides; her stomach can't stop twisting at the thought of the panic in M'gann's voice and it doesn't help when Wally takes a few steps closer. "She was—she was freaking out, Kid. She doesn't know what to do—Garfield's sick, he has a fever that won't break—and before I could help the phone cut out, and—" Her voice breaks off again and she feels stupid when her chin wobbles.
(And like always he brings this out in her: this vulnerability. It was always strange to her, how they could go from screaming and swearing to tenderness. She's always soft for him, the way she isn't soft for anyone else, and that's the problem, isn't it? It feels too much like home with him, and she can't trust it, she can't—)
Wally for his part watches her through knitted brows, finally sighing; the comforting walnut smell splashes her across the face and she forces herself to focus. "… What are you thinking?" He asks her.
("What are you thinking?" He had asked her once. "... I can't tell if you still want me...")
She swallows down the memory, skin prickling with an imagined cold as she wraps her arms around herself. "I don't know—I asked her if she wanted Connor and she seemed to freak out even more, it was like she didn't want him to know she couldn't—"
Her voice cuts off with a tiny squeak and Wally takes a step closer. "Breathe." He reminds her, and as obediently as ever she inhales; at once she tastes him on her tongue, and the impulse to not burrow into his arms is harder than ever. "... Let's just..." He trails off, not finishing; instead he watches as she drags another breath in and out, his thoughts obviously moving too fast for him to get out.
After nearly half a minute he sighs, one of his arms swinging upward; for one wild moment she half convinces herself he's about to touch her, wincing strangely before she realizes he's simply back to scrubbing his neck again. "... What?" She asks, watching his brows knit together as he thinks.
He opens his mouth to say something but doesn't speak, instead staring at a spot over her shoulder; she doesn't have to look behind her to know who's there, automatically placing the familiar thick footsteps against the floor.
"Zatanna's driving me crazy." Connor says flatly when she turns around, not saying hello to either of them as he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Will you hurry and meet her? I'm getting tired of all the—" He stops his sentence slightly short, and with a grimace she knows instantly her and Wally's surprise at his appearance isn't being well hidden; at once Connor sends her a confused look, no doubt wondering why both their hearts are thrumming at his appearance.
Despite herself she glances at Wally as he shifts to her side; Connor seems to follow the exchange, taking in her pale and blotchy appearance with a little too much knowing. "... What's wrong?" He asks her.
She doesn't know whether or not to tell him, feeling endlessly guilty when Wally's raises his brows at her, looking expectant; after a few seconds of silence she hears him exhale, annoyed with her. "Meg called Artemis." He says for her. "Just now."
Connor stares at her, hard, jaw tightening and a worried look crossing his features before she drops his gaze. "M'gann called you?" He repeats, looking slightly bewildered. "What did she say?"
"Well..." She starts, trying not to feel as if she's betraying M'gann in some way. "She was... crying, Con... Marie's will came out. She made M'gann Garfield's guardian."
If any of this is making any impression on Connor at all he doesn't show it, his face flat and unreadable as ever; once again her eyes are drawn to Wally, who glances at her slightly helplessly. "M'gann's upset." Connor repeats after a moment.
There's a pause, and before she can even confirm this Connor's grabbing her wrist, yanking her forward. "Con— Ow!" She yelps, wincing at his impenetrable grip and hardly hearing Wally when he flares up in surprise beside her, her feet stumbling as Connor starts leading her down the hall. "What are you—"
"Supey!" Wally snarls; there's a whirl of air that sends her hair into her eyes and then a distinct scuffling sound. "Con, you can't drag her around like that, you're—"
"Connor!" She barks, her hand now going numb in his grip. This time there's a distinct urgency in her voice and at once his hand slackens around her; with her free palm she pushes her hair out of her eyes, hardly looking at where Wally's now flat against the opposite wall, looking as if he's just been shoved there as she rips her arm out of his grasp, glaring at him. "What the hell are you—"
"We're going." He tells her shortly, staring down at her in a way he never has before; for the first time in her life she's afraid of him. "M'gann's in trouble. We're going."
She sighs, heart still beating loudly in her chest. "Con, she's not in trouble— she's just... Overwhelmed. She just needed somebody to—"
"You said she was crying." He says severely, almost as if he's daring her to lie. "Right? She needs us."
Wally seems to get his breath back, righting himself off the wall and taking a step forward. "She's fine, Supey."
Connor ignores this. "I'm going." He tells her, looking expectant. "She needs me, and I'm going."
He won't look away from her, as if half expecting her to pipe up and agree; when she doesn't he makes a strange growling noise, whirling on his heel and stomping down the hallway before she can even process what's happening. "Connor, wait—"
He doesn't stop, and feeling helpless she glances at Wally. "It's fine." He tells her, eyes scanning over her quickly. "I'll take care of it, okay? Just— are you alright?"
It takes her a moment to realize what he's asking; following his gaze down to her wrist she looks herself once over, eyes tracing the distinct red blotch beginning to swell around her tendons. "I'm fine." She says dismissively, turning towards him. "Wally—"
"It's okay." He tells her firmly. "It'll be okay."
Before she can even decide if she believes him, he's gone.
AN: I hope the update was worth the wait. Now onto a quick Q&A...
Q: I really love a character and want them to get more of an arc. When is that going to happen?
A: I do have arcs planned for every main character in the Young Justice series, the planning of which taking up several pages in my notebook of story planning. Unfortunately, if I wanted to do each of these with the detail they require it would take me about 20 years to finish Parenthesis.
This is Artemis' story from her perspective, and while there are character developments happening they may not be something that I can necessarily show. Artemis's relationship with each main character is different, and as such she's only privy to their personal lives a certain amount— plus, as much as I love the girl she can get a bit wrapped up in her head and not notice what's happening in the larger scheme of things. It's as simple as the limitations of story telling, and as a writer I can only do so much without breaking down structure altogether.
That's not to say there's no hope— we are less than a year into a story that spans the length of 5 years. There's still plenty of time for things to happen.
Q: So much angst! When will it end?
A: Artemis is going through a rough patch. In the interest of not spoiling anything, I ask that you stick with her for another chapter or two. She needs all the support she can get.
Q: How's school? Is there an update schedule yet?
A: The schedule right now is that there is no schedule! I'm trying my best to update every two weeks at the latest, and it's looking like this is something I'll be able to maintain until the semester ends around Christmas.
Thanks for all the questions, kids— now go read and review!