Parenthesis

by knottedblonde

"She tries to put a lot of words into the kiss, words she isn't brave enough to say out loud: She'll stand by him because she cares about him, and if there's anything he's taught her it's that when you care about people, really care about them, you don't leave. Not forever." Sequel to my other story, Artemisia. Artemis-centric; the gap between Season 1 & 2. M in later chapters.

34. Blue Lips, Blue Veins

AN: Long time no see everyone! Enjoy the update.

---

(Her eyes are tired, not quite seeing as she stares at the words on the page, her back sinking further into the cushions of her couch. The longer she looks at the sentences written there the more the letters and dates blur together, a mess of unreadable grey dampening the white loose leaf of her homework.

Her Gotham apartment is quiet, the pale blue of the television illuminating the darkness; she's got the volume cranked low, glancing up on occasion at the flash of colored commercial lights. Exhaling through her nose she forces herself to return to her work, tapping her pencil twice against the bulk of her textbook in an effort to drag herself back in.

The noise, however small, is enough to wake Wally. At the sound he twitches awake, head jerking off the couch cushions and his foot, perched precariously along the back end of the couch behind her, kicks into life.

"Wally!" She hisses, ducking but not quite managing to escape the bulk of his sock-clad toes as they jolt violently into the joint of her shoulder; almost immediately there's the sound of rustling papers and her textbook slips out of her lap, clunking loudly against the smoke stained carpet. "God—" The word breaks off with a string of intelligible curses. There's more jerking, more of her homework falling from the couch and more feet pressing into her. "Wally!"

It seems to take him a moment to remember where he is, whose couch he's been sleeping on for the last hour or so. "Sorry." He mutters, voice groggy and dry with exhaustion; to her annoyance he doesn't even see the huffy look she sends him, instead preoccupied with scrubbing sleep from his features and arranging as his feet on her now empty lap without an invitation. "... Are you still working?"

Her hair has come loose from her pony tail, several blonde pieces ruffling about her mouth as she exhales, ignoring his toes as they prod at her stomach. "I was." She scowls, bending over his feet and reaching for her fallen books. "I have this stupid report due for History on Monday, and a lab in Bio. And something else for English too, I can't remember..."

She trails off, seizing papers and trying to make sense of the blurred words her tired eyes are showing her. Wally yawns, settling more firmly into her couch cushions. "You know, you should really get a calendar." He tells her, stretching out further and jostling her papers. "I have this Sports Illustrated one I use. Very helpful."

She misses the joke, not paying attention as she cracks open her textbook, balancing it precariously on his calves. "... Go back to sleep." She says vaguely. "I'll wake you up when I'm done. We can watch a movie or hit an all night pizza place. Whatever you want."

There's a long moment of silence, her finger already back on the page and following the words she's trying to read before she realizes it's the sticky kind of quiet; when she glances up from her textbook she's a little taken aback to find him already staring at her, expression dry. "... What?" She asks dumbly.

. "... Babe." He jostles his calves, attempting to shut the book and frowning when she flattens a palm against the pages, stopping him. "Come on. It's Saturday night. I thought— I mean. You said your mom wasn't home."

The last part is said in a slightly sheepish way, the tone enough to get her attention; feeling a guilty twisting in her stomach she bites, hard, on the inside of her cheek. "I'm sorry." She mumbles, dragging the book back onto her lap. "I meant to get all this done last night but Oliver— and I can't do it tomorrow, we have training. Just give me another hour."

She riffles her papers, not wanting to see his expression in the half-light. Predictably Wally sits up properly, feet retracting from her lap and jostling her homework again. "Can I at least help you?" He whines. "You know? Speed the process along so there's some chance of us enjoying the weekend—"

"Wally—" She huffs, feeling another low bite of annoyance as the pencil is snatched from her hand, his other arm snaking around her shoulders. "I can't cheat. You always do this and then I get to an exam and I don't know anything. Just—"

"Fine." He sighs, ears reddening when she grabs the pencil back. "Whatever."

Rather than retreat to his side of the couch Wally lets out another sigh, walnut flavored breath ruffling the loose hair from her pony tail; like always the familiar scent sends a flood of emotion through her, a mixture of begrudging affection and comfort lingering in the low point of her stomach. It's funny how after all this time she's still thrown by his closeness, by the warmth the seems to radiate through his skin when they touch. She wonders if it's like this for everyone, wonders if not being able to focus when the other person is this close is common, or if she's just strange in some way, if what they have is maybe different...

Out of the corner of her eye she can see his gaze raking over the living room, flicking glassily between the television, the photographs, her. She's allowed four seconds of silence before his chin drops to her shoulder, eyelashes brushing against the bare skin of her neck as he glances at her homework. "... Your answer for question 19 is wrong. Anne Boleyn married Henry VIII and gave birth to Elizabeth I, not—"

"Wally."

"Fine!" He repeats, letting out another angry exhale that sends her hair frizzing.

Feeling her cheeks redden she does her best to stop the wrinkling of her nose, pressing her hair back behind her ears. "Look." She sighs, not wanting to but still nudging him until he gets the message to get off her shoulder. "Can you just— go back to that side of the couch? You're distracting this close."

"Distracting?" The word comes out almost bratty, as if he's trying to bait her into bickering; when she attempts to shove him away again he only snorts, not moving. "Since when have I ever been distracting?"

She scowls when he seizes her round the wrist, removing her hand and insisting on staying close. "Never. I just thought it would be nicer than saying you were being annoying."

If this stings he doesn't show it beyond the darkening of his ears. "Oh, so this is you being nice?"

"Wally—" She hisses, on the verge of throttling him when he suddenly knocks her textbooks out of her lap. "God, you're such—"

Whatever she's about to say is cut off when he presses his lips to her neck, the snarl on her tongue quickly fading into a breathless sort of exhale; Wally for his part leans into her, lips dragging up the column of her neck and pausing once to suckle on her earlobe. "Go on." He teases, the words hot on her neck as he leans into her, not stopping until she's wedged between him and the arm of the couch. "What were you going to say?"

It takes too long for her to figure out why she was upset, her mind fogged and working too slow, bogged down by the sensation of his fingers in her hair, running over her collar bone, skimming down the curve of her breasts. "... You're such an idiot." She gets out, the last word sounding more like a moan as he presses a too light kiss against her shoulder.

"Whatever you say, Babe—" He grins, lips still smiling when she pulls his mouth to hers.

---

She wakes, although it doesn't feel like it. The bed beneath her feels too soft, the sheets around her too warm. For a long moment she can't figure out where she is in time, what day it is, what month. Her sleepiness bogs her down, the lingering happiness of her dream making her feel light. Perhaps it is April again.

She doesn't open her eyes, doesn't move. She remains still, unsuspended between wakefulness and sleep, between reality and dreams. It is April again, and things are better. It is April again, and always will be, as long as she lies here half-conscious.

... She can hear something, a whispering of words ticking at the back of her mind. It is April again, and Wally's lips are lingering about her jaw, up the column of her neck, breathing warm air into the shell of her ear. "Artemis..." He whispers her name, stretching out the last few letters in a near whine as she arcs herself into him, thighs pressing against his ribs. He is whispering to her, nose skimming her neck as he kisses down her skin, lips lingering about her clavicle.

She can feel it now, pressing wakefulness into her— not lips but something, fingers maybe, skimming her neck, the joint of her shoulder and back up again. A thumb pressing baby hairs behind her ears, weaving between platinum strands and lingering about her neck. "Artemis..." Wally whispers again, this time further away.

It is April again. She needs it to be April again—

The fingers persist, more insistent on her skin the longer they linger there. The dream slips away from her slowly then all at once, the darkness of the Gotham apartment disappearing and fading into morning light peeking between her lashes.

She doesn't move, doesn't stir. She keeps her eyes resolutely shut.

... It isn't April anymore.

The thought hits her so hard it seems to force her back into her own body, bringing with it an unfamiliar ache. She feels as if she's been throttled, beaten, the seams of her skin raw and muscles throbbing beneath her skin. It isn't April— it's August now, and she's tangled, marled, her sheets looped in intricate patterns between her legs. Whatever woke her— a dream, an old memory, a long forgotten moment that might not be entirely real— fades as the previous evening comes flooding back to her, twitching out from inside her and curling in the pit of her stomach. Her ribs seems to burst open with pain, consciousness slamming into her when she can't help but let out a small whimper of pain.

... The fingers lingering about her neck pause, then blur into focus all at once.

... No. Oh no.

It's foolish, lying here in denial, but she can't help it— she didn't sleep with Wally. Didn't have sex with him. She couldn't have. She shouldn't have. Oh, god.

The fingers begin to move again, this time hesitant, more gentle. Resolutely they keep touching her, keep pursing her hair, oblivious to the fact that a thousand sirens are ringing inside her, pounding around the pain in her body— mangled ribs, bite marks on her shoulders, scratches on her back, nail marks along her breasts, a familiar ache between her legs. Feeling like a coward she remains still, pulse pounding as she continues to feign sleep, silently panicking. She's dreaming again, having an nightmare. Or she dreamt the last night up— she had been having nightmares again, hadn't she?

(Please, let it be April again.)

It takes her too long to open her eyes, afraid of what she'll see when she does; in the silence of her bedroom her lashes skimming the pillow seems to scream too loudly, her jaw tilting and trying to escape the fingers still running over her skin.

But there it is: proof. The previous evening's tea cup seems to stare at her over the edge of her desk, and all at once flashes of it come back to her— biting, clawing, snarling in between frantic kisses. An empty cup, its contents spilled over from when he had thrown her there...

Oh, god.

She snaps her eyes shut, feeling ashamed, embarrassed— for a long moment she considers spending the rest of her life pretending to be asleep, simply for the sake of never having to talking about the previous evening's mistake ever again—

She winces at the sound of blankets shifting, sheets being pulled. The mattress quakes and she catches herself holding her breath, waiting for something she isn't sure of. "... Artemis?"

She's a coward like always, refusing to acknowledge him when he breaks the silence; instead of saying anything she ignores the throbbing of her ribs and curls tighter around her sheets, hoping he'll get the message to leave her alone.

(Leave now, please.)

Her breath seems to stop in her lungs, heart stalling inside her as she feels him roll closer— he's warm, as always, only a thin strip of sheets separating their naked bodies. Thankful for her mess of hair hiding the wreck of emotions crossing her features she feels her skin ignite as he touches her again, pressing wakefulness into her like he used to. "... Artemis?" He whispers again after a moment.

Again she says nothing back, muscles tense as he runs his hands over her; a forefinger dragging up her arm, lingering on the reddened mark he's bitten into her skin until she feels the wound throb. Thumb skimming the pale line where her worst scar used to be, knuckles dragging down her spin, over vertebrae and nerves and lingering over the curve of her hip barely jutting above the edge of the sheet. Over her stomach, the beginning curve of her breast— and a pause, a loud one, on the bruising of her ribs, the now blackened mark cut into her—

He makes to touch it, lightly, as if curious; the brushing of his hand against it hurts so badly it seems to spur some sort of bravery out of her. "Don't." He doesn't even have the chance to pull his hand back before she's rolling towards him, pulling sheets up to hide herself and glaring at him. "Just... Don't touch me, okay?"

She can tell right away it's not the "good morning" he had been expecting; as she makes to burrow beneath her sheets she catches a glimpse of the hurt flashing across his face, of the affectionate smile slipping from his lips and fading into a messy sort of look that matches his ruffled hair. "Sorry." Wally mutters defensively. "I just— we overslept. It's nearly noon."

She doesn't know what to say to this, instead yanking her sheets up above her head and hiding beneath them; she doesn't want to look at him, to see the disappointment or confusion lingering about the wrinkles of his eyes. She's being childish, she knows she is— determined, as always, to avoid the consequences of what they've done.

Wally allows her nearly a minute before he sighs. "Artemis?"

"What?" She snaps, ripping the sheet off her head and nearly spitting at him. She can tell she must look ridiculous, hair frizzing and cheeks crimson. "I—" She starts, nose wrinkling when she loses her train of thought; with nowhere else to go she rolls onto her back, determined to never look at him again as she yanks her sheets up to her chin.

... She's being stupid; she can sense him still staring at her as she avoids his eye, waiting patiently as always for her words to catch up with what she's feeling. Pulling in a breath so large it makes her ribs ache she does her best not to wince. "... Sorry." She blurts out, glancing at him before going back to staring at the ceiling. "Hi."

Wally smiles, one that's not quite crooked enough to be real. He's too close to her, brows raising as she presses her shoulder blades as hard as she can into the mattress. For a moment he lies there, all muscle and man and nakedness, before it occurs to him to cover up. "... Hey."

The whole thing is stupid, the two them lying there like strangers who have never done this before— but, she supposes, they never have. Not like this. Their morning's after used to be her favorite moments between the two of them, a mess of tangled sheets and nuzzling and sleepy kisses. They could spend hours together tangled beneath the blankets, talking about nothing and lying too close, whispering laughter into each other's skin.

... But they've never done anything like this. Never, in the whole time she's known him, have things been as precarious between them as they are now. Never has she known less about where they stand with each other, about what the protocol is for a situation like this. She's never been so simultaneously furious and afraid of him, of his body, of the man he's become. And she's never felt more for him than what she does in this moment, and never, ever, has she understood her own feelings less.

(And she wishes there was a way to stop time, to put a moment on hold; in the spaces between the seconds of silence that pass between them she can sense something, some sort of feeling she's never felt before. And she wishes more than anything that she could ask him what it is, what it means to feel it; wishes there were someone out there who could explain last night to her, to help her understand what's supposed to happen now—)

(And more than ever she misses the beginning, before this and every other mess they made; back when he was still just a boy to her, back when the only way they knew how to hurt each other was with cutting words and too-sharp jibes. She misses the simplicity of seeing the world in his eyes, how things were at first when all it would take was a simple look from him and she would feel warmth unthawing her from the inside out. She misses when he was still afraid to touch her, to be rough; she misses the two of them before they turned something so precious into ugliness, into the kind of hatred only broken love can create—)

She realizes too late that they've both been staring at each other, only noticing the severity of her gaze when his eyes finally drop hers, lingering over her body and looking at her too closely. He doesn't try to touch her again but she can feel his eyes memorizing the exposed parts of her skin, counting the other blotches and bruises his teeth have left on her. Something in the look makes her uncomfortable, too small and too cared for.

She's thankful when he rolls away, back to his side of her bed; despite herself she can't stop her eyes as they follow his movement, peaking a little too closely as her sheets drag over his body, dipping down below the v-shaped lines of his hips. He looks worse for wear too—just as bitten and scratched as she's sure she is, the circles under his eyes more swollen, colored a dark hue.

The fall into a strange sort of quiet, one so awkward she expects it could last all day; rather than indulge it she tightens her sheets over her breasts, wincing when her thumb catches on the chain of her necklace. "… Last night—" She starts, fumbling and losing her nerve when her voice breaks. "I-it—I mean, not that it wasn't—"

The words aren't coming out right, her cheeks blushing another deep crimson as she feels all the bravery inside her waver, slipping between her fingers. To her relief Wally cuts off her babbling before she can embarrass herself. "It shouldn't have happened." He says firmly. "I know. I—I get it. I wish it didn't happen either. I'm sorry."

For some reason this hurts; hearing the words she was supposed to be saying thrown back at her so casually, so normally. She feels her face break slightly as she stares hard at the ceiling. "… Right."

There's a long second, a very sticky one, where they both continue to stare at the blankness of her ceiling— she can't figure out what she's supposed to say, what's supposed to happen between now and the moment the conversation will finally be over. She wants the awkwardness of this, of the morning after, to be finished, her features wrinkling as Wally rolls onto his side, staring at the soft green paint coating her bedroom wall. "... Did I do that?" He asks very suddenly.

She doesn't know what he's talking about, and her silence must say that for her; she watches as Wally's back inflates with a breath, his skin strained against new muscle. "Your ribs." He clarifies. "Did I...?"

She's never been good at lying to him. "... You didn't mean to." She mumbles, feeling her face set into something too old, too sharpened. Somehow the truth tastes bitter on her tongue. "It was during the storm. You thought I was trying to hurt you."

The words aren't any comfort to Wally, who makes a disgusted sort of noise; when she glances at him again he's curling around her sheets, as if trying to hide from the last night as much as she is. "God. I'm sorry."

She doesn't accept the apology, doesn't want to. She can sense that they're skirting around something, something big that she's been waiting to hear.

True enough Wally exhales again, words bursting out of him the longer she remains quiet. "... It was my fault." He murmurs all at once, voice softer and more tender than she's expecting; despite herself some of the barriers inside her melt at the sound, blinking once before her jaw tilts towards him. He looks too small, curled beneath her blankets; his freckled back is so naked and inviting in the early morning light, making it nearly impossible for her eyes not to follow the indentations of his muscles, squinting at the dimpled tops of his hips before her bedding hides him from her.

It takes her too long to catch her movement towards him, the way her body shifts beneath the sheets and her hand unfurls itself to reach towards him; by the time she catches herself the mattress is quaking beneath them, not hiding her or the way she pulls back too quickly. "Wally—"

"I shouldn't have come to your room." He mumbles, his cheek pressing tighter to her pillow; from here she can see the tops of his ears burning, as if embarrassed.

She sits up, not wanting to hear anymore; whatever she's been waiting for him to say it's not this, not more tortured words from the boy she used to love. Her whole body seems to protest the movement as she holds the top of her sheet to her breasts, too quiet for too long. "It's okay, Wally." She murmurs even though it isn't, slipping out beneath the blankets and bending to retrieve the previous night's panties from the floor.

"No, it—" He starts the sentence roughly, catching her by surprise as he rolls back towards her; at once she hears his voice catch in the back of his throat and then die, can practically feel his gaze as it follows her fingers as they loop her panties over her hips. Feeling herself blush she pretends not to notice, instead bending hastily again to retrieve her shirt, trying her best not to hate him as he watches her redress. "... It wasn't okay."

She finishes with her sweat pants, glancing back at the neediness of his tone; he's gone back to staring at the ceiling, legs bent beneath her blankets and creasing about his hips, hiding any sort of wanting she had half-hoped to see there. "I just needed you." He mutters, voice scratching. "... You make things better."

She feels herself blush, slouching over folded arms and not sure what to say as he sits up, a mess of well-toned manhood and muscle that's hardly hidden beneath her sheets. "… You don't have to say things like that to make me feel better, Wally. I'm fine. We had sex, and— and I'm fine."

The words sound bitter, like lies being mumbled hastily out of her mouth; at once his brows furrow, as if after all this time he doesn't understand her, doesn't understand that she will never trust him with her heart in moments of tenderness like she used to before. "I'm not saying it to make you feel better." He says after a moment, the exhaustion from his voice making it break. "... I didn't think either of us had anything to feel bad about."

Despite herself she makes an annoyed noise in the back of her throat, one hip making to jut out before her ribs stop her, aching again. "Come on, Wally." She huffs, the breath rustling the hair about her chin. "... You just said last night was a mistake."

"No I didn't."

She snorts. "It shouldn't have happened." She spits his words back, voice high pitched and mocking and not sounding at all like him. "It was my fault—"

At once Wally's ears flare again, the red of his blush beginning to leak down into his cheeks. "I didn't meant it like that." He bursts out, one arm waving towards her before he smacks his palm against his forehead, frustrated. "I just— Us, getting back together. It shouldn't have been me acting like a wreck in the dark—"

"Getting back together?" She repeats, her voice hoarse with exasperation.

To her annoyance Wally doesn't say anything back, instead blushing deeper; at once she feels her own cheeks going off, feeling suddenly off-guard under the intensity of his staring. "Getting back together?" She repeats again. "What do you mean, getting back to—" Her voice catches and she sighs, shaking her head. "Oh my god, you—" She can't stop the frustrated hiss that rips out of her throat, hands yanking on her hair as she struggles to comprehend what's happening. "You are such an idiot."

The crimson blush is now coloring his collar bones, blotching huge circles of his freckled skin a bright pink. "How am I an idiot?" He hurls back, glaring. "You're acting like I was the only one who wanted this. You were there too, Artemis—"

She feels something, some larger and more fragile vulnerability flare up inside her; before she can stop herself she's throwing her fists to her sides, not indulging the pain in her ribs as she sneers at him over the edge of her bed. "Yeah, I was there Wally. I was there when you showed up at my door because you knew I wouldn't say no, because you knew that I missed you—"

"So what?" He cuts her off, voice cold and clanging in the smallness of her bedroom; the tone is enough to silence her immediately, teeth cutting into the inside of her cheek. "I missed you too, okay? You don't get to use that as an excuse—"

"Then you don't get to use the storm as the excuse either!" She hurls back, a wrinkle popping up over her nose. "You don't get to come crying to me, and use me—"

Almost immediately she can sense she's crossed some sort of line; when the words come snarling out of her mouth Wally sits up straight, now positively maroon and not seeming to notice that her sheets have slipped off him completely. "Shut up." He hisses, seething. "Shut up."

She's never once seen him look this angry before, but she can't stop herself; feeling disgusting and bitter she keeps speaking, no longer shouting but instead addressing him in a low, cutting tone. "... What?" She sneers, careful to look only at his eyes as he seems to shrink before her, vulnerable and naked. "That's what you do, isn't it? You can't calm down and suddenly it's my responsibility, whether I like it or not—"

He winces, face peeling into a scowl. "... I'm sorry." He mutters after a moment, dropping her gaze and covering himself hastily. "I didn't meant to... I just don't know what it is about you, it's like you're a—"

"Lightening Rod?" She finishes for him, feeling cruel as she says it. The word still feels strange on her tongue.

She can tell he's not expecting her to know the term; at once something on his face breaks, brows pursing as anger slips into confusion. When he speaks again the words are measured, calculated, his scientist eyes scrutinizing and seeing through her before she can figure out what she's supposed to be covering up. "… How do you know what that is?" He says after a moment, the words slow and too careful.

She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter." She hisses, not wanting to look at him; her eyes automatically find the old cup of tea from the last night, still empty. "I don't care what it's supposed to mean, or what you think I'm supposed to be for you, okay? You need to talk to someone about this." She growls, dropping her jaw severely when he shakes his head. "I'm serious, Wally. Me being the only person who can calm you down when you're going ballistic isn't a good thing, okay? What if—what if something happens? What if I'm not around to keep you from ripping the Cave apart—"

"You planning on going somewhere?" He cuts her off, scowling.

"Maybe."

It's a cryptic and empty threat, more said to annoy him than anything else; she feels some sort of twisted satisfaction in her stomach when he glares at her, apple eyes now little more than slits. "... So what?" He bursts out after a moment. "Last night happens and— and that's it? You're still done with me?"

She opens her mouth to say something cutting back but doesn't get the chance, Wally speaking over her off before the air is even in her lungs. "Don't lie to me, okay?" He snaps, as if knowing she's about to be vague again. "Just for once tell me what the hell you want me to do."

She nearly seizes a book from her desk for the sole purpose of beating him with it, knuckles flexing as she crosses her arms again. "I want you to date Linda." She spits at him, not meaning it.

Wally blushes again, now practically radiating anger from his side of her bed. "... That's what you want?"

(And it's a challenge like everything else between them— another game of who needs the other more. And this time she won't be the one to cave, won't be the one to seek comfort in him the second the world goes dark. She's never going to be the weak one again, never again—)

They stare each other down for several seconds, unblinking; when she finally nods she can practically feeling her heart snapping inside her chest, pieces of it floating in the bile rising in her back of her throat. "I'm getting breakfast." She tells him instead of a real answer, turning her back on him and stomping towards the door. "When I get back you're not going to be here."

It no longer feels as if anything's even happened between them, as if the touching and kissing from last night meant nothing; when he glares at her there's an intense kind of hatred on his face, muscles taught and snarling. "Fine."

"Fine."

---

She slams her bedroom door shut behind her, the sound too loud and clanging in the silence of the hallway. Her feet fumble on the tile, switching directions multiple times and working in a furious little circle in front of her door. The thought of breakfast seems to boil out of her as she paces aimlessly for a few moments, the acid in her stomach bubbling and fizzing inside her— she can't eat. She needs to move, to run, to feel something pounding through her other than the frustrating swirl of anger and other less easily named emotions Wally's stirred inside her. She needs to get out of the Cave, where she can breath again; she needs to get back in there and keep yelling at him, to keep screaming until they both finally get the message— It's over, it's over—

She turns back to her door too quickly, ankle twisting and sending a sharp twang of pain and common sense through her; for a long moment she stands there, breasts heaving with angry breaths and hand inches from her own door, about to ram it open and throw herself back into the fray.

... No. She knows better. Going back into her room with Wally will only make things worse. More complicated.

With a hiss she spins away, forcing her heels to pound too hard into the tile as she stomps down the hall. She needs to think things through for once, needs to not be lulled into action by her emotions or fears or Wally. She needs to find a way to get all her feelings to stop fizzing so close to her surface— she never used to be like this, never used to be so—

("Can I just... Touch you?" Wally whispers, breath hot on her skin. "... Please?")

... She can still feel his hands on her, the marks he's left on her skin. She needs a shower.

She feels almost blind as she stumbles into the training room, tracing through back hallways and closed doors until she finds her way into the Team's locker room. The previous evening keeps slapping back to her in strange flashes, some so hazy she could be drunk, others almost sharper than her own reality— nails breaking skin and stubble dragging between her breasts, Wally's hips between her thighs...

It was a mistake, but he was the one who kept pushing for it to happen. He was the one who came to her bedroom, her broke her down with his vulnerability, who kept moving closer...

... But she was the one who went to find him in the first place. She was the one who had been selfish enough to want him to remember what they meant to each other.

She slams the shower stall shut behind her, fumbling with shaking hands to attend to the lock. But she hadn't wanted him to think they were getting back together; sure, she had been jealous of Linda, but— but that hadn't meant she was ready to start things again. Besides, Wally should have known better. Sex doesn't mean love, and last night hadn't meant anything—

But it had. She had meant to remind him that he needed her.

Selfish.

Ignoring the low throbbing of a headache at her temples she cranks the water as hot as it can go; God, she's made a mess of things, as always. Why can't the two of them just leave each other alone? Why can't she just accept that he doesn't need her? Why can't he stop seeing her as a source of comfort, when pretty much all she's done since she met him is screw up his life in one way or another—

She gasps, hands freezing as she makes to remove her shirt; she's been removing her clothes almost violently, the muscles coating her ribs seeming to spasm beneath her skin as she hisses out a low moan of pain, nearly doubling over and one palm slapping to the injury as if hoping to contain some of the hurt. "God." She hears herself wheeze under her breath, shifting her fingers to examine the purple bruise blossoming there, two ugly lines of yellow visible and marking the edges of the counter.

Fuck.

When she gets the courage to try undressing again it's better, the quick jolt of pain turning into something lower, more aching than sharp. Nothing broken, she's sure. Most likely she'll be stiff for the next few days. She supposes Wally could have hurt her much worse.

... But it wasn't Wally who hurt her, she knows that. Regardless of how much she may hate him right now she knows him, knows his gentleness, his smoothed edges. It was that... Whatever it is. That thing that inhabits his body on darkened nights, the that ignites his bones and turns him into a wreck of snarling teeth and waxy limbs. It isn't her Wally—

She stops the thought short, hating that it even entered her mind. Ignoring the pain in her ribs she plunges forwards into the hot water, skin screaming.

(He's not the boy she fell in love with anymore, and she's supposed to be learning to be okay with that.)

---

It takes a few minutes beneath the boiling hot water to get a clear head, her emotions refolding and disappearing into the compartments she keeps them in. She can feel herself slipping into old, oddly methodological rhythms, the same snarling whisperings at the back of her mind that got her through the first few weeks of Wally's absence beginning to speak again. Shampoo your hair, Artemis. Doll out too much conditioner, Artemis. Scrub the feeling of his lips from your skin, Artemis. By the time she emerges from the shower stall the air in the locker room is teeming with steam and the skin between her legs is raw and red from her attempts to erase the previous evening from her body.

She stands there, towel clad, for too long; she knows she should redress, should continue on with the wreck of her day. She wants nothing more than to return to the safety of her bedroom, which she's realizing is no longer a safe place at all; more than anything she wants to hide somewhere and never have to deal with the repercussions of what happened between her and Wally, doesn't want to have to think about what it means—

"Artemis?"

She jumps when she hears her name being called outside the locker room, her towel slipping between her fingers; ignoring the way her ribs scream out in protest she scrambles for clothes, nearly crying out in pain as she dresses. "Artemis, I—" Tula stops short about the locker room entrance, eyes lingering on her for a moment as she finishes slipping the clean fabric of her gym shirt over her head. "Apologies. I did not mean to intrude."

"You're not." She mutters as she finishes with the waistband of her gym shorts, turning back to the locker to hide her wincing. "Did you need me for something?"

She makes to throw her dirty clothes into the hamper and winces when she's met with a stab of pain; she's very aware of the other girl's eyes on her as she struggles to hide the rigidness of her movements, the way her brows furrow when her arms instinctively cross, trying to contain the aching in her sides. "Yes, Kaldur'ahm sent me to—" Something must show on her face when she turns back to look at her because at once Tula's expression is sharpening, a strange mixture or curiosity and concern. "... Are you well, Artemis?"

She knows the other girl is simply being polite but the question annoys her. "I'm fine." She mutters between her teeth, hesitating before she decides to lie. "Just stiff from training last night."

For some reason Tula pauses, lips rolling before she looks her square in the eye for several seconds too long. "I see." A beat. "... You were up late training with Wally?"

It's her turn to go quiet, her chin dropping as her cheeks blush a furious red. "What makes you think that?" She asks, eyes narrowing.

Perhaps her glare is a bit too ferocious; at once the other girl straightens her spine, the whole of her weight balancing precariously on the tips of her toes for a half second before she seems to gather a bit of nerve. "I did not mean to offend." She says flatly. "Kaldur'ahm sent me to wake you and I caught Wally leaving your room. He mentioned you two had been up late."

It's very hard to not let any sort of emotion show, although she can't stop the sudden surge of crimson crossing her features; at once a small and unbearably smug looking smirk flexes about the other girl's mouth and she's forced to look away in embarrassment. "Yeah, we were up late together." She mumbles, wanting to return to the shower and drown herself because, Oh god, now Tula thinks she's suffering from some sort of sex injury. "... So Kaldur sent you to wake me?" She blurts out, wanting to change the subject.

The other girl continues to look haughty, smirking for a moment as if silently debating whether or not to continue to torturing her; to her relief Tula finally looks away, smiling in an infuriatingly demure way at the way she continues to stand there, at her mercy. "He requested your presence in the briefing room. That is all I know of it."

"Right." She mutters, re-crossing her arms and slouching over them. "I'll be there in a second, okay?"

"Of course." Tula says with an air of superiority, sending her one last lingering look before she rounds back out of the locker room.

---

It takes nearly fives minutes for her to recover from her own embarrassment, hovering about the locker room alcove and replaying her whole conversation with Tula, muttering under her breath the snarky words it's now too late to say; at last she forces herself to follow after the other girl, red in the face and hair still dripping wet.

"What's up, Kal—" She makes to call out when she finally reaches the briefing room, cutting herself short when she realizes they're not alone; already Garfield and M'gann are gathered around the usual disembodied screens, skin seeming greener than usual in the soft glow of the text illuminating the room.

"Morning." M'gann says sweetly above Garfield's squeal of a greeting, politely turning away from where Kaldur and Tula are currently joined at the hip; perhaps she's reading too much into it, given her own dislike of the other girl, but something about the way the Martian clutches nervously about her wrists tells her she's been standing there a while now, struggling to make small talk.

"I—" She starts, coming to a stop and immediately being winded as Garfield throws his arms around her, the swell of his cheek pressing against the tenderness of her ribs in a way that makes it nearly impossible not to wince. "Morning, Gar— Sorry, guys. I didn't think this was a Team thing."

For some reason the corners of Kaldur's mouth quirk up; as if taking a cue from her he reaches towards the disembodied screen, fingers clacking against keys. "It is no worry." He tells her. "I have just been telling M'gann— the League has been in touch with S.T.A.R Labs. They believe they have finally successfully recreated their Electro Magnetic Field tracking device."

Instantly she can feel her back straighten, old memories and trauma picking at her; Garfield must be able to sense the tenseness running through her, his mess of green tinted hair frizzing along her tee shirt as he makes to look up at her. "What—"

She's not aware of her stiffness, nor of the rigidness of her hands as she extracts herself from him; by the time she realizes she's being rude she's already less than a foot from the screen, staring hungrily at the jumble of code and text that means almost nothing to her.

As always M'gann covers for her. "That was the technology that was stolen in Metropolis, Gar."

Even the mention of the city sends the air in the room shifting, the sleepiness of the early morning fading too-quickly; vaguely she registers the sound of Garfield's footsteps crossing the room, catching up with the rest of the group. "That was the technology you and I were researching, was it not?" Tula asks vaguely, brows furrowing at the hardened expression on her face. "In the months after the initial attack. The device that tracked your... Squid, was it?"

Garfield chuckles at the other girl's teasing tone, a small laugh that sounds out of place; before she can say something snapping to correct the her Kaldur is cutting across the conversation. "The EMF device was not intended to track just the squid. It was seeking out any source of EMF surges, including rouge Starro-technology, unauthorized zeta tubes, stray zeta beam radiation... The Team at S.T.A.R Labs has been working tirelessly to recreate the device, after having lost all their original data and research."

"So what does this mean?" She asks, pushing her hair back behind her ears and ignoring the dribble of wetness that lingers down her neck. "If the Light still have the original device that means they're still probably tracking zeta beam radiation."

"It means," Kaldur says smoothly, fingers clambering against keys until a map is pulled up in front of them. "That the League is now prepared to monitor surges in zeta beam radiation with a certain amount of... Caution. We learned during the new year that no amount of zeta-beam radiation is to be ignored, no matter how insignificant. The League now has high priority to track any early indications of EMF weaponization that becomes apparent to them."

The map flickers and changes, zooming in and pinpointing in red what she can only assume is a GPS location. "Which brings me to this morning. Aquaman and the team at S.T.A.R Labs detected low level zeta beam signals at an obscure location in Siberia."

Her eyes narrow and M'gann seems to raise the question for her. "Someone's setting up a zeta tube?"

"It is a possibility." Kaldur nods. "Although a very small one. Most of our technology indicates that levels are much too low for such activity."

She feels her eyes narrowing as her arms cross; out of the corner of her eye she can see Garfield mirroring the gesture. "So the League wants us to go in for a low level reconnaissance mission? Observe and report anything weird around the GPS location?"

He nods; almost instantly she can feel any sense of excitement triggered by the mention of Metropolis fading. She doesn't want to sit still, to be left alone with her thoughts— she wants action, blood pumping, something to distract her from the mess she's left back in her bedroom. "Within a few miles of the GPS location, yes. It is unlikely it will be anything of true significance… But I thought it would perhaps be the ideal time incorporate this S.T.A.R Labs technology into the Bioship for future use. I also thought it the best time to test two new Team members in the field."

It takes her a few seconds to understand what he's saying, her brows shooting up into her forehead. "Two new members?" She repeats.

Any answers she's about to get are cut off by a choking noise from Garfield, who seems to arrive to the proper conclusion moments after she does; when they all glance over at him his green eyes are wide, skin oddly pale. As if heading off an outburst Kaldur turns to him, lips stretched into a familiar and comforting smile. "If you wish to join, that is." He says slowly, almost carefully— the way one prepares to drop an atomic bomb. "You trained with Black Canary the nearly a week ago. She was impressed with you."

"Sorry." She cuts across him, wanting to get a word in before Garfield explodes with excitement. "You said two new members?"

As if he's expecting her less than excited reaction Kaldur adopts a politely cautious smile, deliberately not meeting her gaze and the disapproval there. "Tula's time as a visitor here has ended. She has proven herself as a skilled researcher and a combat sorceress. She will join us as Aquagirl."

She nearly opens her mouth, about to argue before she's cut off by Garfield's howl of delight.

---

Her hair is still too short, uncomfortable beneath her mask; muttering under her breath she continues to examine her reflection on the Bioship's windowed glass, swearing when the bristles of blonde hair refuse to stay contained within the confines of her elastic.

"It will be long enough in a few weeks."

She doesn't jump, instead catching Kaldur's reflection in the glass before he can speak; straightening she makes to turn towards him, the corner of her mouth half-quirking in greeting. "I know." She says moodily, giving the elastic up as a bad job and slipping it onto her wrist. "... I keep thinking I'll get used to it being this short, but..."

She doesn't finish, not sure what she really wants to say— how she still second glances her reflection every time she sees it? How it still feels like someone else's hair has been glued to her scalp? How she can't help but wonder if she left something, some part of her much deeper and important than platinum stained locks up on the rooftop in Athens, how she can feel the empty space that missing piece occupied inside of her, how she's afraid of it, of looking too close, of seeing what she really lost that night—

No, she doesn't say any of these things. She slips into silence, arms crossing and fingers running over the crisp white material of her jacket, feeling a tiny ache of pain when she finds the bulging of tensor bandages attempting to contain the bruising of her ribs. Instead of calling her back Kaldur simply stares at her for a moment, gathering his words; she can sense he wants to say something to her, that there's a reason he chose now, when they're moments away from mission deploy, to seek her out in the quiet of the main cabin.

At last he sighs, looking weary but affectionate as he crosses the room towards her; unlike the rest of them neither Kaldur nor Tula have bothered with specialized or insulated uniforms, simply trading in their usual darkened colors for white and relying on the thickness of Atlantean skin to protect them from the cold. "We are deploying in twenty minutes, Artemis." He says very easily. "If you wish to say anything I suggest you do it now."

Her brows raise, crinkling her mask as she tucks her hair behind her ears. "Who says I want to say anything?" She counters, slipping her goggles over her eyes.

"... We agreed a long time ago to be open books, did we not?"

Despite herself she snorts, a single chuckle of dry laughter sounding before she can stop it. "... I can't think of anything I haven't said before, Kal."

This isn't entirely true, and she suspects he knows it; as she makes to take her usual seat in the Bioship cabin Kaldur's eyes follow her. "Tula is a proven combat sorceress." He says flatly, too reasonable as always. "And she was significant help in earlier missions concerning the loss of EMF technology. She has been living in the Cave for several weeks now, and is privy to our secrets. Surely you do not find it unexpected that she would join the Team."

She doesn't say anything, not wanting to fight; this morning seems to have lasted several days over, her usual patience and fire for this kind of thing dulled by her own exhaustion and the stiffness in her joints. More to distract herself from the increasingly tense silence she makes a show of removing her gloves from her pocket and running a hand once over the material; she's never much liked shooting arrows with gloves on, something about not being able to feel the string against her fingers making her shots less accurate, not as powerful. "... She doesn't know how to work as a part of this Team."

"Neither does Garfield." He counters easily, expression smooth and unreadable as always when she turns in her seat to glance at him. "And neither did you when you first joined the Team. Everyone must start somewhere—"

She accidentally lets out a huffy exhale, the small noise of snark cutting him off. It's not really a fight, more of a disagreement; when she can't think of anything to say beyond the unsaid "whatever" Kaldur sighs. "... You still do not like her."

"I don't like a lot of people."

She's quoting him, although she's not entirely sure if he's aware of it; it seems like so long ago that she had stumbled upon them in the library, a moment of forbidden tenderness she wishes she wasn't privy to. "I had hoped you two would come to see an understanding." He says after a moment, voice for some reason more muted, as if slightly hurt underneath his usual too-smooth tones. "... You were once one of my closest confidants. I feel as if, since Tula..."

She knows exactly what he means; there used to be more moments like this between them, this comforting aloneness and quiet conversation. Kaldur had once been the person she went to for advice, to talk things over with. And now, in the quiet of the Bioship it's becoming more obvious to her than ever— how much she's missed him these last few weeks, how badly she'd needed him and how little he's been there. All at once it's hitting her, a strange mixture of sadness and longing for an old familiarity between them; this person she once could read so easily is talking to her as if they don't know each other, the strange distance between them wider than ever. Since the other girl's arrival it feels as if they've lost part of that.

"... I know." She mumbles, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I just— Why her, Kal?"

It's said badly, the words too blunt and dry; before she can correct herself something in the muscles of Kaldur's back seems to straighten, like a warrior facing down a challenge in the midst of battle. "I do not need to justify the people I love to you, Artemis." He says at once, the words coming out quickly as if he's been thinking them for a while. "It is not your place to—"

"That's not what I meant." She cuts him off, shoving her gloves back into her pockets as she stands. "I— I know she makes you really happy, Kal. And I love that. I love how happy you are. I just— something about her bothers me. She has a history of messing with your judgment and—"

Again it's not the right thing to say, the wrong way to word things; at once Kaldur's jaw drops, cheeks bones jutting and challenging. "You feel she has replaced you."

"What?" Although this is slightly true she still shakes her head, glaring. "No, that's not even—"

"It is not your place to decide what is or what is not right for me." He cuts across her, a dull purple blush creeping up his cheeks. All the weariness, all the affection of a few minutes ago seems to have disappeared, twanging out of the room the moment she accidentally struck a nerve. "And it is not your place to question these decisions I make either. I have never once asked you why you keep returning to Wally, why you are trying to—"

"Wally?" She feels herself blush crimson, temper flaring inside her as she cuts him off. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

"Tula found him in your room this morning." Kaldur spits at her, glaring at her above crossed arms. "You told her you two were up late training together last night."

The last few words are spoken with so much judgment and maliciousness that for a moment she can't believe she's really hearing them come out of his mouth; several furious seconds pass where she just stares at him, disbelieving. "... Wow." She puffs out, shaking her head. "You know what? I don't need that kind of tone from someone who spent months sleeping with his best friend's girlfriend. At least what Wally and I did didn't hurt anyone."

"That is debatable."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Before he can answer there's the sound of footsteps against the metallic floor of the Bioship; wanting to hide from whatever is coming she turns back to her seat, silently fuming. "The Bioship just finished with the S.T.A.R Labs tech, incorporation was successful." M'gann says to the room at large.

There's a tense half second where the Martian's feet slow, no doubt tasting the energy in the room; keeping her eyes fixed firmly on her own lap she listens as Kaldur sighs, turning to her. "Excellent. Thank you M'gann."

There's more quiet, this time accompanied with the sensation of eyes boring into her back; she's sure the other girl can sense that they've just been arguing. "Tula just told me the alias she's thought of. Aquagirl. It's nice that it matches with yours." Despite herself she lets out a snort, crossing her arms when M'gann pauses for a moment as if waiting for her to say something. "... Garfield thought of one too, Artemis. Beast Boy. He said you gave him the idea in one of your training sessions."

She knows what the other girl is doing; reminding them, without explicitly saying it, of what they're here to do. She has to keep it together for Garfield. "... Great." She mutters vaguely, doing her best to draw in breaths evenly through her nose.

---

"Link Established." M'gann's voice echoes in the back of her mind, the familiar creeping sensation sounding along the back of her neck signaling the others' presence there as well.

Missions like these always start the same; the same movements, the same planning. As she clips her line to her belt she watches out of the corner of her eye as M'gann waves a hand, the movement unfurling and opening in the Bioships' floor. "Excellent." Kaldur sounds out, voice low and smooth but still sending a squirm of annoyance through her; forcing the emotion away she does her best to leave the feelings between them unacknowledged, especially given that it's so easy for the others to sense them at this moment. "Artemis and Beast Boy, you will be deployed a Point A. Aquagirl and I at Point B. Miss Martian will land the Bioship and then rendezvous at the halfway point."

She can hear everyone mumbling things back or nodding; not even looking at him she double checks her line. "Fine."

"Then go."

She doesn't even look back, instead she steps forward and allows the steady metal of the ship to slip out beneath her, the air around them crashing into her in a wall of nothingness. There's a moment of exhilaration, as there always is; she's never much been afraid of heights, or falling— she knows enough of the world to understand that there are far worse ways to die. Her line unfurls above her as the Siberian horizon engulfs her, a mess of chilly northern air and snow covered trees, still icy and cold despite the fact that it's August.

It takes Garfield some time to come after her— the first time jumping out of the Bioship takes some nerve, she remembers this well. When she looks up, seconds away from yelling after him impatiently she's greeted by a loud squelching noise, as if he leapt first and transformed later. After a moment she hears the piercing cry of an eagle, the fluttering of green coated wings rustling around her.

He lands in the snow first, a loud squelching sound telling her he's returned to human form. "So, what's the plan?" He asks, hardly allowing her a second to unclip herself.

She doesn't answer at first, instead glancing over both shoulders to take in their immediate drop zone; there's in a forest of some sort, filled with dense trees and low underbrush that catches on the fabric of her winter gear. But there's no one around, she supposes, and that's better than hoped for. "Like Aqualad said." She reminds him, twisting her wrist until her bow snaps together. "We're looking for anything unusual. The tech in the Bioship can only get us within a couple miles of whatever we're supposed to be looking for, we're just doing a sweep to see if anything suspicious jumps out at us."

"Suspicious?" Garfield repeats, looking uneasy at the way she pulls an arrow and sets it against the notch in her finger defensively.

He's nervous, she's sure he is; distantly she can remember her own uneasiness on her first mission, the eagerness to please double-edged with her own insecurity. The memory feels so old, so ancient, that for a moment it feels almost alien to realize that she's only been on he Team for about a year— God, only a year? "It's hide and seek, Gar." She tells him, her smile no doubt looking bug eyed and distorted through her goggles. "Just look for anything out of place."

It takes time, weeding through the underbrush and the snow covered ice; she doesn't know where they are, somewhere far north of any sort of town or urban centre, any hope of roads or paths dwindling almost as quickly as the snow begins to seep into her boots. The forest around them seems unending, a limitless number of miles of evergreens and tree trunks.

(It's quiet, but not in a good way— picking her way through the forest keeps her body occupied but does nothing for her mind. She can sense her thoughts swirling between arguments, between Kaldur and Wally, between her own anger and annoyance and other feelings she doesn't want to examine.

... Her body feels like a battle ground, her mind like a mine field; every now and then she missteps and sends a jolt of pain through her limbs, or picks at the thought that feels like poison in her head. She wishes more than once to escape from her bones and disappear into the Siberian sunshine glinting off the snow.)

An hour nearly passes and before the sun begins to set on the frozen tundra, casting strange shadows and reflections through the frost covered branches around them. Here and there she can hear the scampering of animals in the forest, the beginning hours of wakefulness for small creatures and other, more sinister ones. "You doing okay?" She calls out in the beginnings of half light, glancing around vaguely until she spots Garfield, several yards ahead and to her right, morphed into some sort of caribou. "We're getting close to the rendezvous point."

The green colored caribou looks at her, neck tossing its overweight antlers for a moment. "I'm good." A pause, in which the animal glances away, ears flexing. "Do you hear that?"

"No." She says automatically, pauses in her walking after a moment and listening hard. The chattering of animals, the dull thud of snow slipping off tree branches. Wind, somewhere close by, trapped in a dip on the tundra— some sort of valley perhaps... "What am I supposed to be listening for?"

The caribou's antlers sway for a moment, surveying the area around them the same way she did when they first landed. "I don't know. Like... Vibrating. And water. Running water. They're close... Sounds like I'm hearing it through ice though."

This strikes her as strange; leaving the small path she's carved herself out of snow she takes care to trudge through the under brush towards him, frowning. "I can't hear anything."

"You might not be able to." Garfield says suddenly, pausing as she weaves around him through the brush, her hands catching on the edge of his antler for balance as she crosses in front of him, ears straining. "I mean, maybe it's like, an animal thing or—"

Her boots catch on ice and she cries out, toppling down an unseen edge in the valley; it's as if she's slipped through a crack in the woods itself, her weight crashing hard onto the quiver on her back as she's sent sliding into a sharp dip in the woods, only stopping when she slams into a hard block of ice. She swears, a loud curse ringing around the tiny cavern she's slide into, her ribs aching as she tries to right herself. There's the sound of hooves over head, a thundering of sound that knocks snow down from above and onto her head.

The unpleasant squelching noise sounds out and at once Garfield is leaning over the edge, looking frantic as he calls her name. "Artemis!" He shouts, his voice echoing around the crevice she's landed in, rattling the ice coated walls.

"I'm okay." She hushes him, but it's too late; she can tell the others cans sense Garfield's panic, his fear, a flurry of voices ringing around in her head so quickly it's impossible to think. "I'm fine, I'm—" She exhales, struggling up to her feet. "I'm fine, guys, just slipped into some sort of—"

She's not exactly sure what is is; some sort of narrow valley, an iced-in cave, a brief dip between two imposing edges of forest. She can hear it now, the water Garfield was talking about— in the ice underneath her feet she can hear it running, trickling far down underneath its frozen surface, hardly thawed anymore.

... But there's something not quite right about this place; for the first time since their arrival the heat of her breath seems to hang in the air, more frozen and misty than before. It's cold, unnaturally cold, with some sort of strange metallic scent in the air, like rusted metal... She does a double take, circling around the few feet of space she has as Garfield babbles above her, still worried.

Something unusual. Something that doesn't look right.

(Hide and seek.)

It's hard to see, frozen beneath the ice; the metal has been out in the elements so long it's been washed a stony sort of grey, no longer gleaming and pristine. It could almost be a warbled edge of the hillside, nearly impossible to notice— save for the obvious bolts marking a door hinge.

Garfield is still talking to her, his words sounding oddly jumbled as she reaches out, gloved fingers straying once over the jagged patterns of frost glistening against the door. "Beast Boy." She calls, the words feeling strange on her tongue as her hand finds an edge, finger tips working their way between the frozen earth and metal; at her touch the door vibrates, an angry pulsing that feels unfriendly against her skin before it suddenly dies. "... Get down here."

---

The door opens and just like that the game changes; all at once she's very aware of the fact that they are no longer children playing hide and seek, but rather soldiers entering unknown territory. If Garfield notices the change he doesn't mention it, instead watching with weary eyes as she adjusts her arrow against her finger, moving onwards.

They've found the hidden entrance to some sort of building; on the other side of the door is little more than a roughly hewn cement floor and cold metallic walls. The place reeks of abandonment, like a warehouse that was once useful and proved in recent years to more trouble than it was worth. As they cross the threshold they're met with the strong scent of lingering bleach, hardly hidden beneath the sterility of the intense cold that seems to be radiating off the walls.

Her breath fogs in front of her face, the flickering lights above hardly illuminating the way ahead and instead casting strange reflections off the lens of her goggles.

"... Artemis?"

Garfield looks small when she glances at him, his excitement dulled for the first time by fear. Vividly she recognizes the mark of someone realizing they are no longer allowed the luxury of being a child.

(She thinks of Marie's dead body floating beneath the waterfall and wishes there was a better way to protect her son from the life he now has no choice but to live.)

She looks away. "Don't be scared." She tells him; rather than be comforting the words come out forced, warbled by guilt and old memories. "I'm here."

---

"You are to maintain covert operations at all times." Kaldur sounds in her head, voice far more stern than she's heard from him thus far; beside her the evergreen fox seems to even out its pacing, as if wary of the almost silent tapping of its claws against the cement floor. "I've sent Miss Martian ahead, she will catch up to you and bring up the rear. Aquagirl and I believe the entrance to the bunker is within two miles, we will attempt to infiltrate and ensure an exit point."

Despite herself she looks back; the frost coated door they first came through is still within sight, unguarded and as unnerving as ever. It seems to stare at her for a long moment, reminding her that it isn't too late to turn around. Tightening her grip on her bow string she presses herself closer to the cement walls, exhaling so hard she can see her breath puff up in front of her face for a moment, hiding any fear that may be lingering in her expression. "I know the drill, Kal." She catches herself thinking with a certain amount of snark, immediately backtracking when the words are met with silence. "Observe and report. Got it."

Because they don't have an option, do they— it's the five of them, two of them untrained. It would be suicide to do anything other than remain covert, not with what might be a whole warehouse full of mercenaries, of the Light...

Or nothing. It could always be nothing.

The hallway they've been lurking down remains darkened and empty— no cameras, no goons. The complete lack of obstacles seems almost strange to her, more a bad sign than anything, especially when they come to a corner: a cross-section of matching grey doors and walls and floors that are void of almost any meaning that would otherwise explain what this place is. "Stay close." She instructs Garfield, turning blindly around a corner simply for the sake of moving. "We don't know what might—"

She cuts herself off with a gasp, nearly dropping her bow in surprise; before she can finish the words the very building around them seems to rumble, the vibrating that first sounded off the door now crashing into them so violently she feels as if her very bones are about to shake out of her skin. The walls around them seems to rattled around echoes of the movement, the cement flooring threatening to crack open, as if an earthquake is smacking beneath the building, encompassing it, threatening to collapse the structure in on them—

It happens quickly and then stops; she can feel a deadly surge of adrenaline bursting through her, her breaths coming in fast. "Aqualad, something isn't—"

Again she stops short, ears picking up on noise in the distance; it's sharp, piercing, like the shattering of glass—someone is shattering windows, or cracking ice, or running their nails along a chalk board. Beside her Garfield's tiny fox ears flatten back against his head, a yowling sort of noise ripping out of his throat before he can quiet it. "There's something going on in here." She finally gets out, raising her bow and aiming into the unknowable darkness further along the hallway. "This isn't just an empty warehouse."

The silence engulfs them, suddenly so loud it hurts her ear drums; the shattering noise, though far off, has left a strange and painful ringing in her ears. "Pursue." Kaldur's voice sounds in her head.

Every instinct seems to tell her not to follow the order; for a long moment she stares down the empty hallways, squinting and attempting to see past the flickering lights and into something she can be brave enough to face. As if he can sense her hesitation to take Garfield any further Kaldur speaks again, this time his voice lower, more calming. "We are tracking your GPS location. We will be there soon."

It does little to quail her instinct— but she trusts Kaldur. Despite everything, despite Tula... She grits her teeth, moving forward.

It continues like that for that for too long, the complete lack of obstacles and noise sharpening her senses, the silence seeming to swell to a breaking point before it is shattered by earth-quaking vibrations and the screeching of glass being broken; for nearly ten minutes they skirt around hallways, openings doorways into empty warehouse rooms and climbing staircases that lead to nowhere, each time having to pause as the vibrations and noises grow louder, increasing in sound and impact on their bodies.

This place feels wrong to her, like an old nightmare; underneath the flickering lights she can feel herself breaking out in a cold sweat, buried memories of past trauma rising up in her throat, clinging to the back of her tongue like vomit. Before long she can feel a blister threatening to pop along her forefinger, her grip on her bow string painfully tight, individual muscles in her back jumping at the sound of her own boots against the floor, of the tiny claws of the artic fox beside her as they clatter against the cement floor. She's waiting for something, for someone, for—

... For one of her father's stupid tests...?

"Something's wrong." She blurts out at last, beginning to grow more anxious the deeper they wander into the frozen warehouse; there's something not quite right about it's emptiness, about the emptiness and violent outbursts of noise. "My gut is telling me we should leave. Whatever's tripped the zeta beam reader isn't here."

Garfield, still foxlike, pauses beside her, shivering as the snow caked along his paws begins to melt into his fur. "We haven't covered the whole perimeter yet. Maybe we should split up and—"

"You are not to separate." Kaldur cuts across both their minds. "Maintain coordinates. Tula and I are attempting to locate your nearest exit, we will regroup and discuss our next move."

She doesn't like the idea of staying still; there's something eerie about this place, about it's sterile scent and fluorescent lights. She can't shake the feeling that she's been here before, has connections to this place.

She opens her mouth to argue, the words sharp on her tongue for a long moment before she sighs; she doesn't know how to put this feeling into words, how to vocalize the eeriness of the halls or the nervous sweat clinging to the middle of her back. Screwing her eyes shut for a moment she forces different words, more rational ones, to sound out inside her head instead. "No go. We need to get out now." She counters, already waving for Garfield to follow her as she turns on her heel, retracing the path they've already marked. "Something isn't right. This feels like a trap."

"Artemis—"

She can sense another battle between them but neither of them have time to finish the argument; before Kaldur can even complete the thought she's no longer listening, the mind-link being cut off by by low rumbling noise, the gritting cement of the floors vibrating so loudly that it makes her toes curl inside her boots. "I told you." She snarls inside her own head, no longer bothering to hide the anxiousness, the misplaced fear and allowing it to slip to the front of her mind. "We need to get out—"

She cuts her thoughts off with a grunt, her arrow slipping between her fingers as she slaps her gloved palms to her ears. The shattering noise begins piercing the silence again; it's sharper now, and closer, now so loud she can feel blood threatening to burst out between her fingers, as if a thousand shrill pieces of glass were splitting inside her ear drums. "There's something here. I—"

The piercing reaches a near wailing point, so loud she actually cries out with pain; she can feel blood threatening to burst out of her ears, the noise wailing and raising all the hair on her arms. She can't think anymore, her eyes screwed up and unseeing as her boot knocks into her fallen arrow, sending it skidding across the floor and out of sight. It feels as if the shrieking of the noise is cutting through her, ripping off parts of her body; at her feet Garfield lets out a tortured sounding whine, ears flexing back on his head and tail quivering between his legs—

"Locked on your coordinates—"

Even though he's inside her head she can hardly hear Kaldur above the shrill shattering noise; it's closer now, so loud it feels as if the sound if going to drill out the backs of her eyes, feels as if it's going to burst out of her and leave her a mess of shattered bones and bloody muscles. In a second the sound stops, leaving her ears ringing and her pupils blinking away black spots; beside her she registers the familiar squelching as Garfield returns back to his human form, tiny hands clasped over his ears and expression screwed up in pain.

The silence in dizzying, a thousand times louder after the impact of the shattering sound on her body; she can hear the very blood in her veins as it pumps through the ventricles of her heart, the air in her lungs too cold, too dry. As she fumbles for another arrow she does her best to stay upright, alert, fingers shaking as she struggles to pull her string taught.

(She can't stay in here anymore. Something happened in here, something her instinct is still afraid of—)

Garfield remains still, curled on the cement floor; for a long moment he keeps his head tucked between his knees, as if trying to ward off the nausea she's sure he's being hit with too. Forcing herself to move she adjusts her position until she's less than a foot in front of him, keeping him pinned to the safety of the wall. "You need to keep it together, Gar." She says not unkindly, voice breaking as she struggles to set her muscles into a defensive position; the words are just as much a reminder to him as they are to her. "You need to have my back, okay?"

When he lifts his head she can tell it's hit him, the same way it's hit everyone on the Team during their first mission; what they do isn't fun. It isn't the way the newspapers make it look. It's harrowing, unpleasant, gritty—

"Can't you hear it?" He whispers, looking truly small for the first time in a while. "The voices?"

"What?"

She's not looking but she can hear him swallow, the bile coating his throat sticking for a moment before it goes down. "We aren't alone in here. There are people— down that hall." A strange pause. "Maybe they know what's making the noise."

She hesitates, glancing back at him for a long moment; his eyes seem almost bugged, skin sweating despite the cold— for one long second he looks so starkly like Wally the night of the lightning storm that she feels her stomach twist, a whole different wave of fear running through her.

("And if it hits too close, it's like I can feel it... Inside of me...")

And something inside her, whatever the noise didn't shatter, breaks too— this is wrong. This plan her and Kaldur hatched together: to save Garfield, to save M'gann. To force a little boy to become a soldier before his tenth birthday, to send him out into the ferocity of battle before he's even close to being a man. It's wrong; wrong to see a face so young look as gaunt and terrified as it does now, wrong to make him listen to the imaginary snarled whisperings of voices.

(She's taken something from him, the same thing her father took from her. And at the end of the day she's no better than Lawrence, is she?)

"... I don't hear anything." She whispers, the words quiet and meaningless.

"But—"

"It doesn't matter, Gar. We're not leaving this spot." She says after a moment, setting her muscles and maintaining her guard around him; she wants to get him out of here as badly as she wants to leave herself, wants to take get the both of them back to the safety of the Cave— more than anything she wants to find some way to make good to her silent bargain with Marie, wants to find a way to fix the damage she's already done. "Aquadlad said not to move."

"But just a minute ago you said—"

"Doesn't matter." She repeats, voice stern. "I can disagree with him all I want, but on a mission—"

She cuts herself off without meaning to, ears still sensitive and catching the familiar voice before her mind can full process what it means; the words slipping out of her mouth stumble, caught on her tongue and old memories as her head snaps towards the sound.

"... How much longer is this going to take?" The Cheshire Cat drawls out, voice echoing and hardly a whisper as it carries down the sterile hallway towards them.

And she knows everyone can feel it: the surge of adrenaline and fear and raw emotion as it spikes up the back of her mouth like vomit; without realizing it she lowers her bow, heart pounding loudly inside her ears.

"Artemis?" Garfield says weakly, raising his head from between his knees when she charges forward, the toes of her boots catching on the cement floor. "Artemis!"

She doesn't tell him to stay, doesn't even look back; the Cheshire Cat calls out to her and just like Alice she always follows.

---

She's blind, unthinking, peeling around corners and oblivious to the fear blossoming quickly in the pit of her stomach; instead of listening to the instinct building inside her insisting she turn around she races onwards, stride light and heart hammering as she listens as hard as she can, struggling to hear Jade's voice again.

The Team is still howling inside her head, asking what's happened. They never understood, none of them did— they don't know what it's like to watch someone leave, to watch them look at you and decide you're not worth sticking around for. And they'll never get it, and maybe she won't either— why she can't resist running back to her sister, back to the Cheshire Cat that always, always comes back—

She throws open a doorway and hesitates at the sight of hardly lit metal stairs; beyond it she can hear more people talking, the low hum of quiet conversation and the illumination of proper lighting. "I told you." Someone else drawls out, a voice she doesn't recognize—it's lower, more lolling, an edge of coolness to it that seems to singe between the vocal chords, the kind of tone that instinctively sends a shiver of discomfort through her shoulders. "This thing has been trapped in there for who knows how long. If you directly shatter the ice you risk destroying the artifact itself."

"Better pieces than no artifact at all."

An artifact. At her sister's words she starts moving, feel rolling in her boots and she creeps forward. "You and your Shadows can relax, Babe. Just let me reinforce the ice where it's needed and drill where I tell you to."

Instinctively she crouches as she reaches the top of the stairs, eyes hardly peeking over the top step as she places her weight awkwardly on her elbows, still trying to maintain a defensive grip on her arrow. Wherever she's come up has placed her up high, up a floor or two from the level she was on before; she's come out on some sort of balcony, the top of some a hanger, her view of whatever's happening below obscured by a waist high cement wall, her gaze only able to mark the top of something nearly brushing the ceiling— glass, maybe, or ice—

She's breathing too much, her lips automatically sealing as a frantic puff of her own breath fogs in front of her face; she's well hidden in the safety of the stairwell, but nowhere near in a position to act, to— to what? To see Jade? To talk to her? To rescue her?

(Why is she still running after her?)

She can hear wind on open plain again, can smell fresh air; she's must be in some sort of garage, a hanger that leaves this part of the warehouse exposed to the elements. There's a strange clicking noise, like the metallic end of something behind swapped out for another part; there are other voices, quieter ones, a low hum of indistinct chatter that tells her there's people down there, far more than just Jade and her partner. "... Your Daddy tell you why there was such a rush?"

Sportsmaster. Of course he's involved— feeling her expression sink into a scowl she slinks forward, glancing over each shoulder as she moves towards the cement barrier and listening hard. There's a moment of more clicking, like a drill bit spinning and setting into place. "I was under the impression that your father would be willing to do a favor for an old friend. No questions asked."

"Artemis, you are to return to the rendezvous point. That's an order."

"Cheshire's here." She thinks as loudly as she can, feeling her heart beginning to pick up inside her ribs as she crouches there, listening hard. "She's here with someone and they're talking about arteiacts, Kal—"

"You and Beast Boy are to return to—"

"Beast Boy?" She cut across him. "He should be at the rendezvous point. That's where I left him—"

"—My father is willing to do favors to The Light, and whichever stooges they happen to employ that week to do their dirty work." The unknown voice drawls out, somehow colder than before. "And while he might not bother with questions, I do. I'm not as fond of Belle Reve as he is."

"Artemis—"

She ignores Kaldur, ignores the other voices now clanging inside her mind; forcing herself to focus she hardly dares to breathe as she raises her head, trying to remain as still as possible as she peers over the concrete railing.

She's been right all along, this place is some sort of warehouse— and she's on the upper level of what could only be a docking bay of some sort. And she can hear it— water, just as Garfield said; she can't see far beyond the massive opening of the hanger but she's sure it leads to open tundra... Maybe this place opens out onto some sort of frozen lake? Except there's nothing here to suggest the presence of naval equipment; like every other nook and cranny of the building the places seems oddly empty: no crates, no vehicles, no evidence of people inhabiting the place—

Well, save for the dozen or odd Shadows swarming below.

No, more than that; in the second or two she tries to count the black-clad figures she's sure there's more than fifteen, maybe twenty of them, crowding about the hanger floor— as she watches several of them fiddle with the metallic pieces of some sort of drill, assembling it or swapping out a part that's been dulled. So this is where every armed guard has been swept off to, the place they all honed in on, because— because of that.

She can see it properly now; the thick and nearly two story high shard of ice glinting at the far end of the warehouse, so tall and so purely frozen it stands glass-like, towering and nearly brushing the roof. Even from here it seems to glint at her, menacing, the top of it jagged and level with her eyes even from this high up. And there, at its feet—

Without thinking she lets out a low and snarling breath, ducking down behind the low cement wall before the white cloud billowing out of her mouth reveals her. Cheshire. Her sister.

Jade.

For a second she forgets where she is, forgets what she's supposed to be doing; without wanting to the image of her seems to be burnt onto the back of her eyelids, staining them every time she blinks. Jade, Cheshire, her sister— standing there, snarled black hair stark against the white of the snow, dull against the glimmer ice. The unfamiliarity of her uniform: the hunter green swapped out for white, exposed skin coated in protective black layers that no doubt reflect back the heat. And of course the sneering expression of the Cheshire Cat mask, mocking her.

She doesn't want to look again but like an addict she does, raising her chin to peer once more above the frozen concrete barrier. Against the mass of solid black Jade sticks out, tall and unruffled as ever as she surveys her partner through the holes in her mask. "Now, now, Junior." Cheshire finally says, her mask glinting mischievously. "What happened to Father Knows Best? You and Icicle not as close as you used to be?"

Even from here the tone unnerves her, a mixture of teasing and terrifying. Her partner— Icicle Junior, she supposes— seems to stiffen, looking uneasy as Jade advances on him, her steps deliberately slow and mocking.

For the first time she turns her attention to him— this... Junior. There's something familiar about him, striking in a way that seems to ring distantly in the back of her mind, not quite clinging to a memory. He's dressed oddly; while everyone else seems to have taken steps to protect their skin from the elements he's chosen to go barefoot, arms exposed, the skin coating his bones so pale and unearthly translucent that he's nearly blue, his wiry frame bloodless and stiff as Jade stops less than a foot in front of him.

His throat seems to bob as he swallows, the platinum hair on his head hardly shifting as he drops his jaw, no doubt trying to see the eyes behind the Cheshire mask the same way she has a thousand times over. "My old man and I are fine." He says in a slightly gruff voice, gaze falling to her sister's belt as her thumb skims the blade of a sai. "What about you, anyway? I wouldn't have pegged you for a daddy's girl. Not after all the crap he put you through." It takes too long for him to look away from her weapon.

However trivial it might seem this lingering glance reads more into his own fear than anything else; she can sense the way Jade's mouth stretches into a grin at the moment of weakness, her feet beginning to carve a slow and threatening circle around the place where Junior is still standing, frozen. "It's not your job to peg me for anything." Cheshire sneers. "Your father came to The Shadows to dispose of the artifact he was too cowardly to turn over to The Light himself. And he told you to wait in his dingy old warehouse and help me retrieve it from the hunk of ice he froze it in while trying to hide it from the idiots at S.T.A.R Labs all those months ago."

She sure her sister can sense the way every eye is drawn to her, the way even those Shadows fiddling with the drill parts have suddenly stilled in their work, observing the interaction closely; even Icicle Junior, for his part, seems to be quailed into silence, his back stiff and unmoving as Jade digs a long nailed hand into his shoulder, cutting into his skin. "But now The Light knows your Daddy tried to hide this from them, don't they? And I'm betting soon enough the Justice League will be after him too." Her sister muses, releasing him and coming around in front of him again. "He doesn't need any more problems now, does he?"

"Is that a threat?" Junior cuts across her, fists flexing.

"It's a fact." Jade drawls back, the Cheshire Cat mask cocking mischievously at him. "Let's face it, Junior. With your Daddy's loyalty being questioned as much as it is, and with the League sniffing around where they're not wanted... I'd say your only job right now is to help me dispose of your father's last mistake. Before you and Daddy Dearest both end up somewhere a lot more... Unpleasant than Belle Reve Penitentiary."

There's a lot more to that vague threat than Jade's letting on, and she's sure the unknown Junior can sense it too; whatever The Shadows, whatever the Light are threatening him and his father with as the price for the concealment of an artifact... She's sure it's deadly. For a long moment the unknown Junior glares at her sister, muscles stiff and jaw taught. "Well?" Cheshire sniffs after a moment, turning her back on him and yanking a pair of thick black ear coverings around her head. "Get to work."

There's a moment, an unexpected one, where she nearly cries out in warning; Icicle Junior seems to harden for a moment as he yanks his own ear protectors on, fuming silently before letting out an inhuman shriek. Almost instinctively her fingers flex, nearly raising her bow to fire in her sister's defense— then at once the air in the room seems to freeze, ice itself beginning to blossom in great shards about his shoulders, his forearms, his hands—

And she's not ready for it, the sound slamming against her ear drums so hard she nearly cries out; the ice shoots out of his palms and clatters against the giant slinter of ice, the impact of frozen on frozen seeming to echo and break in the air. Ducking down behind the wall again she winces, her eyes screwing up against the force of the noise—

—Whatever that thing is encased in, it's not normal ice—

And before she can even brace herself, before her ears can even stop ringing from the loudness of the noise the vibrating starts— it's drilling now, she's sure, the sound of jackhammering and chipping and thundering away against layers and layers of ice, against the great mass of frozen holding the precious artifact they're after. The violent shaking is worse, so much worse in here than outside; she feels as if her very limbs are about to shake loose, as if her head is about to vibrate off her shoulders, as if the balcony beneath her is going to crumble away—

And then silence again, painful silence; more mechanical clicking and the panting of breath, as if Junior, the boy made of ice, is exhausted. There's the murmuring of voices, the resetting of the drill, and—

And claws, clicking softly on the cement floor.

She can feel alarm whirring through her head, terror beginning to rise like bile through her throat— raising her head out from behind her hands she spots him as clear as day: the Artic Fox, green as ever and peering above the edge of the top step. "Artemis—"

"Gar, no." She cuts across him, voice far more severe than she's ever spoken to him; pulling herself together she starts moving towards him, shaking her head. "Garfield, back to the rendezvous point. Now."

"But—"

"Now." She snarls at him, rounding the edge of the cement wall and not being careful about the terrifying expression on her face; the longer she looks at it the smaller the little fox seems to become, tail twitching between its legs but nonetheless ignoring her orders, stepping up to meet her.

"You came up here—"

She can feel panic beginning to set in— she can't have Garfield around here, around her sister. "Because I'm fucking crazy, Garfield." She screams inside her own head, swearing at him for the first time; at once the tiny little fox seems to cower before her, frightened. "You need to leave, okay? Rendezvous with the rest of the Team. That girl down there, is— she's not like the rest of the villains you've seen on TV, okay? She's—"

She cuts herself off, groaning as the shattering sound of ice breaking seems to echo a thousand times over in the warehouse, ripping through her panic and making it impossible to think— impossible to tell him how much danger he's in, how important it is that they leave— "She will kill you, Gar." She hisses out, hardly hearing herself over the noise and staring at him, terrified and unblinking through her goggles. "She'll do it because it's easy, and it's fun for her. You need to—"

She's not thinking, too foolish— at once the shattering noise dies and she's not fast enough to stop the words from falling out of her mouth, nearly screamed in her panic. "Leave. Now!"

There's a second, a long one, in which all she can hear is deadened silence and her own heart thundering madly above the ringing in her ears. Then the cement wall cracks as the tip of a sai sinks into it.

---

"Move!" She screeches out, although the warning is unnecessary; the second the sai cracks into the cement Garfield is taking off in the opposite direction, a blur of green and fox fur that's rounded the corner and out of sight before she can so much as stop her boots from slipping. Resetting her arrow against the notch in her finger she takes off at a sprint, careful to keep her head well below the top edge of the cement.

She can hear javelins being thrown, can hear more metal whirring through the air; throwing caution to the wind she straightens, setting on a black Shadow target and releasing an arrow before ducking back down again. She's good, she knows she is, but she can't take on nearly twenty Shadows, some goon, and her sister alone. She can't, she can't—

She can't do this—

She's in the middle of panicking when a whirl of ice shoots out in front of her, stopping her progress along the balcony with a furrow of ice; feeling the tread of her boots slip along the now slick floor she makes to back track, realizing what's about to happen before it does. They're going to try to box her in, to trap her there, she doesn't have a choice—

She ignores the stabbing in her ribs as she hoists herself over the edge of the cement railing, throwing herself over it before she can give it a second thought; for a moment she feels weightless, her body slipping past the second block of ice already shooting where she just was, where she had almost been trapped. Fumbling for her quiver she extracts an explosive tipped arrow, setting it too quickly against her string and firing blindly, the smoke billowing out and enveloping her quarry—

In a split second she braces herself, diving into the blackened smoke with a grunt; it's clumsy, not quite right, and she tumbles forward with the impact, shoulder aching as she rolls through it. People are yelling, voices clattering inside and outside her skull and at once she feels herself slip into something feral, instinctive; feeling her boots skid over the cement flooring she forces herself upwards, not even registering that she's firing arrows at victims until it's too late, the pointed tips cutting through the smog and meeting their mark with a squelch of flesh, the spitting of blood, the stench of warm fluid in the cold air—

She reaches for an arrow but someone beats her to it, seizing her arm and twisting it behind her back; there's a kick to the small of her spine and she feels her shoulder pop in and out of its socket, her arm spasming with pain and ribs searing as she's forced to the ground, another kick splintering her onto her back.

Her hood flops off of her head and the Cheshire Cat sneers down at her, the heel of her boot pinned against her collar bone. "... Long time no see, sis."

---

Her heart seems to stall inside her chest as she looks up at the Cheshire Cat mask, unreadable as always; above her Jade holds a single raised fist, some sort of signal to the dozens of Shadows around her to pause in the attack. She feels her eyes darting violently inside her skull, searching for an exit point, searching for little Garfield, no doubt hidden somewhere above her—frightened, in danger, she needs to keep fighting so he can escape—

"Who the hell is that?" Junior snarls, voice sharper than what she's just heard, as if he's gotten some of his nerve back.

The Cheshire Cat ignores his question, instead bending a the waist to examine her. "Love the hair cut." Jade sneers, shifting her foot towards her throat and pressing it, almost teasingly, near her wind pipe. "Who would have thought Dad was such a gifted hair dresser..."

The last word trails off with a hiss, Jade's foot now nearly crushing her quiver beneath her as she stomps her into the floor, impervious to her fingers as they struggle to pry her boot off of her. "Go to hell." She tries to spit out, the curse becoming hoarse when Jade cuts it off with more pressure.

"That's your sister?"

For some reason Junior's tone is different when he asks this, something lecherous and oddly affectionate melting through the words; whatever it is sends some sort of new fear to her surface, a different kind of discomfort rushing through her. She can tell it's hitting Jade too— the boot on her throat eases slightly as the older girl's head snaps towards him, the Cheshire Cat turning its leer to someone else. "She's nothing to you." She snarls.

Before she can figure out what this means the boot on her throat is suddenly slamming down on her so hard that she makes a retching noise, unable to pull in air. "But she is a member of the Justice League's pep squad. Which means you—" A pause, where she's sure her sister is signaling for the Shadows to resume their work, "had better get that out of the ice before the rest of her little Team catches up to her."

She claws uselessly at her sister's leg, unable to reach her knee or any other vulnerable point as she lies there, choking; as if she's only just noticing her the Cheshire Cat turns back to survey her, grinning as usual. "Because you wouldn't come alone, would you?" She hisses, pointing the sai at her almost hazily, uncaring. "Are they close enough to hear you scream—"

Jade can't even finish the question before she's cut off by the sound of claws on metal and a roar somewhere behind her; suddenly people all around her are yelling and she sees it—a green polar bear, roaring as it peels over the edge of the balcony railing, snarling as it lands on all fours in the snow, charging towards her—

For once her sister is caught off guard by the sight of the beast, not quick enough to order her men to do anything; all them of them seem stunned and motionless and hardly braced for anything as Garfield burls into them, jaw snapping and claws flying as he knocks body after body out of the way, struggling to get to her. And all at once instinct overwhelms her; before she can blink, can speak, can decide what she wants to do or how she wants to play this something inside her seems to break—a thousand sinews inside her heart seem to snap, bursting forward with some sort of emotion she can't identify. She hears herself snarl, feels her muscles explode with movement, and before she can stop herself she's fighting against tightness in her throat, her ribs searing with pain as she swings her leg upward, latching around her sister's thigh and kicking her backwards—

It doesn't occur to her to reach for weapons, to attack her sister with anything other than her hands; for the first time in her life she gets the jump on Jade, the other girl's sai swinging wildly through the air as she's kicked into the floor— she doesn't even try to fight, doesn't turn her arrows on her sister, instead forcing herself to her feet and sprinting towards Icicle Junior, towards the artifact—

She may have caught her off guard but she should know Jade better than that—the shock of being slammed into the floor only shocks her older sister into focusing, into formulating a plan; in an instant the other girl is on her feet again, chasing after her, faster as always and seizing her by the jacket, yanking backwards—

She's thrown to the ground again and then the drilling starts, snarling and shaking and violent; being on the ground so close to the source is jarring, her teeth rattling and the floor beneath her impossible to stand on. She can hear the feral groan of Garfield, can hear the snorting and snapping of the polar bear as he's swarmed by Shadows— they are losing, and it is her fault, and she can hardly hear Jade over the din as she reaches for her sai. "Enough!"

The drilling stops and in the second it occurs to her that she might be killed the Cheshire Cat is hurling the sai through the air— but it's not towards her—

The gigantic ice shard shatters, a thousand pointed knives of ice cracking and bursting out from the point of the sai's impact; instinctively she starts scrambling across the floor, out of range, yanking over quiver over her skull and praying that Garfield has the sense to run, to get out of the way. It's a thousand times worse, the shatters enveloping them, clanging all around, bursting a ripping through those who aren't smart enough to do anything other than stand still, watching it fall—she dives behind the edge of a doorway, listening to the final few sounds of impact.

The shards settle, and through the strange mist of frost and frozen air she sees it: the artifact. It's small, flat, about the size of a dinner plate; the brown clay it's set in is carved, but not ornately— it's a mess of strangely pointed symbols, like twigs recently removed from branches. Even from here she can see the long edged crack down the middle.

It's broken.

"Junior!" Jade screeches from somewhere in the haze; all around her there's movement again, as if the initial stun has worn off everyone and chaos is free to resume. Instead of remaining hidden like she wants to she forces herself to hurl herself back into the thick of things, her boots slipping as she struggles to track her way through the wreck separating her from the broken artifact nearly twenty feet away.

And she spots Cheshire, already on her feet and moving before the air is even out of her lungs, not indulging the wounded as she moves through the wreckage; her sister rips the protective cover from her ears and fumbles with a radio, exchanging signals and frequencies. "Let's move. Now!"

And she doesn't know why she does it, what she means by it; before she can stop herself she's broken into a run, scrambling over shards of ice and nearly slipping as her voice rips out of her throat. "Jade!"

(She can't leave, not again...)

She can't remember the last time she said her sister's name out loud, let alone screamed it; the word sounds desperate as it rips out of her throat, violent and starving for something she's sure there isn't a name for.

("You can't leave. We're the ones who have to keep this family from falling apart—")

And there's a second, less than that even, where the other girl hesitates. And all at once it's as if two different worlds are colliding, as if she's suddenly ten again and her sister is 15. She watches as a gloved hand freezes around the shattered pieces of the strange and ancient plate, and the eyes of the Cheshire Cat find her.

(It's a hesitation, a fraction of something— of lingering feelings, of habit, of old memories that don't belong to either of them. But it's there; it's there and it's long enough for her to look at her sister, really look at her, for the first time in years.)

There's more sounds behind her, the rush of water and the hum of electricity—Kaldur and the others have found them, caught up and engaged with the attack; as she slips on overturned ice she has enough time to watch Icicle Junior buffet past Jade and scrape what's left of the ice-coated artifact into his arms; the slight impact seems to be enough to knock sense into the other girl, who at once turns to lead him into the open end of the enclosure, the two of them escaping into the emptiness of the tundra. "Cheshire has another one of Sandsmark's artifacts." She thinks as loudly as she can, finally slipping past the mass blocks of ice and taking off at a run to follow them. "Her and the other guy are escaping with it now, I'm pursuing—"

"Go." Kaldur orders.

She's hardly cleared the end of the warehouse's overhang before there's a loud snarling to her right, the sound of flesh being knocked aside; when she takes a second to glance over her shoulder Garfield is breaking into a trot to catch her, his large polar bear teeth snapping. "Get on!" The little boy screams inside her head, and before she can second guess taking him along he's beside her; leaping into him she seizes green tufts of his fur, legs swinging over the broadness of his back.

"Fast, Gar." She orders inside her head, not even pausing to secure herself as his muscles pound beneath her, polar bear paws slamming into the snow and covering ground much more quickly than she would have on their own—there's no woods out here, hardly any snow drifts, as if they're charging into the middle of what she's now sure is a long frozen lake…

They're coming up on their quarry fast; yanking an arrow from her quiver she sets it against the notch on her finger, debating for a moment between her two targets—she could take Cheshire out, she could take her out so easily—

Instinct wins out more than anything, as does a sense of duty; Junior has the artifact, Junior is the priority. The second she releases it she knows it's going to miss—Garfield is too jostling beneath her, his polar bear stride too wild. Instead of catching her target about the knees her arrow strikes the ice still jagged along his arms—but it's enough, enough to startle him into dropping the artifact—

Junior cries out and the arrow bursts through the ice coating his forearm, a loud shattering noise cutting through the air; in an instant the broken artifact is bursting from his hands, her arrow jostling his movement so bad he stumbles—

Jade doesn't even blink, hardly looks when her companion drops—as if she's been expecting it her sister doubles back, snatching the artifact pieces but making no attempt to help Junior, no attempt to even stare her down as Garfield and her pound towards them. No, her sister is planning something, has an escape route, as always—

And at once she can hear it; a helicopter, not in range yet but coming up on them and fast. And this is it, if she wants to catch up to Jade, wants to finally beat her sister— without blinking she braces herself, legs flexing around the mess of fur and bear beneath her for a second before she kicks off, hard—

Junior gets his bearings quick enough to shoot a shard of ice in her direction, missing her entirely as she makes to move. She hears Garfield let out a feral sounding grunt as he veers off slightly, but she doesn't have a second to spare for him; forcing her weight forward she rolls roughly through the snow, skidding for several feet and getting a mouthful of cold—

The bright green polar bear doesn't look back for her, continuing to move; now that she's not on him she can feel the way his paws seem to clang into the ice, small twangs firing through it telling her that he's cracking parts of it, making the surface unstable. "I'm in pursuit." Garfield sounds out at the back of her mind, already breaking into a sprint after Cheshire. "Watch my back."

She's hardly on her feet again, boots slipping on ice and uneven ground; in a second an unfamiliar but deadly fear cuts through her, prompting her to shout after him. "Beast Boy!" She snarls, charging forward. "Don't—"

Whatever warning she's about to give is silenced when she's forced to duck, Junior now back on his feet and sneering at her; reaching for her quiver she seizes the first arrow she touches, not even bothering to feel for the familiar feathers marking pointed tips or explosives. Feeling reckless and terrified she notches whatever fate may give her against her finger, releasing before the joints of her shoulder can properly set.

The explosive tip misses where he's sprinting towards her but the puff of smog is enough to give her the element of surprise; although she's sure there's something inherently inhuman about him he still has the same weaknesses, the same instincts clothed in ice. As her arrow sends snow and smoke and waterlogged ice spewing forward he winces, the half second of hesitation all she needs—

The smoke clears and at once she fires again, already setting another arrow before the first one meets its target; before he can fire ice at her a pointed tip shatters the frozen edges of his bicep, shards of ice glittering in the air as they fall before her second finds the exposed fleshy joint of his shoulder, splitting through the translucent blue of exposed skin, skimming him—

Junior screams and so does she, shouting above him and the flurries and the terrifying emptiness of the tundra. "Garfield!" She slips up, his real name spewing out of her before she can stop it. "Beast Boy!"

There's not enough time to make it more than the two steps after him; in a flurry of deep purple blood another frozen bomb is thrown at her. She's not fast enough, too emotional, too weak—she slips on ice, arms throwing out wildly, the edge of it catching on her bow.

The ice freezes about the top tip and even though she instinctively reaches for another arrow she knows it's useless; the weight of the weapon is now off, unfamiliar in her hands, unbalanced, and before she can even figure out how to adjust her stance to suit it Icicle Junior is sprinting towards her, looking wild and bloody as she notches an arrow against her finger, firing and missing—

He's closer, less than ten feet, and with a certain amount of reckless abandon she tries again, feeling panicked as she reaches for her quiver—come on, come on—

He's three feet from her when she makes the decision, abandoning her quiver and instead swinging her bow around like a staff—there's the crunch of ice smashing against ice as her bow collides with the side of his bleeding shoulder, a spurt of blood bursting between the frozen flesh as both what's on her bow and his arm shatter again, shards flying through the air.

The force of the blow jostles him off balance, the whole of her weight flying around with her bow as she flexes it in her fists again— the ice is gone now, she can do this, she can do this— whirring around she snaps her bow into position, reaching for another arrow and already marking the center of his chest, his throat, the multiple vulnerable points he's presenting her as she flexes her fingers towards her quiver—

(Somewhere she hears a roar, a ripple of pain from a wild animal— her heart leaps up into her throat, eyes straying from her target in panic—)

((No, no no no—))

She makes to draw an arrow the same time he launches ice at her; she hears the snarl, sees the daggers shoot out from his skin, feels her feet shift, fumbling over slippery ground as she tries to evade the attack—

The ice encloses her hand and drags her backwards, furling around the sleeve of her jacket as the force of it knocks her over. At once all the nerves in her wrist scream out, a mixture of agony at the cold and the pain of being slammed against the frozen lake-top. She cries out as her head cracks against the ice, black spots and strange bursts of light erupting at the front of her vision as she's forced onto her back, the arrows spilling out of her quiver as she's pinned atop her it, vulnerable as a rabbit snared in a trap—

And she knows it's pointless to struggle; the ice is too thick, the air too cold, her arm practically welded to the frozen lake. She can hardly see, can feel vomit climbing into her throat and dizziness over taking her as she claws at the thick wad of ice pinning her to the ground, unyielding as she struggles to sit up, trying desperately to yank her hand free.

She hears the snarling chuckle as she rolls onto her stomach, pressing herself to her arm in the hope that she'll somehow be able to melt the ice. "So," she hears him drawl out, his bare feet crunching in the snow as he approaches her. "You're the little sister, huh?"

The light reflecting off the snow is blinding through her goggles, her arm still uselessly frozen to the ground; in an act of desperation she looks around wildly, lunging forward like an wild cat and clawing towards her arrows— towards something, anything—

She screams when a calloused foot stomps her fingers flat against the snow, the other effectively kicking her remaining arrows and scattering them out of reach; before her cry can even stop echoing in the emptiness around them another shirek is being ripped out of her throat as he aims a kick to her ribs, forcing her onto her back again.

The noise seems to bother him; as she lies there panting and in pain she can see the wince on his face, the disgust at the sound of her weakness playing out in the unfamiliar blue-lipped expression for a moment before he hides it, crouching beside the place where she's pinned. "... You'd be what, sixteen now?" He asks after a moment.

She's sure she imagining the words, no doubt the result of a concussion; the question is too personal, almost offensively so. Feeling her noise wrinkle and shoves the pain to the back of her mind, instead nearly spitting at him as she snarls. "Fuck off."

It's strange, almost as if he doesn't expect her to swear at him— for a moment she registers the raising of his brows, the amused tug of his smirk. No; she's being taunted, played with. Or— her head pounds the longer she lies there, not sure what to make of him; before she can stop it a surge of unknown rage floods through her and all at once she's lunging for him.

She lets out a gasp of pain when she kicks her leg up but doesn't indulge it, hooking the back of her knee around his bloody shoulder and attempting to slam him into the ground beside her, her free hand scratching towards his face and clawing at his eyes—

Her one handed maneuvering isn't enough, his cheek only skimming the surface of the ice before he's fighting back; she screams again when a too-cold hand clamps down on the top of her skull, her teeth slamming together as a bony elbow collides with her cheek— she hisses, swearing, struggling, screaming as he clambers on top of her, pointed fingers ripping her goggles from her eyes and scratching the skin beneath her mask—

His fingers catch her eye sockets before ripping her mask clean from her face, and before she can even so much as attempt to blind him for it he's on top of her, dripping blood onto the white of her jacket; at once he's got her free hand pinned beside her skull, his hips slapping her thighs to the ground and a single hand splaying threateningly across her collar bone. It's like being wedged between two panels of ice, the cold instantly penetrating the layers of clothing and skin and sinking into her bones, and unwilling shiver ripping through her—

(She hears blades of a helicopter and a feral snarl; the stars beginning to blossom along the skyline are blinding, too bright in the growing darkness—)

She nearly screams again, feeling an unpleasant twitch of fear bubble up inside her as he hovers over her, staring hard at her naked face. She can feel the nerves in her skin freezing over, the tendons in her wrists beginning to numb as she continue to struggle, to attempt to throw him off, to get out from underneath him and his staring.

He continues to survey her, to study the emotions crossing her face; as her anxious breath puffs a burst of white mist into his face he leans into it, as if wondering what she tastes like. "... Well." He says after a moment, eyes tracing the curves of her cheeks bones and the hollows under her eyes, lingering too-long on the chapped skin on her lips. "You've grown up, haven't you? Haven't changed though. Used to fight me like this when we were little too."

An unpleasant lurch sounds in her stomach as the hand splayed along her collar bones twitches towards her breasts. "Do I know you?" She snarls, feeling her nose wrinkle.

For some reason the leer on his face twists into a smirk; in an instant his hand tightens on her chest, pressing her tighter to the ground. "You should." He tells her, more of a warning than anything. "We used to play together as kids."

She has no idea if this is true or some sort of means of toying with her some more; her confusion must show on her face because he lets out a strangely crackling laugh, a bitter slap of metallic and mint flavored breath hitting her as he shifts his weight, looming over her further. "You're Artemis." He tells her, the end of her name sounding twisted, sour coming out of his mouth as he moves to touch her.

She feels her brows furrow but doesn't say anything back, instead twitching her chin as far away from his hand as she can when his fingers make to adjust a wayward piece of her hair. "Come on." He teases, finally seizing her about the jaw and forcing her to look him in the eye, the webbing of his thumb pressing into her chin. "You remember me, don't you?"

Something's wrong, she can sense it; she can feel something awaken inside her, the same thing that once used to wake around Jade when she was younger— she can feel her lower lip quivering with a low building terror, some larger instinct, or memory, revving to life inside her. It takes all the courage she has to hold his gaze, wide-eyed and shaking in a mixture of cold and repeated struggling to escape his grasp. "I don't know who the hell you—"

She cuts herself off with a hiss of pain when the ice bursts out of his finger tips, now frozen talons that are cutting into her face; she can feel the blood welling along her jawline, her cheeks, down into the muscles of her throat as he leans into her, face twitching into a snarling sort of leer. "Yes you do." He hisses, watching as the shallow lines of blood begin dribbling down into her hair. "You do. What's my name?"

"I—" She feels her chin begin to tremble as he drags an icy talon down her cheek, catching on the neck of her uniform. "I don't—"

She screws her eyes up when he slices a clean line through her jacket, hardly scratching the exposed skin under the Kevlar; she can taste the bitterness of his breath inside her lungs as he leans in closer, panting in her face. She winces when she feels the Siberian air stinging against her skin, the frozen claw now cutting a line down the dib between her breasts, slicing through the material of her jacket and her uniform, cutting through her sports bra and making to follow the curve of her breasts. "You don't remember?"

"Aqualad—!"

She's cut off before she can even finish screaming, no longer able to croak out the words when the icy talons seize her by the throat; Junior continues to glare at her, shaking her slightly until she's forced to emit a pathetic squeaking noise. "You don't know who I am?" He snarls, slamming her by the throat back into the ice and looking pleased when she gags. "... I'll just have to make a more lasting impression this time. Won't I?"

He releases her, her throat emitting a retching sound as she struggles to pull in air; though the black spots bursting at the front of her vision she can sense him moving, shifting on top of her, ice-sharpened fingers running down her collar bones—

She feels the knife like fingers slice around the curve of her breast, cutting through her uniform and sinking into the skin there; she can still hardly breathe, her muscles acting more out of adrenaline than purpose as she starts struggling against him, his fingers, the hands now groping her and slicing wounds into her skin. She's screaming again, the sound hoarse and animalistic as she starts grappling harder than ever before, starts fighting against talon-like fingers and the too cold hands as they slap her, choke her again, start pulling her legs apart—

"No!" She hears herself screech out, less voice and more breath, panic welling inside her as a hand splays along her hip, cutting open her uniform and slicing into her inner thigh. "No—"

He shifts between her legs and just as the final burst of adrenaline pumps through her; she's a mixture of deadly skill and desperation, of instinct and fear— like the wild creature her father raised her to be she lets out an unearthly scream, her knee kicking up between the two of them and her foot wedging into his stomach, prying him off her as he lets out a grunt of pain—

There's more struggling as he's forced backwards, not off her entirely but far enough away to get her legs working; she kicks him back, again and again, gnashing and spitting like a bob cat trapped in a corner, her boots catching him in ribs and in the diaphragm, in the chest, the chin—

He catches her foot and yanks it so far to the side she's practically ripped open, his ice-cold body slamming between her legs as she makes to sit up. "You bitch—" He snarls at her, one hand seizing her round the throat and the other clapping over her face, forcing her on her back again. "You fucking bitch—"

There's ice bursting out of him at random now, like a shield impervious to her kicking or her free hand as she tries to pry him off of her; with a grunt he rams her back into the ice, her head slamming into the ground so hard she sees spots again. "You remember me now?" He screams in her face, lifting her by the throat again and slamming her head-first into the frozen lake once more. "How about now? Now?"

She can hear the ice cracking, can feel the water underneath it beginning to sop along the back of her hair— more water, gushing over her eyes, filling in the places where her vision is blackening, filling up the spaces in her lungs—

—The wind is picking up, an engine is running, a helicopter—

(—She's shivering.

She's eight years old and looking especially small in Jade's old jacket. She doesn't know why she's here, in this place where the walls are cold and the cement floor seems to only reflect back the frozen Siberian snow.

Lawrence scowls when she shivers, throwing an annoyed look at Paula behind his mask. "I told you we should have left the brats at home."

The room— a conference room of some sort, empty of everything except an overlong table and some chairs— is filled with only the four of them. Beside her Jade sends her a severe sort of look, as if upset that she's making her look bad. "And I told you," Paula sighs, Huntress eyes glaring at her husband. "The day I leave Jade home alone is the day I decide we can afford to let the landlord keep the damage deposit."

Time passes and moves on, and just when she's lost feeling in her toes the door opens. "Sportsmaster."

Her parents rise from their chairs and hands are being shaken; she does her best to burrow inside her overlarge coat, afraid of this man she doesn't know and men flanking either side of him and the fact the temperature in the room has dropped several degrees since his entrance. "Kids." Paula says warningly, eyes flashing behind her mask— without needing an explanation she gets out of her seat, already moving before her mother finishes the order. "Hallway. Now."

"Wait." Lawrence shoots out a hand. "Jade. Stay."

Jade and her lock eyes, the older girl sensing no doubt that she's afraid to be alone in this too cold building. She doesn't understand it now but she will, years later: her father wants another body in there, another person to throw in front of himself if his business deal goes awry, even if that person is his thirteen year old daughter.

Although she can sense her mother's glare behind her mask Paula doesn't make to stop it. They all ignore her when she calls out for her older sister, unable to fight back against the hands pushing her out of the room.

The memory slips and fades out, picking up in the fluorescent light of the hallway. The door shuts behind her and before she has time to burrow into her coat again someone is talking to her. "Did you get kicked out of the meeting too?"

The boy is her age, a few years older, slouched and moody against the wall opposite the door. "Dad always kicks me out when he meets his big partners."

For some reason she blushes, feeling very childish in her pig tails. When she doesn't immediately say anything back the boy keeps talking, running his too-pale hands up and down his folded arms. "I'm Cameron." A pause, where she knows she's supposed to introduce herself but for some reason can't even get the courage to lift her head above the collar of her jacket. "You know, when someone introduces themselves to you you're supposed to say your name back."

"... I'm Artemis." She fumbles, blushing some more.

"That's a stupid name." The boy tells her, getting to his feet; he's taller than her by several inches. In the few steps he takes towards her a draft of icy air washes over her, seeping into her bones. "Your jacket is too big for you."

She can't think of anything to say back and blushes again.

Time passes again, more memories blurring in and out of each other— she sees this boy more than once over the passing years, their visits infrequent and always uncomfortable—

((They're in a board room and she's hiding behind her father; when she peeks out from behind Lawrence's back she can see him already staring at her.))

((They pass each other in a hallway. He tugs on her pig tail and she blushes.))

((She makes the mistake of lending him a book. When she gets it back months later it is in tatters, the pages water stained with melted ice.))

—And there's another memory, a more powerful one; she is crying in a board room, the too-cold air soothing on her rapidly bruising skin. The words her father has shouted at her are still ringing sharp in the back of her mind, the mark he's left on her face stinging. She had wanted to go with him and Paula, didn't want to be left behind— and she had made a childish mistake, a fatal one that had resulted in a slap ringing across her cheek—

Cameron finds her, as he always does; in the year or so they've known each other he's gotten too good at finding her hiding places, better even than her older sister who is no doubt still searching for her in the chill of Icicle's warehouse. "Does it hurt?" He asks her, coming to a stop where she's sitting cross legged beneath the table.

"Yes." She sniffs, too young to pretend to act tough; instead of lying she wipes her nose on the back of her wrist, accepting the hand he offers to help her up.

Cameron's blue tinged face is full of concern when she gets to her feet, hand lingering too long in hers before releasing it. "Looks bad." He tells her, wincing when the slap mark emblazed on her cheek catches the light. "Hold on—"

His hand is too-cold on her skin when he flattens his palm against the reddened mark on her face, ignoring the way she tries to pull back and instead ensnarling his fingers in her hair, making it impossible to move without having her pig tail ripped from her scalp. "The cold is good for it, stupid." He tells her.

And she's not sure how it happened; how he looked at her, if she should have known better. But as she winces against the feeling of his skin on hers he leans in, lips pressing clumsily against the edge of her mouth.

She remembers being still, shocked and afraid; Cameron's fingers seem to seep frostbite into her, the cold against the sensitive skin shocking her into pulling back. "... Cam." She mutters, blushing.

(She wasn't ready to lose her first kiss, the last bit of childhood she had been trying to save for someone special; it wasn't supposed to be taken from her, stolen, like every other good thing—)

"I told you, the cold is good for bruises."

"I—" She's forced to be quiet when he kisses her again, ignoring her when she tries to pull back. She's too young to know instinctively how to fight against these things, not understanding yet how big of a danger a boy who won't accept the word no is. "Don't. The cold stings—"

The palm on her face shifts down to her neck, cold fingers flexing around her throat threateningly as if testing the pressure; her words of protest are cut off with a whimper. "Be quiet." He tells her, fingers loosening around her windpipe. When she draws in a desperate and rattling breath his brows raise, curious.

She doesn't know what to do; her attempts to fight him off growing more feeble when he leans in again— she is still young, wary of hurting anyone her parents don't tell her too. When she kisses him back the fingers on her neck ease off entirely, and at once her first kiss is tainted by the need to survive, the need to avoid danger—

The door opens with a rattle, her sister already drawling out in an annoyed sort of voice. "Artemis, you better be in here. This is the fourth room I've tried and if I don't find you before Dad gets back he's going to—" Her sister stops short, eyes widening. Cameron pulls back and is too slow to remove his hand from her throat.

A clean second passes where the surprise shows on Jade's face, an emotion so rare she's sure it's genuine; before she can memorize the way her sister's brows arch delicately onto her forehead or the almost pretty way her grey eyes look when they're that wide the expression is gone, replaced by something sharper and more grown up. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Nothing." Cameron grunts out, folding his arms across his chest and looking surely.

She slouches against the edge of the table, wanting to look as insignificant as possible when her sister's eyes find hers. "Artemis?"

She can understand the hidden question in her sister's voice as easily as she can her own mother's; it's a silent demand to tell the truth, and now, or else. "Nothing." She confirms, looking at her feet and allowing her pig tail to swing forward, hiding her. "... Cam just kissed me."

(She doesn't know why she adds the last part, or why her words sound as ashamed as they do; the bruised skin along her cheek sears, still irritated from the cold. Whatever is hidden in her voice Jade seems to understand— there's a long moment when she can sense her sister's eyes on her, trying to see the injury she can't see, the invisible invasion and demolishment of the last bit of childish innocence she still had.)

It happens so quickly she doesn't even see her sister move, doesn't even have time to feel surprised; all at once Jade is on Cameron and he's screaming, the two of them snarling and colliding with furniture and hurling curse words too foul for children at each other across the room. And people are coming, and blades are being drawn, and she remains frozen, as if in ice, against the edge of the table—

That night her sister lies motionless in her bed, bruised and bloody from Lawrence's beating. The wad of ragged fabric pressing to her face is stained a sickly red. "... Jade?" She whispers in the darkness, hardly daring to raise her head from her pillow and look her in the eye properly.

Jade doesn't reply, the only sound from her the vague rattling of phlegm bubbling in the back of her throat. Her sister is half dead, and she knows it is her fault.

They never speak of what happened again and she shoves the memory deep inside her. A year later the Cheshire Cat slinks out of the apartment and she forces herself to forget—)

Ice nearly slices into her again as the hands around her throat are yanked away, the weight of Junior's body knocked off her as her head bursts out of the freezing water; crouching and shivering in the harsh wind of the Siberian tundra she rolls onto her stomach, spewing water out of her lungs and dribbling it down the exposed slices of skin peeking out from her mutilated uniform. She can hardly hear anything above her own coughing, can hardly see anything between the vivid lights bursting from the backs of her eyes and the water now freezing to her lashes— somewhere close by she hears grunting, the sound of a sai being drawn—

There's a blunt noise, like a dull edge against skin; when she tries to locate it she can only see darkness, the stars reflecting off the snow and disorienting her. "Artemis—" She can hear her name being called, all her senses blurred by the pounding in her head; scrubbing water from her face she coughs again, sending a mixture of bile and fluid down her front. "Artemis—"

And it must be a dream, a hallucination of some sort; at once the Cheshire Cat mask bobs in front of her face, crouching in the snow and watching with a demented sort of grin as she struggles to breathe again. "Artemis!" Her older sister screams in her face, the deadly grey of her eyes peering at her, a clawed hand reaching for her, a sai extending in the air.

("Artemis?" Jade says, the unasked question hanging silently in the air.)

((Is she imagining her cheek stinging—))

She hears the seams of her jacket rip, can hear the sai as it slices around the fabric of her shoulder, ripping the sleeve of her ice trapped arm and forcing frozen nerves to move out from underneath their icy prison with a savage yank; the air seems to freeze inside her dampened lungs, making breathing impossible. "... What are you doing?" She tries to say, the words hoarse and intelligible as her sister slides her arm free, rolling her until she's more than a foot away from the hole her head has made in the ice—

(The Gotham apartment is quiet and her sister's breathing loud; there is a blood soaked bandage sticking to her cheek, a wad of fabric that is stained crimson—)

She's on her stomach, her cheek pressing into the snow; something warm and wet is dripping down the sides of her neck, caking into her hair. Her right arm feels cold, as if instantly frost bitten the moment it was exposed to the cold. For a second she is convinced she's nine again. "Jade...?"

She's not sure what's she's asking, not sure if she imagines the feeling of a hand pressing to the back of her head, using what's left of her sleeve to staunch the wound; feeling as if she's dreaming she looks over her shoulder, the blackened edges of her vision revealing nothing.

(She doesn't know how much time passes, how long or even if her sister remains there, crouched beside her— the few seconds of peace seem to last a life time, a whole universe compounded into mere moments.)

It seems to take too long for her to remember what's really happening, where she is, why Jade stopped being Jade all those years ago; she can feel her heart picking up, loud enough to drown out the sound of helicopter blades and brawling. "... Where is he?" She asks suddenly, trying to move.

Clawed hands pin her down in the snow, not hard but more than she can fight back against. "Junior's down, Artemis. Don't worry."

Maybe it isn't Jade; she can't remember talking like this with her sister, can't remember a time when the older girl spoke to her with such care, such comfort. It doesn't do anything to quail the emotions bursting out of her, only egging on her anxious thrashing in the snow. "Where is he?" She repeats, nose wrinkling when she swings an arm up, fist hardly clipping a chin. "Where is he?"

(Where's Garfield? Where's Garfield?)

She screams again, so loud that she might as well be tortured; ignoring her ribs as the sheer force of her shrieking makes them ache she thrashes as wildly as she can against the Cheshire Cat, hissing when her head is forced tighter to the ground. "What did you do to that little boy?" She snarls, throat breaking as she screams again. "What did you do—"

"—Artemis—"

It's as if the ocean's opened up, swallowed them whole; she's drowning again, a thundering wave of water crashing into them both. The hand on her head is gone and every part of her is drowning—

(She lost Garfield. She lost him.)

((Let her die right now, please—))

(She ruins everything, she ruins it—)

But she's breathing again, the weight on top of her gone— and there's screaming, more screaming, shrieks and bellows and snarling coming from all sides— she tries to sit up and nearly falls over, the world spinning as she forces herself to her hands and knees. She's soaking wet now, a mixture of water and her own blood weighing her down. Someone is calling her name, the wind is picking up and threatening to freeze her alive, and her sister is gone, gone again—

(And he's there, a few feet from her and unconscious; Icicle Junior, but Cameron as she knows him, the angles of his jaw sharper than they were in boyhood but familiar, all over again—)

"Artemis!"

She can't listen, can't focus— forcing herself to her feet she ignores the way her matted hair is freezing to her head, her limbs heavy and unbalanced as she sends them quaking into life, clumsy and frozen alive as wind ripples off helicopter blades—

She can't decide where to go, who to seek out first— her mind feels fogged, unfocused, dulled by panic and adrenaline and injury. Jade or Garfield, her sister or—

And there are voices all around, yelling out to her inside her head and out; it's disorienting, blinding, and despite not meaning to she stops moving. Distantly she sees a green spot on the horizon.

Someone's hands brace against her forearms from behind, making to catch her when she stumbles. "Gar." She says, because that's all she can see in the moment— an animal, four legged and all green, charging towards her.

"He is alright." Kaldur tells her. She doesn't notice the gashes still bleeding on his palms, or the way the crimson smears over her uniform as he shifts her in his arms, holding steady.

He says her name again, the word meaning nothing to her as she tries to turn her head, surveying the damage; Garfield, limping but four legged and moving closer, Tula, with mused hair but otherwise unharmed. She blinks once and realizes M'gann is right in front of her, looking at the tatters of her uniform and putting two and two together.

She pretends not to see the look she exchanges with Kaldur, instead brushing off the hands holding her upright; she doesn't want to see the pity there, the discomfort as their assumptions begin building inside their minds. "Where's Jade?" She asks, looking around at all of them. "Where's my sister?"

No one answers.

---

AN: Another chapter up! And over 25,000 words long. Hopefully it was well worth the wait.

To all of you who sent kind messages to my inbox checking in that I was okay: Thank you. Between my university midterms and the unfortunate stint of a family member in the hospital in the last few weeks I was basically forced to disappear from the face of the earth. If you were one of the people who took time out of your day to remind me how beloved this story is, you're the best. And I thank you for your patience.

However, one thing I don't tolerate as an author is people coming into my inbox to yell at me. Fan fiction is something I write for myself and post because I think others will like it, and it's really sucky to be in the middle of working on a chapter while people leave nasty messages about how slow I am at posting.

My chapters average around 15,000 words. That's about 35 pages single spaced. I am a full time student with a full time job and a pretty active social life. Even as a fourth year English student specializing in Creative Writing, my own professors wouldn't expect me to turn something like that in without one month of work.

I am honored to know that my story is loved enough to have people literally begging for more. And for every mean comment I receive I get about 5 amazing ones. For those of you frustrated with me, I'm sorry— I'm doing my best to keep up with demand, but I unless someone starts paying me to write this I just can't.

That's all— just wanted to remind you guys that I'm only human, and the updates will speed up once I graduate in April!

Please read and review!