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.

35. Lightning Crashes

AN: Woohoo! Finally posting this chapter. Enjoy!

---

The Bioship is quiet.

It's not the kind of silence she likes. It's not breathless nothingness with Wally after a particularly long laugh, or the few seconds pause after Zatanna hums out the end of another story about another boy; this is the kind of quiet that peels underneath her cuticles, that settles in dead weight over her chest, that lingers along the joints of her shoulders and sends the muscles twitching, writhing, spasming—

(It's the kind of silence that reminds her of books and an empty apartment.)

The thought leaks out of her mind before she can stop it, an unpleasant memory that throbs out from the point where Icicle Junior smashed her head through the ice. Before she can stop the impulse her fingers twitch towards the injury, towards the place M'gann had hidden beneath bandages and tensor fabric, beneath knitted brows and a bitten lip—

Her fingers are cold.

Her hand feels numb as she presses it against the back of her head, foreign as her fingers thumb clumsily over bandages.

(She's shaking, still wearing damp clothes and blood, still exposed and cut open in places. For the first time in a long time she feels too small to be sitting in her Bioship seat, her muscles quaking every few seconds as shock ripples through her—)

((—Cameron and Jade and Lawrence and—))

She's afraid to meet her own eyes, to examine her own reflection as it bounces off the window in front of her; as she raises her head to look at herself she's not sure what she feels, not sure if there's anything even left inside her to feel anything. Rumpled blonde hair poking out of bandages. Scratched open cheeks and lines of dried blood that disappear down her chin. Shoulders hunched and elbows braced along the edge of her control panel, hiding her ripped jacket and exposed wounds. Knees pressed so tightly together she can feel them bruising.

("You've grown up, haven't you?" The blue lips drawl, Cameron's breath fogging up between them. "Haven't changed though... Used to fight me like this when we were kids too...")

Another shiver, this time so strong that her ribs cry out at the movement; blinking hard she sucks in a breath, looking away.

(Don't be a baby.)

(Keep it together.)

She can sense eyes on her as she turns in her chair, looking for something to distract her from her body and the trauma welling just underneath her surface; the seat beside her, Garfield's spot, is empty. And it's quiet still, the painful sort, but underneath her headache she can hear voices somewhere, hushed undertones coming from the back room she had refused to occupy when Kaldur had half-dragged her onto the Bioship.

(("I think you're concussed, Beautiful."))

(Wally?)

She clenches her teeth, resisting the urge to press her hand back against her skull— something else, some other sort of memory from too long ago, is bothering her, picking at her and trying to tempt her into weakness. Rolling her head on her neck she forces her eyes to remain open, nose wrinkling as she catches M'gann's stare across the room.

Grey irises cut into brown, the other girl not quite fast enough to conceal the concerned look she's sure has been boring into her back for the last however long they've been flying— two hours? Maybe more? "... Twenty more minutes." M'gann says after a moment, voice gentle.

She's about to nod in acknowledgment when she catches the look the other girls sends her— pity, plain as day and scratching into her as the chocolate eyes flicker over her exactly once before returning to staring emotionlessly straight ahead. It's the kind of look you send to a dying person, to someone whose ailments are too fatal to be acknowledged— it's the kind of look you send to a dog that's lying half dead in a gutter.

"... What was that?" She huffs, eyes narrowing.

Green fingers flex uncomfortably around controls. "What?"

"That look." She says severely, nose wrinkling as she turns more surely in her chair. "Why did you just look at me like that?"

"Artemis—"

She feels the familiar creep of artificial emotion crawling up the back of her neck, curling under her skull; letting out a noise of disgust she actually makes to slap it away, fingers struggling against an invisible invader. "God, M'gann—"

She stops mid-snarl when a second glance reveals a tuft of green stained hair peeking out from behind the other girl's shoulder, the half-second of hesitation enough for M'gann; the artificial calm seems to seep through her veins like sedative, dulling her anger under a layer of exhaustion. Letting out a single click of frustration she slumps forward, elbows bracing onto her knees as she struggles to keep a glare on her face.

At the sound of silence Garfield peers out from behind the back of his sister's chair, no doubt wondering why she's stopped her snarling. He looks so small, so much smaller than she remembers, standing there with dirtied skin and a single bloody bandage cut across his shoulder.

Despite herself her expression softens, the glare fading about the corners of her eyes. "Sorry." She says to the room as a whole, not really sure what she's apologizing for. "I... Sorry." Her tone is soft, one hand pressing her hair back behind her ears, struggling to arrange her face into a gentle half smile. There will be time to feel broken later. "How's your shoulder, Gar?"

The question is innocent enough, hardly probing as she glances in the little boy's direction. For some reason it's at this that Garfield loses his nerve, ducking back behind M'gann's chair and hiding again. "... Gar?" She repeats, feeling her brows furrow she sits up, frowning.

Her voice is soft, far softer than she would allow anyone to normally hear; still, the little boy remains hidden. "... Garfield?" She says again, glancing a little helplessly at M'gann and finding no comfort in her confused expression.

("Artemis?" Her father's voice echoes through the apartment, bouncing off walls and breaking the week's long silence. "Artemis!"

The footsteps pound along the smoke stained carpet, doors smashing open as he searches for her, wanting to check that his youngest daughter hasn't escape him like her older, better sister; there's the sound of liquor bottles being pulled from cabinets, glasses clinking in the cupboards, her own heart thundering so loudly she's sure he'll find her, hidden and frightened behind her mother's dresses in the back of a forgotten closet—

"Come say hello to your old man!" Lawrences roars. There's the sound of glass breaking.

She knows better than to ignore a direct order; slipping out of the closet she goes to him. Hours later she picks shattered glass out from underneath her skin—)

Her stomach seems to seize up, the coldness inside her increasing a tenfold the longer she stares at the unmoving tuft of hair. He's hiding from her.

... He's afraid of her.

(The same way she's afraid of her father.)

The thought alone is enough to make her feel sick, her likeness to Sportsmaster churning unpleasantly through her veins. Somehow it's this, a childish moment of cowardice, that hurts more than anything else she's endured tonight. Feel her stomach squirm with discomfort she ignores the bile brewing in the back of her throat, mouth dry as she tries to swallow. "... What's wrong, Gar?" She asks, voice hoarse as she sits there, dreading the answer.

Nearly half a minute passes before he straightens, all forehead and eyes as he stares at her over M'gann's shoulder. "... You knew the other girl." He blurts out, voice hushed as if afraid of making her yell again. "The one with the cat mask."

Her stomach seems to plummet somewhere about her knees, her eyes flickering once to M'gann; to her surprise the other girl is already staring at her, eyes silently critical as if waiting to see if she'll lie.

Seconds pass, far too many for her liking, before she gets the nerve to speak. "... Yeah." She says somewhat gruffly, shoulders rolling; automatically her eyes drop to her boots, elbows digging hard into her knees. "Yeah, I used to know her."

He hesitates, lifting his head higher; she doesn't like that he can only come out of his hiding place when she isn't looking. "She said that you were her sister." She nods her head, the movement making her nauseous; she doesn't want to say anything else, instead waiting for him to get the courage to continue. "But she's... Bad."

Another nods that makes her teeth clang together. "That's true."

There's a long pause where she can sense Garfield's head poking fully over M'gann's shoulder, trying to see the expression on her face. "... So what does that make you?"

The question nearly makes her laugh for some reason, her head jerking up to look him properly in the eye. Although he tries to erase the fear crossing his face he's not quick enough to hide anything from her. "I'm Artemis, same as always." She says as plainly as she can, wishing there was a better way to explain this— and wishing, even more, that she believed herself. "Jade and I... We're not the same, okay? I'm not my family."

He doesn't duck down, instead staring at her intently as she sits there, unblinking. She wonders now what Garfield must think of her. Wonders if he'll always be afraid of her, of what she was born into, of the raw truth she never wanted to have him hear. Because she is so tired of trying to convince others, of trying to convince herself, of trying to force the world to brand her as something other than a Crock.

It's very hard not to feel a small twang of heart break as he continues to keep his distance, no doubt scared. "…Y-your sister went back for you." He says slowly.

She's not expecting this. "... What?"

Although he quails slightly when her brows furrow Garfield keeps talking, hesitating before poking more of himself out from behind the chair. "Her and me were fighting." He mumbles, and despite herself her eyes fall to his injuries: the slice mark of a sai along the back of his knuckles that's now covered in white gauze and medical tape, the tear of the collar of his uniform and the blood soaked bandage that's too red for such a small body. "She heard you scream. And then she left me. Threw aside the pieces of the artifact." A beat. "... She went back to save you."

She can sense it's her turn to say something, to give details; rather than say anything she closes her eyes, one hand gliding unconsciously to the talon shaped cuts still on her face. Maybe the movement reveals more than she wants to, some sort of weakness she doesn't want to show— at once Garfield steps out from behind the chair, watching her closely. "... Why would she save you if she's bad?"

Her nails catch on the dried blood about her cheeks, scratching one of the wounds open; blinking back the unexpected pain and squints at him. "I don't know." She says honestly.

Little feet mark exactly three steps across the room before they hesitate, stepping back towards the safety of M'gann's chair. "... You save people." He says childishly. "How can you two be so different if you both save people?"

The question is so innocent, so brazen in its honestly that it breaks through the exterior of her heart; she wishes these things were easier to explain, that there was a way to make him understand without telling him the truth. As if sensing the emotion whirling inside her M'gann glances at her, clearing her throat. "No more questions, Gar." She says firmly. "You're making Artemis upset."

The little boy glances between them, looking a mixture of frustrated and confused; before either of them can brace themselves his green cheeks are blushing, one tiny fist rubbing too hard at his eyes. "I'm sorry." He blurts out suddenly, chin wobbling. "If I hadn't let her get away—"

She's taken aback when the words are cut off with a sob, Garfield's features screwing up with childish tears. "Oh, Gar." She murmurs, getting to her feet and trying not to wince when she moves towards him, limbs aching as she crouches. "Come here—"

He doesn't let her touch him, instead scampering back behind the safety of M'gann's chair; suddenly it's very hard not to cry herself. She's silently thankful when M'gann covers the sticky moment, voice soothing. "You did a great job out there today, Gar. You know you did."

"Of course he does." She agrees, shifting on the floor and pretending not to notice when he scampers around the chair, still afraid of her. "You did way better than I did on my first mission."

"Or me on mine."

Garfield lets out a very wet sounding sniffle. "I ruined it." He whines. "We were supposed to observe and report."

"No you didn't." She tells him, her voice shaking as she tries and fails to adopt the usual firm tone she takes with him. "Listen, you'll understand after a few times out—reconnaissance missions hardly ever go the way we plan, okay? Besides... I was the one who screwed up." She tells him kindly, the words tasting sour when she forces them out. "I haven't seen my sister in a long time. I got… Excited. To hear her voice."

If this is comforting to Garfield he doesn't show it, instead sniffling again. Trying a different approach she ignores his hiding, limbs aching when she forces them to circle the chair, catching his arm as he tries to get away. "You were great out there, Gar. I mean it. Without you there we never would have managed to get a piece of what those goons were after."

She gestures to the back cabin with her free hand, to the place she's only half sure the artifact fragment is; although the memory is only a few hours old it's foggy, dulled by the fuzziness of a concussion and a brewing headache—

(—Garfield, bounding towards them on four legs. Garfield, wolfish fur matted with blood and canines clenched around part of the plate Jade had been after, spittle and fluid and blood caking in the sharpened lines carved into it. Walking past the back room where Kaldur and Tula were pouring over it, mind too fogged to think—)

Garfield removes his arm from her grasp, sending her single untrusting look before he scampers away.

---

She blinks too much when the Bioship glides its way into the mountainside, the rapid fading of darkness into bright lingering too long against the fronts of her eyes; as the ship skids to a halt she ignores the tears burning hard at the behind her lids and the fact that Garfield has yet to resume his place in the seat beside her.

When they land M'gann is on her feet before she is, not even allowing her to get properly out of her chair before embracing her. For a long moment she stands stock still, as if it's suddenly months ago and she's not sure how to react to such closeness; no words pass between them but something larger, unsaid, seems to fill the gaps between their bodies, settling quietly in the nearly five seconds it takes for her skin not to crawl at the sensation of a cold body pressing against hers.

Her hands pat once, too hard, between the other girl's shoulder blades before she pulls back.

As always she knows M'gann understands, can sense the strange swirl of emotions she's not able to sort through as they swarm beneath her surface; again the predictable wave of artificial comfort passes over her as the other girl's hands drop to her side, not wanting to intrude. "… Garfield will come around." She whispers, the words so quiet she can hardly hear them. Over the other girl's shoulder she can see the little boy already hovering by the doorway, wanting to get away from her as quickly as possible. "He's just not used to things here yet... How things are going to be from now on. It'll be okay. And— and you'll be alright too." A strange pause. "Right?"

Although she hardly catches the whisperings of comfort she doesn't miss the way the other girl's eyes survey her, checking and double checking injuries as if childishly hoping they'll have disappeared. "... Yeah." She says between her teeth.

The word is more ferocious than she means it to be, and old barrier jutting up inside her—but to protect her from what, she doesn't understand. From pity? From her own vulnerability?

(From the fact that Garfield's right— Jade came back for her. From that fact that that has to mean something.)

M'gann's fingers knot together in front of her stomach, feet tottering for a moment as she takes a tiny step back. "We should get you to the medical bay." She tells her, louder this time, with a glance back over her shoulder; she must send some sort of look his way because at once Garfield disappears through the doors, sending her one final wary glance before he goes. She wonders if the other girl can sense that she's close to breaking before she can, if she's trying to help her by making sure there's as few people to witness it as possible. "… You're still bleeding."

Almost self-consciously she glances down, feeling a dull pang of surprise sound through her when she spots blood dribbling down her stomach—the cut beneath her breast hasn't clotted yet, a slow stream of crimson staining the slab of skin visible through the sliced open portion of her uniform. She wonders why she can't feel it—why suddenly every wound in her body, even her ribs, seems to have gone numb...

((—"Artemis?" Wally calls out to her, sounding far away as her head seems to spin on her shoulders. She registers the sensation of steady hands pinning her back against a wall, boyish freckles swimming at the front of her vision. "Artemis, can you hear me?"—))

Before she say anything back to this she registers the sound of the back room opening. "It will have to wait." Kaldur tells the room at large, emerging behind Tula. "Artemis, a word."

M'gann actually opens her mouth to argue, stepping protectively in front of her before Kaldur shakes his head. "I am sorry, M'gann. It must be now." A strange pause, where all she can see of the martian is the stiffening of her back. "… And it must be alone."

The words aren't harsh, but something about the way M'gann's jaw drops tells her whatever argument the other girl had been thinking of throwing out is fading; although she can only see the back of her head and the tangles in her auburn hair she's sure she's biting her lip. "Come find me when you're done, okay?" She whispers, sending her one last glance before turning to leave.

The sound of M'gann's heeled boots has hardly faded along the metal floor of the Bioship before Kaldur clears his throat. "… Tula." He says warningly.

For some reason she can't stand to watch the affronted look the red haired Atlantean sends him, nor the emptiness of his expression when he refuses to meet her gaze; instead she drops her eyes to her feet again, staring at the black fabric of her boots until she hears the dull sound of bare feet slapping against metal, signaling that the other girl has left too.

Again, it's quiet. As she stands there she can sense him openly looking at her for the first time, can sense his eyes studying her injuries: the bandages on her head. The cuts along her cheeks. The kevlar along her neck that's been ripped open. The cuts in her uniform between her breasts, the tearing exposing the underside of one. The slices along the inside of her leg, exposing the pale skin between her thighs.

((—She spits vomit from her mouth, struggling to focus on the puddle of sick she's left on the pavement. Warm hands are lingering about her shoulders, flicking her pony tail down her back—))

She doesn't like him looking, doesn't like the fact that she can practically hear his mind working, piecing together what kind of actions would warrant these injuries and marks. She can feel embarrassment running through her, can feel shame for some kind of weakness she can't name as she stands there at the mercy of his milky eyes; shrinking slightly she crosses her arms, wishing he would stop.

"… Artemis?" Kaldur says at last, her name inexcusably gentle on his lips.

"I'm fine." She tells him, jerking her head up and focusing on a point somewhere above his left shoulder.

(She wonders why it took her so long to realize that the words "I'm fine" are something she only utters so she won't have to talk about what is churning inside her, about all the feelings wanting to get out but unable to find their way. She wonders when "I'm fine" began meaning "I'm going to be set fire by my own secrets.)

They both know she's lying; rather than call her out for it Kaldur's jaw drops. "... Aquaman was the closest League responder to our location in Siberia." He tells her slowly; she can sense he's trying to brace her, to settle her with facts before he moves onto something messier and less easily talked about. "The remaining Shadows and the warehouse are under investigation by League authorities. Icicle Junior is on his way to Belle Rive as we speak."

She nods, the movement sending a dull ache to the front of her skull that makes her stop. She's not aware of the way her hands shift beneath crossed arms, clutching at her jacket as one palm presses the blood below her breast back into her skin.

Kaldur pretends not to notice the movement, going quiet for a long time again; at last he sighs, one hand extending upwards to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "… I must ask, Artemis." He mutters. "You understand why I have to."

She swallows, feeling something gritty—bile, maybe—sticking to the back of her throat. "… So ask." She mumbles, evasive.

The hand on his nose drops, milky eyes turning to her in a pained sort of way. For a moment he seems to flounder, trying to find the right words. "Did he—?"

He can't finish the question. For some reason this comes as a relief—she's not sure she can stand to hear the words out loud. "No." She says after a moment, listening as he exhales. "… No. Icicle Junior—" It's her turn to stop short, her mind actually throbbing as the night comes back in flashes: ice pointed fingers, blue lips, cold skin—

("No!" She had screamed beneath him, thrashing against invading hands, ice splattered claws ripping her legs apart. "No! No—")

"...I knew him." She hears herself say, voice hushed. "Jade and I both did, when we were little. Our fathers were friends."

And before she can stop herself the words are coming out of her, sticking to her tongue as she spews them up: hearing Jade talking to him, going after them across the lake. The way Icicle—Cameron, Cameron— had seemed almost deranged when she hadn't remembered him, shoving her head through ice. And then it had come back, all of it, including the reason why she had blocked it out in the first place—

"And Jade came back." She whispers, voice growing hoarse from all the talking. "Like before. She saved me—the Cheshire Cat always comes back…"

This last part doesn't make sense to him; when she finally looks him in the eye Kaldur's brows are furrowed, confused. "The Cheshire Cat always comes back?" He repeats.

She inhales through her mouth, tasting blood and bile on her tongue. And at once it hits her, all at once—tonight and other evenings all falling into place and making sense. "Whenever I'm in trouble, Jade protects me." She breathes, hardly speaking to him anymore; automatically one hand raises to run through her hair, getting caught in a mess of tangles and bandages as she yanks on the platinum ends, ignoring her headache and trying to focus. "Always. And Red—Roy, I ran into him. He had been looking for me, trying to tell me that Jade had been missing, that he couldn't find her, that he was worried she was in too deep again—" Her breath hitches. "… Because she'd only been working with Shadows before. But now she's with my Dad again, and he's—"

((—She blinks at a triangular mask, staring too hard at the apple eyes when they crinkle, a crooked sort of half smile that sends her stomach twisting. "Let's have a loot at that, okay?" He ask easily, gloved fingers brushing against her chin softly, too softly—))

"… He's got her working with the Light directly. With him. Because…"

Because why? The question seems to hang in the air, just out of reach—why would Jade go back to Lawrence? It's one thing to work indirectly via the Shadows but the way Jade had been talking to Cameron… It was like she was doing this under his orders. Obeying him again. But… Jade would never do that.

(So why, then? What does their father have on her?)

She can sense Kaldur isn't following her, and maybe she doesn't understand her own thoughts either—all at once the rush of understanding seems to teeter to a halt, smoking out. "Where's Jade?" She asks suddenly, grasping at straws as her thoughts begin to muddle again.

"… She escaped with the other half of the artifact. Her Shadows were waiting for her in a helicopter."

Absently she glances towards the back room, mind now churning forward again. Sportsmaster has Jade collecting artifacts now. She's directly involved in Metropolis, in Athens, in everything—

(Jade is working with Lawrence.)

(Which can only mean one thing— She's in trouble.)

Before she can second guess the instinct she's taking a few jutting steps back, reaching for her quiver and swinging it over her shoulders. "I'm going after her." She tells him, extracting her bow from where it's compressed against her hip and opening it with a snap of her wrist. "Did anyone put a tracker on her?"

When she glances at his face she can see the surprise etched there, the whites of his eyes very sharp against his dark skin for a moment before his brows contract, no doubt studying the slightly maddened expression on her face. "… I do not believe so."

"Then I'll take the artifact—"

"—Artemis—"

"—she'll have to come after me then, then I'll—"

"Artemis." Kaldur cuts across her, stepping between her and the back door of the Bioship when she makes to move towards it, both his arms raising as if prepared to shove her backwards. "Artemis, you must calm down. You are in shock."

((—"Wally." She tries to say his name, blubbering over the syllables and missing letters. For the first time since her mother left she allows herself to reach for someone, her vomit caked fingers extending towards him—))

As he says it she's suddenly aware of the fact that her hand has reached up without her knowing to fumble with an empty quiver, the whole of her limbs shaking slightly with a kind of barely restrained madness as they struggle to hold a defensive position. "… No I'm not." She says quietly, hearing her voice waver.

(Arrows, she needs arrows. She can stop at home. Or one of Oliver's weapon caches. Or at the Cave, if she can make it to the Cave she can get more arrows—)

"Artemis." He says patiently, following her clumsy movements with ease as she attempts to get around him. "... You are trembling."

She knows he's right, her mind fogged and her limbs exhausted with the effort of holding herself upright; letting out a noise of frustration she snarls at him, nose wrinkling and lips ripping back to expose her teeth. "Kaldur—"

He's hardly phased when she makes another bumbling attempt to duck past him; despite his gentleness as he drags her backwards the movement still sends her stumbling. "You are not up to your usual standard, my friend." He tells her patiently, not looking particularly concerned when she swears over him. "You are not up for another fight, even against an opponent as patient as I am."

It's a challenge, one she nearly is baited into accepting— there's a very tense moment where she simply stands there, aching muscles quivering as she attempts to set them, bones unwilling as she raises her limbs into a fighting position. "I—" She starts, voice breaking with exhaustion as she glares at him; seconds pass, and at last she feels the tightness in her face break, her fingers trembling as she lowers her fists. "… She saved me, Kal." She exhales, straightening.

(And that has to mean something.)

"I do not think you are remembering correctly." He tells her gently, finally lowering his hands when she takes a step back. "You are not well, Artemis. When I found you she was pinning your head in the snow. You were screaming."

She blinks, ignoring the pain still throbbing at the back of her skull; clutching at her head she forces herself to breathe, looking him in the eye as steadily as she can. She makes it nearly ten second before she breaks, chin wobbling. "… What if she's in trouble, Kal?"

She's not sure where the words come from, why they sound as broken and small as they do; something twists about the corners of her eyes, and at once she can feel all the emotions stirring inside her flooding to the surface, not hidden even when she hides behind her hands.

(And although she knows that there's still sore feelings between them— that the two of them are both still reeling over the harsh words they exchanged before the mission began, and maybe they'll never forgive each other for hurling the truth in each others faces— she can sense him shoving all that aside as he takes a step towards her, drawn to her like a parent comforting a child. And maybe that's something she's always admired about him; how easy it is for him to bury his feelings, to hide them in the heat of the battle or the low burn of the aftermath, while she can't stop them from igniting her from the inside out—)

"Tonight is not the night, Artemis." He tells her gently. "You are injured. You are tired. You need rest."

Her chin wobbles again, the breath she tries to draw in only rattling in the back of her throat and not providing any oxygen. "I don't care—"

"You do not have to." He says not unkindly, although when she finally glances out at him from behind her hands there's something slightly stern about his eyes. "You are to go to the medical bay. That is an order."

Despite these words he reaches for her, placing a hand in a reassuring way on her shoulder; she can sense that he wants to hug her, to hold her, but is holding off—is he afraid of her too? For some reason the thought hurts her, her face screwing up as she ducks her head, trying to hide from him and what she's feeling.

(And maybe Wally was right on the 4th of July— she doesn't allow herself to feel things. She ignores her emotions and then they burst out of her, vivid fireworks of trauma and bad memories. But this, what's happened today, what's happened tonight— fighting with Wally and Kaldur, failing to protect Garfield, being attacked by Cameron, and seeing her sister, wanting to run after Jade— it's all too much, all too much at once, how is she supposed to feel so much at once without falling apart—)

He takes his hand back before she wants him to, instead remaining silent for a moment as she tries to hold herself together, the breaths she's pulling in emitting a tiny squeak in the back of her throat. "Quiet now." He tells her softly. "There will be time for crying later."

((—"Artemis, it's alright." He whispers—))

She doesn't listen, one gloved hand reaching up to scrub at her eyes.

"Hush, Artemis." He whispers, voice more stern as he gestures towards the exit. "I will go with you. It is time to leave."

Something inside her—the same small and innocent thing that was once attacked by Cameron all those years ago, the same thing that was beaten again tonight—seems to stir in the pit of her stomach. She's felt it before, in times of weakness; that wild impulse to want to be treated like a child, to be taken care of in a way she hasn't been before. And she's never indulged it, not like this at least—wiping at her cheeks again she pulls in a strangled sounding breath, reaching for him.

(And although a part of her—the one that puts up walls and reinforces barriers and winces when people try to touch her—screams at her to stop... She doesn't. She doesn't keep it together. She falls apart, a thousand bricks tumbling inside her as she wraps her arms around his middle, demolished.)

((—And as Wally peels her mask off her face and touches her cheeks with tenderness she is too bruised for she feels it; her own hardness sharpening, tightening, fighting back against the confused tears that are throbbing behind her eyes. Because he is being so kind, so sweet, when he could be like anyone else and leave her bloody and down; and for a moment she nearly sobs out for him, nearly opens up, nearly cries—))

((—but if she opens, will she ever be able to stop pouring—))

(And all the distance between her and Kaldur—the old fights, lingering grudges, the marled edges that come with these kinds of friendships—don't matter anymore. Nothing does.)

She doesn't cry, doesn't sob. But for the first time ever she allows herself to feel... This.

She clings to him.

And for the first time in months Kaldur is there, steady and sturdy as always.

---

Shocks wears off and is replaced by exhaustion, a kind of weariness lingering in her bones that makes her feel heavy, weak; by the time Kaldur coaxes her out of the safety of the Bioship all the wounds in her skin are no longer stinging but instead aching quietly, dulled by the buzzing that's returned to her mind after so long.

(She has never known her body to be anything other than a battleground. And it is harder than she ever imagined to turn a warzone into someplace where the ghosts of those she hurt before don't haunt her, don't cling to her from beneath the dirt hardly coating their graves— and maybe the fog will never really fade, and the coldness in the deepest parts of her will never thaw. But she is trying, trying to get better and feel more and stop thinking about the weight carved into her ligaments from all the bad she's ever done.)

((And that has to count for something.))

(And even if she's too much of a coward to let herself be that weak again, even if she is embarrassed over her crying and her childishness and the delicate thing inside her she's so set on protecting... Maybe somewhere— underneath the ghosts and the walls and the dirt— she can admit one thing to herself: crying felt better than all the screaming she's ever done.)

As promised Kaldur stays with her, guiding her with the occasional encouraging nod as she wanders, so absorbed in her thoughts she's nearly blind, through the halls. She can tell he doesn't want to touch her, either out of respect or fear or because he simply knows her too well— can tell that despite the moment they just shared she's determined to never be touched by anyone ever again, can tell that the feeling of another person's hands on her sends an actual wave of revulsion through veins; as if the weather can sense it too she winces at the feeling of static clinging to the ends of her hair, rain drops beginning to patter distantly against the ceiling of the Cave.

… Waking up to Wally this morning feels like a distant memory from another lifetime, a snapshot of another girl's life more than hers. But that's how it always is, isn't it? Wally was hers to lose from the beginning—a prize she wanted but was never meant to have, a brief flicker of normalcy in her otherwise twisted existence. And no matter how much neither of them may like it, no matter how many storms—like the one brewing overhead—may try to force them back together… She knows that it can't happen. Not now, certainly; maybe not ever. Not as long as she's so screwed up. Not as long as her father is still out there—

(And not as long as Jade is still at his mercy...)

Kaldur's hand finds its way to the small of her back as her footsteps drag slightly at the thought; when she flinches at the contact he does his best to hide the emotion that crosses his face, fingers retracting before he nods encouragingly onwards. No… As long as Lawrence is still out there, she's in danger. Jade's proof of that, isn't she? Proof that escape is only temporary, a lull of freedom in the monotony of their imprisonment, until the next moment her father finds something to use against them, something to place them back under his control…

Her boots are filthy as they pace along the tile, her body exhausted and feet dragging as they walk onward. She wonders what he's got on Jade. Jade, who's always been so independent. Jade, who's never needed anyone. Jade, who's proof that the only way to survive is to play the game according to one rule: every girl for herself.

The rain grows louder, making it difficult to hear her own thoughts and sending them puttering to a halt; at the same time Kaldur pauses, bare feet skidding to a stop against the tile as his brows knit together. "... What?" She asks, throat gruff as she glances once at the set expression on his face before following his gaze to the opposite end of the hall.

"... Nothing." He says after a moment, still looking forward. "I thought I heard—"

She doesn't listen to the end of his sentence, ears already picking up something in the distance; below the rain there's something else—her eyes narrow, mouth opening, but before she can speak—

The walnut scented air bursts through the hallway seconds before Wally does, a wreck of speed and limbs as he comes stuttering to a stop; in his haste his feet fumble over each other, the whole of his weight slamming shoulder first into the wall. Her stomach seems to clench and then drop, a familiar wave of dread running through her; he's been moving fast, even for him—she hears him let out a ruddy sounding exhale as he slaps himself upright, looking almost drunk as he staggers towards them—

"Where is she?" He blurts out, not realizing who he's stumbled upon. "What happened? I just met M'gann—"

The words cut off, apple eyes finding grey. Wally looks at her, a wreck of emotions and human weakness.

At once her stomach seems to have twisted and plummeted to somewhere about her ankles, hands automatically curling into fists. It's like looking in some sort of demented mirror, as if she's seeing everything she's felt tonight reflected back at her, raw and defined. Terror, adrenaline, torment, heart-break—it's all there, staring back at her so ferociously that suddenly it's easier, much easier, to simply close her eyes.

"Kid." She exhales, voice wavering as she struggles to keep her tone gruff. "I'm—"

(—Fine.)

She means to finish the sentence but can't, instead leaving it hanging in the empty air. She inhales roughly through her nose, willing herself to be more than a wreck of screwed shut eyes and too tense muscles; again her mouth opens, the word not coming out before she grits her teeth shut.

(She was never good at lying to him.)

Whatever she's hiding from is still visible to Wally, his words hushed and sharp as they fire out at her. "... The truth, Artemis." She doesn't know why the words sound unkind, the tips of his ears beginning to glow with a type of anger she doesn't understand. "What happened?"

She winces, but whatever excuse she's about to make is lost when Kaldur steps in front of her, effectively cutting between them when Wally makes to get closer. "Kid." The older boy says warningly, pulling himself up to his full height. "Now is not the time."

The rain seems to pick up against the ceiling, thrumming along to the anxious pounding of her heart; Wally's footsteps are hardly audible as he keeps moving towards them. "Like hell it isn't." He snarls, voice taking on that unwelcome rough edge she so hates. "Move, Kal."

To his credit Kaldur doesn't back down in the face of Wally's snarling, spine stiffening as the other boy moves closer. "Stand down, Kid." He says flatly, fingers flexing into fists. "Artemis needs rest. You can speak with her when she is out of the—"

"I'm talking to her now." Wally cuts across him, nearly bellowing as he comes to a stop less than a foot away, ears a deadly crimson. "Get out of the way—"

"Hey." Her voice much quieter than either of their yelling but somehow more commanding; she doesn't like being talked about as if she's not in the room, as if she's a child they're trying to decide how best to deal with. Feeling her nose wrinkle she steps around Kaldur, ignoring the dull purple blush coloring his neck. "It's okay." She says with as much authority as she can.

The words are soft but severe, her nobly fingers stiff as her nails cut into her palms; despite the command he doesn't move, his milky eyes pausing from their glaring at Wally to glance at her. "You are to go to the medical bay, Artemis." He tells her. "That is an order—"

"I'll take her." Wally cuts across him, jaw dropping and suddenly looking older than she's seen him look in a while. "Just give me 5 minutes."

Kaldur doesn't look convinced, jaw swinging between them for a long moment before he fixes her with some sort of stare she can't read. "I'll go." She says at last, nodding only half-convincingly. "Just let me… Deal with this."

"This?" Wally repeats, eyes narrowing into apple colored slits when she adds the last part. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Shut up."

Kaldur's eyes find hers again, blinking with a silent sort of understanding; still, Wally's gaze swivels angrily between the two of them when they finally nod. "Fine. I will see if there are any updates from Aquaman." Kaldur mutters, at last stepping out from in between them. "... 5 minutes."

For some reason Wally's head to turns to glare at the other boy as he makes progress down the hall, the two of them exchanging something unpleasant and unsaid before he turns back to her, still scowling. "So that's what I am now?" He sneers. "Another thing for you to deal with?"

Her head is beginning to throb again, one of her hands reaching up to press a stray piece of hair back into her bandages when it's ruffled by her own annoyed breath. "Right now you are."

"Fuck you."

She doesn't mean to wince when he swears at her, palm shifting along her skull to ward off another, deeper wave of headache. Wally must notice the movement because at once his expression softens, anger breaking into some other emotion she can't quite place. "... Sorry." He says gruffly, one hand seeking his neck.

The apology sends a strange roll of affection through her, something about the familiarity of the movement that goes with it comforting; for a long moment the hallway is silent except for the sound of the rain, still pounding furiously against the ceiling. She not sure what she's supposed to say.

... He's looking at her, really looking at her; as the quiet stretches on she can sense him taking in her wounds, the marks on her body and the slices in her uniform. And for the first time she looks just as closely back—he's pale, freckles sticking out like pock marks against his skin. The whites of his eyes seem more noticeable, buggier, a single muscle jumping in his cheek—

Her brows furrow. "... Are you alright?" She asks after a moment.

The words are too soft, more tender than she means them to be. For some reason Wally snorts the second the question is past her lips, hand flying from his neck in exasperation. "You're kidding." He scoffs, stepping closer and ducking his jaw to better look at her. "You come here— looking like that— and you ask me if I'm—"

The words flounder and putter out, another snort firing out of his nose as he clamps a palm to his forehead; for some reason she blushes, arms crossing. "... Can we just get this over with?" She mutters after moment, slouching as her eyes find her feet. "Can you just yell at me, or call me stupid, or whatever you want to do?"

"You're not stupid."

He sounds so sure of it, so confident when he immediately corrects her; at once she can feel emotion begin churning inside her stomach, hot and vulnerable and afraid of him. And she's always been weak around him, this much she knows for sure— as Wally falls quiet she feels her throat tighten, ears straining to register something, some sound, anything to distract her from the feeling of him staring at her. "Well, whatever." She mumbles, the words warbled. "... 5 minutes, remember?"

Sneakers skim the tile as he steps closer. "... I saw M'gann." He tells her again, voice softer but still oddly ragged; she pretends not to notice the intensity of his eyes as she raises her head to look at him. "And Tula, when they first came back. They said something about… Cheshire. And some guy. Some guy tried to hurt you."

The buggy eyes flicker once, too quickly, over her body again; she feels a squirm of discomfort run though her when they return twice to the sliced open fabric between her thighs. "… You need to go home, Wally." She says lowly, tightening her arms around herself. "There's a storm coming—"

"So?" He cuts across her, brows crinkling as another muscle jumps in his neck. "You think I'd just leave? After I found out some—some guy tried to—"

His voice breaks and the words die; with a wince Wally drops his jaw, shaking his head as if the thought is too disgusting to allow within his skull. The hands at his side clench and unclench, as if he's trying to force feeling back into his fingers. "That doesn't matter, okay?" She tells him, voice catching on phlegm in the back of her throat. "That—I mean—not right now. You need to leave, Wally. You can't—"

"Of course it matters!" He cuts across her, voice hitching and nearly yelling; the words burst out of him violently, followed by immediately by a few haggard breaths that are pulled in so sharply she's sure his lungs are aching. It takes nearly half a minute before he can speak again, voice shaking as he spews out half-thoughts, stuttering and talking too quickly for her to really understand. "—We take care of each other, that's what you said— that's what we do. You need me. You need me, so I came—"

"Wally." His name doesn't sound right when she says it; it's obvious she's beginning to get frightened as his voice stops coming out altogether, indistinct whispers rolling out under his breath. "I don't need you, okay? I don't know why you— what you were—" Her head throbs, a low panic beginning to pulse through her. "You have to go, Kid. There's a storm coming—"

"You think I care?" He throws at her, taking a step forward until he's practically bellowing in her face. "I don't give a damn what happens to me."

She's expecting it when he tries to touch her, palms flying up as if to yank her by the elbows towards him; feeling her nose wrinkle she takes such a violent step backwards that she nearly stumbles. "No." She hisses, lips curling back so far she can feel the dried blood on her face cracking. "You don't get to— not after tonight." She mutters lowly, stretching out the words until they linger on her tongue, bitter. "... Please just... Don't."

(She doesn't trust herself to hold it together with him close, doesn't trust herself not to spill over her edges and drown him. And most of all she doesn't trust that kind of touching, not anymore, not when she's not sure if his warm hands will suddenly feel like cold ones...)

Wally's ears blush crimson, mouth twisting and spasming into a frown as his hands fall back to his side. "... I'm here." He whispers, throat cracking. "I just need to— I don't care about the storm."

"Well... I do." She doesn't know why it takes her a second to gather her nerve, drawing in a rattling breath before raw emotion seems to burst out of her. "I care, Wally!" She says coldly, speaking so loudly that the words send an odd ringing in her ears. "… I care, okay? I can't—I can't be whatever you want me to be right now. I can't stop you from tearing yourself apart, or ripping through whatever's in your way when you're going that fast. Not tonight. I'm not... I'm not strong enough. I can't hold you together, not when I'm— I can't."

(As she says it she tastes bile on her tongue, the words bitter in the back of her throat as she forces them out; it's childish, hating to admit weakness, she knows it is. But she can't—can't be his Lightning Rod, be a landmark, be whatever it is he needs her to be. And not just tonight; she's never going to be strong enough to keep him safe, to protect him from that electricity running through his veins, to love him the way he wants her to...)

They're both quiet for a moment, irises locked on each other and glaring at each other the way they used to. She hates that she's the first one to look away. "It's been 5 minutes." She says flatly.

Wally hardly gives her second to breathe before he's starting again, scowling when she steps around him. "Go to hell." He hurls after her, footsteps already pounding after her when she tries to leave. "Don't walk away from me!"

"Stop following!" She snaps back childishly.

She nearly trips over her own feet when he speeds in front of her, hair flipping into her eyes as he comes to a stop. "You want me to stop?" He snarls at her, scowl rooted into his features and making them suddenly sinister, un-Wallyish. "Then fine, I'm done. I'm finished chasing after you."

The words are so malicious that they catch her off guard, the wrinkle on her nose flattening as the corners of her glare muddle with confusion. "Fine—"

"Because people either want to stay or they don't, right?" He talks over her, breathing heavily. "You'd know that better than anyone."

(—Paula and Jade and Lawrence and Wally—)

(It's the list, the one tattooed inside her, of everyone who has ever let her down.)

She feels as if he's just slapped her, the words stinging her cheeks and soured by the walnut scent as they collide against her face; feeling herself color she ignores the pain in her ribs, drawing herself up to her full height. "You are such an—"

"I thought this was what you wanted." He sneers across the cuss, ears now practically maroon. "I thought this was, like, a test or something. That you were trying to get me to prove how I felt about you.

"But I get it now. I get people like you— people who are always running and too fucking busy hating themselves to see what other people might be feeling. I thought I was supposed to chase you. I thought I was supposed to come after you to keep you from getting too far gone. I thought if I could just—"

The words putter out, all the anger inside him too much for a moment; it takes him nearly ten seconds to get his train of thought back, a single violent shiver ripping through his spine as he tries to focus. When he speaks again all the emotion from his voice is gone, replaced only by a strange sort of exhaustion. "... It's okay, I mean." He mutters after a moment, palm snagging through his hair. "I'm tired of all this running too."

She knows he's expecting her to yell, can tell by the way he winces as his hand falls back to his side that he's waiting for her to scream a few dozen swears at him. Expecting her to hit him, to make him pay for spewing all her faults between them. And maybe, for a moment, she nearly slaps him.

(She wonders what Jade would do.)

Dimly, somewhere inside her, she can feel hurt settling in— can feel the impact of his words and his anger cutting through her, slicing her deepest parts open. She can feel the tears behind her eyes as his meanness washes over her, as what he's just said bashes against every vulnerable part of her that's been exposed tonight. She can feel him watching her, wanting her to cry, to snarl, to scream.

... But she is tired. And even worse: she knows he's telling the truth.

She blinks about a half dozen times, glassy eyes dropping to the floor. "... Okay." She mumbles hollowly. "Can you move now? Please?"

She doesn't look but can sense his surprise, can tell by the way his walnut scented breath bursts out with a distinct drop in his shoulders that she's caught him off guard. "... Artemis?" He mumbles, the question behind her name so soft she can pretend not to hear it.

"Move." She gets out, voice shaking. "Please."

(She can't cry. She can't be weaker than she's already been tonight.)

(Useless.)

(Pathetic.)

(Worthless.)

((What would Jade think?))

She grits her teeth, keeping the whirring emotion bottled in the darkest corners of her mind. As usual Wally doesn't bother to listen, not even when she raises her head to try to glare at him again; rather than quail at the expression his brows only knit together, seeing through her. "… What happened?" He asks suddenly, eyes flickering between hers. "What did that guy do to you?"

"Move—"

"Artemis."

She feels her chin begin to wobble, her lips sealing together for a moment as she struggles to keep herself together; giving up she steps around him, walking so quickly it sends all her limbs aching. It takes more effort than it should to get the edge back to her voice. "... You don't get to ask those kinds of questions, Wally—"

"But Kaldur does?"

The questions is so unexpected that she nearly trips over her own feet, a scowl splattering across her cheeks as he catches up to her. "Kaldur?" She chokes out, glaring through her tears at the loudness of his sneakers against the tile. "What does he have to do with anything?"

For some reason Wally exhales, letting out an angry sounding breath, keeping pace with her easily. "Everything." He hisses, running a hand through his hair. "It's always been like this—you two keep secrets behind my back. It's like you're both part of some little club I can't figure out how to get into, and you make these decisions—"

The two of them round the corner towards the briefing room, the rain somehow louder in here than in the hallway; distantly she can hear other people talking, any words they're saying being drowned out by her sigh. "I thought you were done with chasing after me." She reminds him, wiping her eyes angrily on the back of her hand.

"Don't change the—"

She winces when he makes to grab her wrist, catching her hand as she's lowering it from her cheek; feeling her nose wrinkle she rips herself from his grasp, the movement so violent she nearly stumbles. "Don't—" She snarls, shoulder aching when she slams into a wall, not allowing herself to feel pain as she flattens herself against it, pinned there like a cornered rabbit. "Don't touch me, Wally."

She can feel her breasts heaving as she hisses at him, face contorted and wild and strained against her own desperation. "Artemis—" He sighs, taking a step closer and only looking impatient when she flinches.

"I'm serious. I can't... I can't."

There's something in her voice, something even she can place— something hidden underneath the fear and the ragged breathing and the way she doesn't trust herself to look away. She knows he can sense it to, can tell by the way he suddenly frowns, by the way the fingers that had just touched her tremble before they curl into a fist at his side. "Just—" She bursts out, exhaling hard. "Just leave me alone, Wally. You being here is— is—"

She doesn't know what she's trying to say; without even finishing the sentence she silently hurts him, his eyes tightening at the corners before he looks away. "... I told Kaldur I would take you to the medical bay." He says flatly.

It's not the answer she wants to hear; suddenly the wild part inside her seems to spasm with unfurled adrenaline, a violent need to survive pumping inside her."So?" She bursts out, beginning to lose patience as she stumbles along the wall, trying to escape him and only growing more frightened when he keeps pace; they're so close to the briefing room she's sure her voice is carrying but she doesn't care, doesn't care about anything, can't think, can't breathe can't hear when he tries to say her name—

"I don't know how many times you've come to a skidding stop on your skull, Kid, but let me make this clear." she snarls, trapped by the edge of the doorway and her own trembling knees. "You don't get a say in my life, or what happens to me. You don't get to guilt me into giving a shit about you because you're still stupid enough to think I want you to drop everything whenever I get so much as a hang nail—"

"Shut up!" He snarls, the tips of his ears blushing a deep maroon.

"You aren't my boyfriend!" She yells over him, not caring about people hearing; she hates Wally, hates him, wants to humiliate him, hurt him. "I don't know how many times I have to say it. We aren't together. You aren't my boyfriend, you aren't—"

"Oh, yeah." He cuts across her, suddenly so angry now that he shaking, a sinister looking white blotching through the crimson on his skin. "I forgot. I'm just the guy you sleep with—"

"Fuck you!" She screams out, blushing a deep crimson. "You are such a—!"

He swears at her before she can finish, her ears ringing and balance warbled as she tries to stomp away; she can hardly think, the words echoing after her as she enters the briefing room with him still at her heels, both their feet clattering angrily against the tile. She doesn't care anymore, about who heard what or all the foul things they've just said to each other; her pulse is banging so loudly against her ears that at first she doesn't register the conversation they've walked into, doesn't place the yelling that signals they've found their way into another argument.

"Then we need to act now—"

"Not as I see it. I am telling you the same thing I told her: not tonight." Kaldur says severely, voice raised. "I am not taking a squad to rescue a known member of the Shadows."

She blinks back the anger from her eyes, dimly registering the illumination of the computer screen and the cluster of people gathered around it as she makes her way into the room, Wally still impossibly at her heels. Almost all the Team is here for some reason: M'gann and Connor with little Garfield between them, Dick and Kaldur in front of the screen, and yelling at them now—

"She's in trouble." Roy snarls back, looking as shrunken and rough as the last time she saw him; his hair is overgrown again, the scruff on his chin patchy and overlong. He's wearing his uniform still, the quiver on his back over half empty and his skin damp looking, as if he's just come in from the weather outside. "I've been trying to track her for weeks, if she's making deals with the Light—"

Her feet stop against the tile, boots squeaking; automatically all the heads in the room turn towards them. "What's going on?" Wally asks for her, voice still ragged and rough. "Red? What are you—"

"You." Roy bursts out, rounding on her and looking slightly unhinged as he starts moving in her direction. "Sweetheart. You saw her—Cheshire. You saw her, right?"

The ringing in her ears reaches a boiling point, forcing her to wince as he gets closer. "What—" She starts, cutting herself off with a hiss when he seizes her roughly by the forearms, dragging her forward.

"Hey!" Wally snarls behind her, the noise echoed by several other people in the room as he rushes after them, attempting to pry the older boy's bony hands from her skin.

She trips when Roy releases her, swinging her round to the center of the argument without so much as looking at her properly, oblivious to the holographic screen faltering as her hand slips through it. "You saw Cheshire. You fought her, didn't you—"

"What—I mean, yeah." She muddles out, straightening and seeking out Kaldur's eyes; for some reason he won't look at her. "Yeah— yeah, she was in Siberia, with the Shadows."

The words pass with a beat of silence as Roy continues to stare at her, eyes wide and creasing about the edges; after a moment he lets out a frustrated noise. "And?" He prompts her, practically snarling as he advances on her. "That's it? She didn't say anything to you?"

"I—"

"Because you're her sister." He throws at her, speckles of his saliva flying at her. "Everything she does is to protect you. You're tied up in this somehow, that's why she—"

She feels her nose wrinkle, the accusation stinging; before she can yell anything at him she's caught off guard when Dick places a hand on her shoulder, cutting across them both. "Enough with the 20 questions, Red."

Roy only makes another frustrated noise, whirling back to Kaldur; as if he can sense she's still on the verge of snarling something Dick's hand tightens, a silent warning to stay quiet; shrugging out from underneath his fingers she glances towards him, not comforted when she can't read anything behind his usual too dark glasses.

(Her head is aching, the lights in the room too bright. The ringing in her ears won't stop.)

It takes less than a second to ignore the silent order. "I'm not tangled up in anything, Red." She sneers, fists clenching. "Am I missing something?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I'm just wondering what month it is." She growls, looking round at them all through narrowed eyes. "Because I thought I left accusations of being a mole behind in December."

"Nobody's accusing you of anything." M'gann says smoothly, rushing forward. "You need rest, Artemis. Garfield will take you to the medical bay."

For some reason she feels a flare of annoyance bubble up inside her, her temper fizzling low about her temples as she watches M'gann motion the little boy forward. She's being shooed away like a child, forced to let others decided for themselves what happened, piece together parts of her life for her; ignoring the throbbing about her temples she raises a hand to stop Garfield's unwilling progress towards. "Like I'm going to leave when—"

"You're still bleeding." Wally points out dryly, voice hardly audible above the rain as it begins to swell to a breaking point above them.

The skin on her knuckles nearly breaks open as she turns towards him, on the verge of lunging across the room to throttle him; this time it's M'gann who hinders her progress, gliding in front of her unexpectedly. "You're concussed, Artemis." She reminds her gently. "Nobody's accusing you of anything. You're just not thinking straight."

"You are going to go to the medical bay."

"Come on." Connor says gruffly, jerking his head towards the hallway that leads to the kitchen. "Don't make me drag you there—"

It's confusing, all the voices in the room seeming to blend together and the artificial wave of calm leeching up the back of her neck; again her temples throb as another hand makes to touch her, guide her, take her away from unravelling the mystery of Jade— No, she can't leave, she can't—

(—Jade—)

For some reason she hears Roy most clearly, her disorientation swelling and then fading when she jerks out of M'gann's grasp; from a few feet away his voice sounds almost booming, eyes flickering over her. "Medical bay?" He repeats, brows furrowing. "Cheshire attacked you?"

She blinks, trying to sort out the memory as Kaldur starts speaking for her. It takes too long for the words to tumble out, cutting off the same unsure explanation he gave her back on the Bioship. "No." She blurts out. "It wasn't her. Icicle Junior. He…"

She doesn't want to give details, to him or anyone else in the room; instead of finishing she trails off into silence, one hand reaching automatically to press against the wound below her breasts, listening as the static begins crackling in the air.

Like everyone else Roy silently finishes the explanation for her, eyes straying to the rest of her injuries and studying the crimson stain that lingers on her fingers when her hand drops back to her side. After a long moment he makes an indistinct sound in the back of his throat. "… Hm. Well, you're used to that. Aren't you, Sweetheart?"

It's a cruel thing to say, although almost no one in the room understands it; she feels her face sour as Kaldur's expression snarls into a rare glare. "Roy." He says warningly. "Now is not the time to—"

"What does that mean?"

(No. No. Not now.)

The words are low, dangerous, her eyes automatically flying to Wally when he says them; he's grown paler in the last few minutes, breath hitching slightly in his chest as his gaze flickers between the three of them, eyes bugged and blood shot. "… What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He repeats, cheeks more blotched white than maroon.

("I have never made a surface woman blush before." Garth grins, oblivious to the wrinkling of her nose as he moves closer. "The crimson color is quite pretty on you...")

She bites the inside of her cheek so hard she tastes blood, hardly daring to glance at Kaldur as if afraid of giving anything away. "Wally—" She starts, sighing.

For some reason Roy laughs, looking at the mixture of confused faces and tension with amusement; she's beginning to think being alone, being with Jade, maybe hunting her for so long as made him slightly unhinged, crazy. "They never told you?" He scoffs, sneering when Wally only remains silent, still breathing heavily.

"Roy—"

"I told you not to call me that, Kaldur." The older boy snarls, spitting again before he turns back to Wally; her temples throb again and her vision becomes speckled with strange wavering spots, making it nearly impossible for a moment to read Roy's expression. "That's the reason why Garth and Tula were kicked out of the Cave all those months ago." Roy says roughly. "He took too much of a liking to Artemis on our trip to Athens. Waited till they were alone."

(Garth seems to expect her somewhat frantic lunging, stepping in between her and the Doctor's desk. "You are being naïve, Artemis." He sneers, moving closer until she can feel the wooden edge pressing against her back. "My heart beings to Tula. But if Kaldur is sampling my prize, perhaps I should sample his...")

A beat, a long one, where Roy merely looks at the tortured expression on Wally's face and back at her, as if enjoying watching the havoc he's causing. "... Lots of secrets around here." He muses, glaring at her as if he's punishing her for something she's not aware of doing.

(As if he's making her pay for taking Jade away.)

(As if, somehow, he's right. As if this is her fault.)

The static in the ends of her hair seems to frizz about her ears, sparks sounding about her cheeks; as she watches another muscle in Wally's neck jumps, sweat beginning to bead at his temples. "I—you're lying." He gets out, looking between the three of them for some sort of confirmation. "He's lying, Artemis."

She swallows, trying to take a step towards him; again she's stopped by M'gann's hand on her arm, the martian's gaze fixed on Wally as if she's sensing what's about to happen as well as she is. "Wally." She tries to say in a smoothing tone, voice instead coming out rushed and anxious. "You need to leave, okay? You need to take the zeta tubes home."

The rain is getting louder, the pressure in the air making her ears pop; Wally continues to look at her, muscles jumping as he begins to shake. "He's lying. Tell me he's lying."

"Go home, Wally."

"Tell me!" He snarls, veins beginning to pop beneath his skin, his voice so loud it echoes several times over in the silence of the room.

She bites the inside of her cheek again, swallowing thickly when she tastes her own blood. "It wasn't anything!" She blurts out, struggling against M'gann again. "Nothing serious happened, he just… He was a creep, I told Kaldur, it was finished, okay? You need to—"

"And you knew?" Wally hurls out, practically screaming as he rounds on the Atlantean, beads of sweat beginning to dribble down along his temples; as he paces towards the other boy she can feel the air shifting, the pressure intensifying— her head is aching, pounding along loudly to her own heartbeat, the sound so intense she can feel vomit churning inside her stomach. "You knew and you didn't tell me?"

"Wally." Kaldur says evenly, trying to keep calm as the other boy screams in his face. "Now is not the time to—"

The words die when the zeta tubes whir to life, buzzing and flashing yellow and white, drawing all their attention towards it; the vomit is burning at her throat, dizziness swirling in her skull— it's too much, she needs to sit down, or stay still, her knees wobbling—

"Tempest. B-10."

Before she can even turn feel the dizzying dread unfurling in the pit of her stomach Garth is materializing, rushing forward and hardly registering them all, one hand pushing his onyx hair back from where it had fallen in his face in his rush. "I have just spoken to Aquaman." He tells the room as whole, finding Kaldur's face and charging towards him, out of breath. "He has just told me—in Siberia. A female in your squad was injured. Is Tula—"

And suddenly she knows what about to happen, can feel the static and the pressure in the air ignite to a breaking point. The ringing in her ears squeals out as lightning strikes beyond the Cave's walls, clattering and numbing and nearly drowning out the sound of a groan of pain—

Wally screams as the computer screen flickers into nothingness, atoms vibrating and cells seizing up; before Garth can even finish his question they're all hit with a blast of air, her eyes shutting as the sound of knuckles slamming into flesh fills the room.

---

It's anarchy, nobody but her realizing what's happened; before anyone else even has their eyes open again she's ripping her arm out of M'gann's grasp and charging forward. "Wally!" She shrieks, spitting hair out of her mouth. "Wally, no—"

She can hardly see the movements of his limbs— he's moving fast, faster than she's ever seen, pinning Garth to the floor and slamming punch after punch into his jaw, his knuckles ramming against bones and eye sockets and the splitting skin of the other boy's lips. All around her she can hear other cries of her Teammates, of people realizing what's happening, rushing forward to help. "Wally!" She cries again, not hesitating before she latches onto his forearm. "Stop it, stop it— listen to—"

But it's not enough, not in the wildness of the briefing room; before he can even still at her touch Garth is retaliating, catching one of his hands and shoving him off, his elbow catching her in the jaw— she gasps, blinking spots out of her vision as she stumbles; it's almost embarrassing, how easily the blow takes her out, how quickly she's tripping and slamming to the floor, letting out low hiss of pain.

(Pathetic.)

Like always the noise—her noise— makes Wally hesitate, turning towards her with a maddened sort of expression as she lies there, blinking confusedly at the splotches in front of her eyes that are hiding him from her. As if dreaming he takes one hit and then another to the jaw, each time his eyes finding hers, locating her, a landmark to help him calm down before he's thrown backwards by another blow, his skin bruising and blood, she smells blood—

He stumbles towards her and at once there's a feral sort of snarling noise; with a squelch and a roar an emerald colored tiger is jumping over her, haunches raised and fangs bared as it flicks its tail, jowls snapping as little Garfield (who hates her, is afraid of her, who has just realized what kind of scum clogs up her veins) roars out in her defense. And before she can even blink it's too late—Garth lands another punch and Wally is snarling again, launching himself back into the fray and not looking bothered as Roy seizes him by the shoulders, attempting to throw him off.

She's not even sure what's happening, who's fighting who as she gets to her feet, being buffeted by Dick as he rushes into the blurry looking mass now trying to subdue Wally—Wally, who is only getting more upset by the sound, but the screaming, by the violence; there's another crack of lightning that seems to clang around the inside of her head, vibrating her bones as she tries to stand, tries to move forward—

"Wally!" She screams out, eyes following the great green tiger as it lunges forward, hissing. "Wally, listen to me, it's Artemis…"

Is she even screaming? Or mumbling? She can't feel the words trying to come out of her mouth as she makes to run forward, iron-clad arms encircling her from behind before she can even stagger closer. "I've got her." She hears Connor say, not bothered when she tries to struggle against him, her nails clawing and legs thrashing as he lifts her off the ground.

"Wally!" She screams again; he's being buried in bodies, in people attempting to both fight and help—she's yelling again, she has to be, his head turning towards her—

The lightning strikes and the lights flicker, leaving only black where his face should be.

---

"This is going to sting a bit."

Although this is fair warning she still winces when the cotton swab touches her face, something sterile flooding her nostrils; when she makes to pull back Black Canary places a steady hand about her chin, holding her still. "I know, I know." The older woman says gently, continuing despite the low noise of protest she makes in the back of her throat.

The medical bay smells too clean, the walls and floor too white. Somewhere beyond her line of sight she can hear machines whirring, a low hum of electricity filling the room. The fluorescent lights overhead flickering twice, just enough to bother her eyes. "Are we done now?" She asks impatiently.

(She doesn't like it here, doesn't like that the room smells of nothing and something all at once. She doesn't like the too hard twin bed Connor's unceremoniously dumped her on, doesn't like the fact that she hasn't been allowed to move from it since she got here. Doesn't like that the way her questions have been ignored, doesn't like that the few people trusts in this world have spent the last hour or so forcing her out of her clothes and into an itching hospital gown, pretending not to hear as her voice grew more desperate, her breathing more ragged, pretending not to notice when she had started crying, repeating the one question again and again—)

(("Where's Wally?"))

She shifts, wincing away from the gentle fingers as they clean her wounds.

(—She doesn't like the bed, doesn't like how high it is off the ground; she doesn't like that only her toes touch the tile, doesn't like that this bed makes her feel like a specimen on display—)

"Now?" She asks again, cheek twitching.

Dinah is being patient with her, blinking exactly once as her whining echoes around the empty room. "Almost, Artemis. It'll be faster if you stop asking every minute." The swab lowers from her cheek and is discarded onto a metal tray, the older woman turning away and reaching for a long line of gauze and medical tape.

It's just the two of them now. The medical bay seems almost hollow as she glances around it again, marking their place amongst the rows of empty beds; the place is much too big for just the two of them, as if at one point the mountain was used to serving more than dozens of occupants. "Alright." Dinah says after a moment. "We've got the cuts on your face and neck cleaned. Bandages on your head are changed—I always forget how much head wounds bleed. You're lucky though, the cut is pretty small, no stitches… Now, you might be a little sensitive for the next few days—"

"I know." She interrupts, glancing at the door.

"—You'll be sensitive to light and sound, may have low level cognitive based symptoms— issues with short term memory, sleeping, emotional stability—"

"I've had concussions before."

For some reason Canary's brows raise and then furrow. "Then you'll understand why I want to keep you here overnight." She says slowly, the amused smile on her lips dulling with a sigh; before she can even open her mouth to argue Dinah's cutting her short. "You leave when I tell you to, Artemis." She says patiently. "That's an order."

She feels her eyes narrow, scowling at the older woman when she goes back to examining her medical chart and not bothering to argue— she knows when a fight is lost better than most people. Ignoring the throbbing at her temples she glares as hard as she can at her bare feet, not even bothering to look up when the older woman speaks again. "… Last thing, I promise. I can't leave without checking out that other cut."

Despite herself she glances up to follow the Canary's gaze, feeling suddenly self-conscious and small as she sits naked beneath the ugly yellow of the scrubby gown she'd been forced into by M'gann; the cut beneath her breast is still bleeding, tiny crimson marks staining the fabric. "Oh." She says dumbly. "… Right."

Dinah raises her brows when she hesitates, wincing when she reaches up to the tie of the gown behind her neck; as she fumbles with the fabric for a moment she knows it'll be impossible to hide the bruises Wally's left on her ribs, the cut from Cameron sitting so close to the other injury. With a sense of foreboding she yanks the tie free.

At first the older woman is polite, looking away and pretending to be busy with bandages and gauze as she presses her palms to her breasts, attempting to both hide her nakedness and the worst of what Wally's done; hunching slightly she does her best to ignore the way Dinah stops dead when she turns towards her, a line of bandages going still in her hands. "… Hm."

She doesn't like the tiny, displeased sort of sound the she makes, and instinctively she starts thinking of excuses; the lie comes out of her too easily, just as it used to when she was a child and was trying to hide her father's marks. "He kicked me a few times." She says, not looking at the older woman as she slouches, ignoring the jolt of pain that sounds through her ribs. "Icicle. Before he… Yeah."

There's a long moment of silence before Dinah makes an indistinct noise in the back of her throat, resuming her business with the bandages. "There's an edge mark." She says slowly, glancing at her. "Was he wearing steel toed boots? Sit up straight."

It takes her a second to recognize the order, wincing as she does so; if the older woman notices she doesn't say anything. "I don't know."

It goes quiet again, Canary's brows knitting together as she places a bandage underneath her breast. "You know, I've gotten a lot of bruises in my life." She tells her, seizing some tensor bandages and setting an edge in the middle of her stomach. "Hold that... This one almost looks a day or two old." She feels her eyes narrow, cheeks turning the faintest pink as she's forced to stop covering herself to pin the bandage against her ribs; when the Dinah glances up at her she's sure she's about to be caught in a lie. "… You sure he kicked you?"

She winces when she starts winding the tensor bandage around her ribs, hiding the injury in question from view. "I think so." She says vaguely, going back to covering her breasts when it no longer becomes necessary to hold the bandage in place. "… I mean, the few minutes before… It's the concussion, like you said. It's... foggy."

She can tell Dinah doesn't believe her but for the first time the older woman doesn't push her, instead pinning the tensor bandages in place with a silver clip and looking away tactfully when she makes to retie her gown. There's a silence, a sticky one, and when she speaks again there's a strange edge to her voice, something tired and bitter and out of character. "... I wish I could tell you that what happened to you tonight was an exception." She mutters darkly, arms crossing. "That Icicle was some sort of creep… It's just part of being a woman in this kind of work. It's not unusual."

She nods, not wanting to have this conversation; beneath the ugly gown she's wearing she can feel her skin prickling, a shiver running through her and seeming to linger on the places too-cold hands touched her. She wishes she were alone.

"… I hate that I want to tell you that you'll get used to it." Canary sighs. "I hate it. The first time is always the worst—"

"It's not the first time." She says impatiently, not wanting to waste time with being cared for. "That guy, Icicle… I knew him when I was a kid. He's… He's done stuff like this before."

The older woman's face goes blank, so deliberately restrained that at once she's sure Dinah is hiding her surprise. "What does that mean?"

"N-Not… I mean, not exactly like this." She backtracks, hating that she can practically see the notes that Canary's mentally adding to her file, another scrap of information to help piece her together. "I don't really—I kind of blocked it out. But tonight… I don't know. I just remember him as a strange little boy who tried to... Kiss me. Once. And then—"

She stops short, not wanting to mention her sister. For a long moment Dinah looks at her, studying her face and the scratches on her cheeks; at last she must get the sense that she's telling the truth, a heavy sounding sigh slipping through her lips. "… I haven't done a very good job protecting you girls." She says after a second, sighing again. "You're in my office tomorrow, okay? 3 o'clock."

The older woman won't look at her anymore, instead busying herself with cleaning up the scraps of bandage and gauze littering her bed. "… Dinah?" She blurts out, not taking it as a good sign when she doesn't even look up. "… Where's Wally?"

A long pause, a calculating one. "... He's fine, Artemis." Canary says, patience fading from her voice. "The League is on their way to handle him."

"But—"

"But nothing." Again Dinah avoids her eye, gesturing to her bed as she makes to leave the room. "You need sleep."

She doesn't think she needs to be kept here, alone and monitored; her mouth is just opening in argument when Canary reaches the door, fumbling with a security system beside it. "Goodnight, Artemis." She says not unkindly, the electronic key pad chiming out shrilly as the door shuts behind her.

For a long moment she stares at the place where the other woman has just disappeared, brief pangs of disbelief sounding through her; as if she's going to spend the night here, alone. Not after everything's that happened, not after Wally—

Wally. The last time she had seen him he had been snarling, too-pale and shaking as Dick pinned him to the floor. Even as she remembers it now she can still hear the inhuman sounds he had been making, his skin waxy as it had blurred beneath the others' blistered fingers, struggling to escape as he had been pinned down…

Is that even a real memory? Or something she only thinks she remembers...

The machines hum around her, the floor cold as she slips off the bed. There must be room for fifty patients here, beds stretching out on either side of the ward, each one as sterile and unused as the one she's occupying. It's all so impersonal, unfit for a building full of children— no, this is a ward for soldiers, for military, each station as cold and empty as the next: a bed, a fading yellow curtain, a black metal cabinet—

Her fingers find the metallic notch of her own drawer and pull, not surprised when it doesn't open. Still, she can guess what's in there— a copied file documenting her medical history, something Canary can make notes in before transferring to her more permanent record. For a half second she considers removing the pin from her bandages and picking it— but no, there's no point. She knows what she'll find in there—

The second drawer is larger, taking up more than half the cabinet and opening sluggishly when pulls it forward. Clothes. At least seven plain looking grey tee shirts and several pairs of loose fitting pants, each identical and unisex and— and all her size. Folded too neatly and crammed into the drawer. Waiting for her.

... Her mind is still moving slowly, staring at the drawer's contents with furrowed brows and not sure what this is supposed to mean. Straightening, she glances around, taking in the number of beds and the identical black cabinets; ignoring the stiffness in her ribs she walks to the next bed over.

Top drawer: locked. Second drawer: clothes. All size small.

Another bed. Top drawer: locked. Second drawer: clothes. Size small.

The next one— top drawer locked, and clothes, clothes, clothes all size— large.

Her head throbs as she glances around at the mass amount of empty beds, at the identical cabinets and curtains and bed spreads. She doesn't understand why her stomach is twisting, churning unpleasantly as she crosses the strange empty isle between the rows, hip bumping against the edge of the bed opposite as she approaches the other cabinet.

... The bottom drawer is empty.

And the top one is— unlocked, but—

Empty. Pristine. As if it's never been opened before.

The tile is cold on her bare feet as she walks back to her bed, mind bogged down as she glances around, thinking hard. Dozens of beds, dozens of clothes. Dozens of locked drawers.

(Like they're waiting on dozens of patients.)

(Dozens of heroes.)

Her bed is close to the door. The seventh bed, on the right hand side.

("Artemis. B-07.")

(Does everyone have a bed here? A cabinet? Clothes?)

... And if so, who do all the other beds belong to?

Her stomach is still squirming as she comes to a stop beside her own cabinet, bending to retrieve a shirt and pants from the drawer. She knows she has no reason to distrust this place, knows that the medical bay and the beds within it are simply another part of her second home. And maybe one night here, in this strange, unnerving place, won't kill her. But she can't shake the feeling that—

Her eyes catch something glinting on the top of the cabinet, half buried beneath a roll of gauze and medical tape; placing the carefully folded clothes on her bed top she reaches for it.

The reflection of the fluorescent light off the delicate golden A bothers her eyes even though the plastic bag— a sole possession, the only thing she had on her when they brought her here. The chain seems to stare at her, blotted out in some places by militaristic block writing, detailing her name and alias and number; ripping past the seal she dumps the tiny necklace into the palm of her hand.

... Wally.

Feeling her face sour she makes to yanks at the back of her gown, feeling the rough fabric slip off her skin and drop to the floor. She doesn't know why her fingers tremble when she fumbles with the clasp.

She doesn't know how long she stands there, naked and wearing only Wally's necklace; all she knows is that the instant the delicate metal touches her collar bone it seems to settle into her, melting into her skin and sitting between her clavicles, as if a part of her body.

Distantly, she hears thunder.

... No, there's no way she's going to stay here tonight. Not when Wally needs her. Not when she's the only person who can— the thought stops short inside her head as her feet flatten against the floor, her knees wobbly as she stands. Can what? Calm him down? Keep him safe?

She's the only one who can be his Lightning Rod.

(And even though she's not sure what that means— she knows it has to mean something.)

She's hardly aware of getting dressed, slipping the utilitarian clothes over her skin almost blindly, taking care only to tuck the necklace beneath the collar of her shirt. A Lightning Rod, whatever that is. Whatever any of it is, the confusing mess between the two of them, all the damage they've done between last night and this one…

She's almost surprised when she finds herself face to face with the door, her hand already braced on the unmoving handle; to her right the keypad offers no clues, screaming shrilly when she punches in random numbers and pound signs.

(—This place is... A distraction. A strange one, she's sure. But she can't— she can't afford to pay it any attention, not when Wally's out there, lost, trying to find his way back to—)

So what now? She could break down the door, she supposes. As soon as the idea raises itself she takes a hesitant step back, muscles aching in a mixture of pain and exhaustion; for a long moment she stands there, hands raised and knees trembling as she measures the door up to size, buzzing mind struggling to find a weak point. But—no; dropping the stance she sighs, impatient with her fatigue, with the fact that she's running on very little sleep, that she can't do this—

What is this, anyway?

Letting out a frustrated noise she runs a hand through her hair, fingers becoming tangled in bandages. She can't do this: can't be trapped here, can't be tired, can't stop herself from thinking of Wally. And Wally—she can't do any of that either: can't stop herself from wanting him, from hating him, from missing him…

But can she stop being his Lightning Rod? Whatever that's supposed to be?

… How is she supposed to let him go if this… Whatever it is keeps bringing them together? How is it fair to either of them?

… Is that it now? She's just supposed to drop everything to take care of him?

How is she supposed to do that when she can barely take care of herself?

She doesn't know how to answer that question, nor the conflicted feelings that seem to be brewing inside her; before she can muddle around the thoughts inside her head she's distracted by movement on the other side of the door, footsteps appearing as black shadows through the gap above the floor. At once she's forcing emotions aside as she flies towards them, ears straining to hear the intelligible whispering on the other side—

The door bursts open with a startling bang, the sound alone making her jump; ignoring the pain that strikes up her bad leg as she stumbles she does her best to straighten. "What—"

She's only allowed a moment of confusion before Zatanna seizes her around the neck, ignoring her squirm of discomfort as she hugs her. "I heard what happened." The other girl says into her shoulder, pulling back to send a worried sort of look to her bandages. "M'gann told me. I couldn't stand the idea of you spending the night alone—"

She ignores this sentiment, instead extracting herself from overlong black hair and clinging hands. There will be time for sentiment, for feelings, later. "Where's Wally?" She cuts across her. "Is he still at the Cave?"

"I—" The emotion on the other girl's face seems to dull, as if she understands that something much bigger than the two of them is happening; she watches as the familiar azure eyes glance behind her, brows furrowing at the mass of beds. "Yeah. They took him to the Underground. Artemis, what's going—"

"What's the Underground?" She interrupts. "The whole Cave is underground."

"Even more underground." Zatanna clarifies, looking troubled when she dodges around her and into the hallway.

She doesn't question it. "Take me there." She commands, voice rough and almost snarling; for the first time in a long time she can feel memories of Huntress stirring inside her. "I need to see him."

Instead of responding with the urgency she wants the other girl sighs. "Artemis." She says carefully, voice too gentle. "You've been through a lot, okay? You need rest, and quiet—"

"Zee—"

"He's restrained, okay?" The other girl talks over her, voice raising slightly. "He won't be able to hurt anyone. Members of the League are still dealing with what you guys found in Siberia but the Flash is coming to help us—"

"Zatanna." She practically snarls out, nose wrinkling; it takes her a second to pull herself together, exhaling loudly and catching on phlegm in her throat. "I need to see him. I can—I can help him." Despite the fact that she can feel her cheeks reddening pushes onward, voice urgent. "I've gotten him out of this before. Trust me."

She doesn't like the fact that the other girl hesitates, doesn't like how long she stares her down; she can tell she's looking for something, something to doubt or make less of. But she knows Zatanna, and Zatanna knows her. And she knows that when the younger girl sets her jaw like that the battle is won. "Black Canary won't like it." She says at last, the words not even out of her mouth before she's moving, pacing out a few quick steps for her to follow.

Her heels ache as they pound against the tile, her balance unsteady as she follows Zatanna around the turn of a corner. "Since when have either of us cared about being liked?"

---

She feels separated from her body as she follows Zatanna into the depths of her Cave, her mind running so quickly over what little information the other girl is hissing over her shoulder that she can hardly process it—Wally's restrained, in confinement. He had tried to hurt them, Dick has a black eye. He won't stop screaming, won't stop fighting them—everything, all of it, doesn't sound real as her heels clang into the floor, the desperation inside her tuning out any kind of pain, storing the ache of injuries to be felt later, much later—

She can only remember being like this once, maybe twice in her whole life—so completely detached from her own reality, her own suffering, and so focused on someone else; as she peels around the corner thunder rolls overhead, letting her know that somewhere, somewhere lightning is about to touch the ground close by—

"It feels like the lightning is running through me—"

(And suddenly she's not in her bedroom in the dark but in the bloody snow of Metropolis, trying to call Wally back as he slips someplace where the sound of her voice can't reach him—)

She's been to this part of the Cave before, the same mess of nondescript door-lined hallways appearing on either side of them as they keep moving. "Right down here." Zatanna instructs her, glancing over her shoulder the same way she's been doing every second step, double checking that she hasn't stumbled or fallen behind in her haste. "There's a door—"

It's as plain as the others, a single door at the end of a short hallway; when they push it open she's immediately met with the downward shooting staircase and a cold-smelling dampness. "I didn't even know the Cave had a level this deep." She hears herself say, muscles aching as she follows Zatanna down the stairs.

"None of us did." The other girl admits after a moment, offering her a hand as she reaches the bottom few steps. "It wasn't even on any of Dick's maps. Black Canary only knew about it from confidential League files…"

Zatanna releases her hand and the first thing she notices is the cold; it's as if this part of the building is older, operating under another heating system that's hardly turned on, the air smelling damp and almost musty. The other girl doesn't move beside her, instead allowing her a moment to take in the empty looking hallway, looking suspiciously at the stretch of doors and opaque looking windows that she can't see through...

She doesn't know why she hesitates, why she takes an extra look around; unlike the rest of the Cave, which is modern and well-cared for to the point of being almost too-comfortable, this place feels... Off, deliberately hardened and impersonal. "… You're getting a weird feeling too, right?" She says under her breath.

Zatanna doesn't say anything, instead watching as she takes a few steps forward, her toes feeling almost clammy against the cement floor. The further she moves down the hallway the less opaque the windows become, masses of reflective black fading into a lighter grey the closer she gets— She pauses, staring through now hardly tinted glass and into the room behind it; she's expecting to see another boardroom, a dozen chairs neatly gathered around an overlong table, the same drab and boring décor as always—

Almost instantly she feels her stomach twist in discomfort. No board room, no boring carpet. Beyond the tinted glass she sees only white walls and a white floor.

… And a single chair. And a table.

"… The Justice League needed interrogation rooms?" She hears herself say, feeling slightly unnerved as she turns back to Zatanna, brows narrowed.

The other girl merely shrugs, joining her beside the glass. "I guess so." She mutters, glancing at her reflection.

For some reason the thought makes her a little sick; the idea of keeping someone here, depriving them, hounding them for answers until they broke. She doesn't like the fact that she's been sleeping over this place, unknowing, for months.

She lets out a ragged sort of exhale, her breath fogging up the glass. Between this place, and the medical bay...

No. She can't think about this. Not now.

"... Come on." She says after a moment, turning away.

Again the other girl hesitates, biting her lip and not making to follow; after another moment she sighs, seeming to gather her nerve. "I don't think the Underground was just for interrogations." She blurts out, waiting until she turns around to look at her confusedly. "I went looking through the other rooms. I think… I think they kept people down here. For a long time."

"… Like a prison?"

"I don't know." A loud pause where Zatanna inhales and exhales with apparently uneasiness. "... But Canary thought of it pretty quickly. As if she'd seen... Like they'd had to contain someone here. Someone else who they couldn't control."

A strange surge of dread seems to rush through her, the chill in the air sending the hair prickling on her arms. "… Where's Wally?" She asks, eyes narrowing.

"... Artemis—"

She ignores the other girl when she reaches out a hand, apparently to comfort her; feeling bile rise in her throat she turns on her heel. "Wally!" She yells out, breaking into a run and ignoring Zatanna when she yells after her. "Wally! Wally!"

She rounds a corner, not daring to look through any of the windows anymore, her lungs aching as she continues to yell; behind her she can hear Zatanna running after her, trying to catch her, calm her down—

"Artemis?"

She near trips turning another corner, hardly taking in what's in front of her—M'gann curled on the ground like a cat, Dick and Connor standing, cross armed and serious—at once she only sees a door and a window, a prison, where they're trapping Wally—

She skids to a stop and ignores their questions, slapping her palms hungrily against glass.

---

He doesn't look like Wally, doesn't look like the boy in the desert— he doesn't really look human anymore, if she's being honest; between the spaces of her fingers she hardly recognizes him through the waxy mask his skin has become, shrunken and too tight and clinging to his bones, veins bursting along his skin and marking gaunt paths towards his heart.

They've got him tied up like some sort of animal— pieces of plastic and rope that are keeping his legs pinned to each chair leg, arms bound behind his back, and something— her fingers whiten as they flatten against the window— a belt, thick and sturdy enough to only belong to Connor, strapped across his chest, keeping his back flat against the chair. Bound there, trapped, unable to run; she watches in horror as parts of him begin to blur, his atoms singing against the restraints, a dollop of blood bursting down his nose when he cries out, forced to stop— dribbling down into his mouth, choking him—

She can't hear him, the glass too thick and the walls too insulated. But she can feel it, can feel the way he drags in snarling breath after breath, shaking, vibrating, rigid; she doesn't want to look, doesn't want to watch as his jaw tightens, snapping, eyes bugged as he screams, pieces of phlegm and saliva spewing from him, veins bursting along his neck. No, this isn't Wally— this is the demon that haunts him during the night, the thing that settles into his bones the second the first branch of lightning touches the ground. This is not her Wally, not her anything— this is a stranger, with sweat dribbling in steady lines down his chin and eyes that stare in horror at the blankness of the walls.

He screams again, and somewhere inside she does to; she watches as his breath seems to rip out of his lungs, pieces of his hair sticking to his forehead as he shrieks, again and again—

("I just need to run. I feel it in my body, and if I don't move it's like I'll— I'll be burnt alive. Or explode. Or—")

The memory flares hard to the front of her mind, incredibly loud in the silence of the hallway; even with her back to them she can sense everyone watching her, reading her, trying to figure out what she'll do next. If she's entirely honest, even she doesn't know what her next move it.

Someone— Connor, she thinks, judging by the size of the palm— places a hand on her shoulder. Ignoring this she shrugs away. Next move, Baby Girl. Come on.

She screws her eyes shut, thinking hard. "… Let me in there."

When she turns round to glare at them all she's sure she's just missed the exchange of bewildered looks. "… Artemis." M'gann says gently, rising from her place on the floor. "You should go and get some rest. You've had a very long—"

She steps past the comforting hand the martian extends towards her, instead fixing her scowl on the door behind Connor and doing her best to ignore another round of looks. "Let me in, Con." A pause, a loud one, where he only stares down at her, frowning. "I'm not asking again."

Before Connor can do any more than cross his arms Zatanna is snorting behind her. "I think you're fighting a losing battle, Arty." She says teasingly, quailing slightly when she catches her nose wrinkling at the nickname. "M'gann's right, you need rest."

"Says the one who brought her here." Dick chimes in, scowling for a moment before he winces; behind his usual dark glasses she can see a nasty purple mark tainting the skin around his eye. "I thought I told you to make sure she stayed put?"

Zatanna makes another annoyed sound, an angry huff of breath rustling the onyx waves about her shoulders. "Easier said than done, Boy Wonder." She mutters. "The girl's half dead and still asking for him. I don't think a few well-chosen words from me is going to—"

She's tired of their arguing, tired of them talking about her as if she isn't there; cutting them both off with an angry sounding hiss she makes a show of pressing her hair back behind her ears, thinking hard. "Where's Kaldur?" She talks over them.

An awkward silence in which no one answers her; she assumes the quiet means he's still dealing with the sudden appearance of Garth. "… Look." She snarls after a moment, fingers catching on bandages for a moment. "You guys have to let me in there."

"So he can attack you the way he tried to half the Team?" Zatanna sneers. "Yeah, right. I think you've taken enough hits for—"

"He won't attack me." She bursts out, head aching as she struggles to find the words, to remain focused on Wally and not the pain and exhaustion mounting inside her head. "Not after—I mean, okay, he will at first. But then—" She fumbles wincing, and looking helplessly between M'gann and Connor. "You guys know he won't. He won't hurt me."

She locks eyes with Connor first, the blue of his irises almost piercing as he stares at her, jaw dipped; for a moment that first night, that first time alone with Wally in a storm seems to ring so loudly in her ears she can hardly hear herself think. "Meg?" He says, turning to find M'gann.

A look passes between the three of them, something dark and meaningful; beside her Zatanna huffs again. "What does that mean?" She pouts, walking between the three of them. "What do you guys know?"

M'gann glances at her and at once she's tempted to do the cowardly thing, to let the other girl explain it; gathering her nerve she swallows several times, trying to find the words inside her. "Wally's been like this before." She starts, dropping her hands to her sides. "I don't really… I don't know what causes it. But I know there's always a storm. A Thunderstorm.

"None of us really understand it." She sighs, looking back at him through the glass and watching for a second as he struggles against his restraints again. "… And it gets worse every time. If there's lightning hitting anywhere close by it's like… He told me he can feel it inside him. And it makes him want to run, like if he doesn't he'll—"

Wally screams again, face screwing up and edges blurring; she can't look anymore. "He called me his Lightning Rod. When he gets like this he's like an animal, he can't—he can't tell what he's doing. I'm a landmark. Something to remind him where he is. Who he is."

It's quiet, the cold in the air chilling her as she crosses her arms. "… How come we've never seen him like this?" Zatanna asks, voice hushed and edged.

"I have." Connor nods, shaking his head. "Once, almost 6 months ago. I couldn't pull him out of it."

"But I can." She insists, looking around at all of them. "Usually I catch him before he's been in it too long. It's—it's easier to get him out of it if he's not really gone yet." She doesn't know where the words come from, doesn't know how she understands their truth, but she trusts them; finding Dick's gaze she stares him down as hard as she can. "Let me in there." She repeats, lips tightening around her teeth. "Every second you keep me out here is another second he's trapped in that— place. That wherever he goes where I can't call him back—"

Dick hesitates, fingers running along his jaw; for a long moment he's lost to his own thoughts, palm slipping round to the back of his neck. At last he nods to Connor.

Nobody has even moved yet and M'gann is already at her side. "… We'll be on the other side of the glass." She says quietly, no doubt sensing the churning in her stomach and placing the emotion better than she can. "If anything happens we'll be there."

She swallows. "I know that." She says not unkindly, twisting the handle.

---

The door isn't even shut behind her before the cold hits her; all the heat seems to have been sucked of the air, leaving her with the sudden sensation of having been submerged in freezing water. Before she can stop it she's letting out a small gasp of discomfort, the noise hardly louder than a breath as a shiver runs through her, the door cold on her back as she leans against it.

(There is a moment, a weak one, where she nearly turns on her heel and leaves.)

(She's afraid— and even though she should be okay admitting that, even to herself, the thought still digs into her shoulders unpleasantly.)

Wally looks round at the noise, expression waxy and eyes unseeing as he snarls at her, lips ripped back over bloody teeth as he lets out a pant. The breath he's pulling in catches on phlegm, the fluid rattling at the top of his throat and choking him.

(She's afraid.)

(But she can't be. She can't be. She can't be, not when Wally needs her.)

(Even if he's not her Wally right now.)

And for a long moment she stands there, frozen against the door and feeling overwhelmingly like an hare with its heel snared in a trap. She can tell by the veins pulsing around his eyes, by the stark white against the blood shot irises that he's not really seeing her— his mind, she knows, is far away and fighting against whatever it is trying to take him. He's still snarling, a few half growled noises ripping out of him as he struggles repeatedly against his restraints, his atoms vibrating and his blood flowing hot and thick from his nose down to his chin.

She has faced her father, her sister, looked death in the eye a thousand times over— but never before now has she ever been gripped so fiercely by the impulse to run. The urge seems to flood through her, hitching about her lungs and wobbling at her knees, all the muscles in her body tense. She wants to, needs to run— to hide, to lock herself away, to take any measure possible to escape this, this… This thing inhabiting Wally's body, this thing that's snapping it's jowls at her and exposing teeth, this thing that has taken over the one person she thought to be safe and turned them into a monster, a demon, another thing to haunt her at night, another thing to be wary of, another thing that only promises death and pain and hurt if she goes near—

(Artemis is a born runner.)

Her fingers fumble for the door knob for a moment, muscles jumping beneath her skin as she locks her joints in place. She grips the metal so hard the rounded edges nearly cut through her.

(... No. No.)

She tries to inhale and finds no oxygen. "Wally?" She tries to say.

The words are warbled, hushed and broken and hardly audible despite the quiet of the room; Wally continues to snarl at her, his repeated struggling now sending his weight ricketing about the chair legs. She swallows again. "W-w..." Her voice breaks; inhaling so hard her ribs ache she forces herself to leave the safety of the door, aware as she does so of the eyes watching her through the pane of glass. "Wally?" She whispers, willing her voice to be louder. "... Can you hear me?"

The snapping teeth turn towards her, coated in blood; she raises her hands, half expecting him to fly at her, to slip past his restraints and start throttling her. "… You need to listen to my voice, okay?" She says quietly, feeling as if she's advancing on a skittish coyote as she moves further into the room. "Focus on me. It's Artemis—"

She's can't even finish her name before he's screaming, watching with a gasp as he starts chocking on his own blood as it pours down his throat; like the coward she is she flinches towards the wall, expecting a fight, expecting a struggle, watching helplessly as he rickets against his restraints, now struggling so badly he topples forward, the chair tipping sideways and sending him slamming to the floor—

She grimaces against the white paint, tears burning at the corners of her eyes, not wanting to watch the nightmare in front of her; the scream dies as the force of the blow rattles him, the chair scraping against the floor. "... It's okay." She whispers into the wall, not sure if she's talking to herself to him as she stands there, fighting off the urge to cry. "It's o-okay."

He makes some sort of noise— something terrible and helpless, a strange cross between a whimper and a snarl that seems to stick against the insides of her ears, echoing and forcing her to hear it again and again. She wants to leave, to run, to sink down along the white wall and clasp her hands against her ears, to dig the sound out of her mind and never hear, never remember—

(Focus.)

It's harder to breathe, the smell of blood filling up her lungs and poisoning her. It takes nearly a minute before she's able to turn away from the uncomforting sterile white of the wall.

He's on his side, pinned beneath the chair against the tile, cheek smashed against the ground and blood oozing out onto the floor. He's still trying to snarl, trying to fight, shaking and blurring and—

And crying.

And maybe that's what forces her to move, what always forces her back to him; she hates seeing him in pain, seeing him hurt and lost and frightening and needing her. She hates this part of him, the part that needles through her walls and her coldness and forces her to feel things, forces her to go to him, forces her to move when every instinct inside her is screaming to run, to leave, to save herself—

The sweat on her back clings to the wall when she forces herself to take a step forward. "It's alright." She whispers, voice breaking as her throat tightens. "It's okay, Wally. I'm here."

The few steps forward she takes are hard fought, muscles aching and adrenaline fighting her as she gives him a wide berth, circling the room and not daring to look up to where she knows the eyes of her Teammates are staring at her through the blacked out glass along the wall. "You're alright." She tries to say as gently as she can, working her way around the room until she's behind him. "Just another storm, okay? You've been… Lost. For a few hours." She bends slightly, hesitating as she comes to a stop behind the chair. "But I'm here now. Focus on me, Wally. Artemis."

(Wally and Artemis.)

(Just the two of them.)

(The way it's supposed to be.)

She can't tell if he's listening to her, his shaking only continuing to intensify; at the sound of her name again he cries out, the scream less desperate than before, shorter and meek. "You're okay." She tells him, reaching out to the back of the chair. "You're fine."

He groans when she hoists the chair upright, lips sputtering up blood as he tries to gasp in a breath; unconsciously she glances towards the glass, biting her lip.

"That's right." She whispers soothingly, watching as the tightness in his jaw tilts towards her, trying to find her behind him. "It's Artemis. You're alright."

And she knows what has to happen next, how to finish the job; unconsciously her hand shifts along the chair, reaching to touch him. But—

She doesn't.

Her fingers tremble just an inch from his shoulder, from the lines of taught muscle and bones that are beginning to become familiar again. She knows she has to touch him.

(The cold hands grope her breasts, slice apart her thighs. She screams, and screams again, but no one is coming—)

She can feel eyes watching her through the glass, staring as her fingers hover over him, not touching. She wonders if they can see the pain in her eyes as reality sets in— if she wants him back, she will have to touch him.

(Even if she can't touch anyone without feeling her skin crawl.)

She tries to breathe, tries to focus. Tries to bite the raw inside of her cheek, tries to use the taste of her own blood to force herself to do this. Her fingers shake before returning to her side.

(She can't do this.)

(And she wishes she were better at easing pain. And that she had the courage to be the soldier, had anything left inside her in this moment to bring forth words of comfort to stop him from falling apart. She wishes she could piece the both of them back together, wishes they could return to the people they found each other as— the boy with the freckles and the girl with the overlong hair. But she can't. She can't she can't she can't.)

((She wishes she had anything left inside her to give him. But now— when her body has been bruised and ravaged by his hands and torn into and beaten by colder ones— she can't find anything left. Nothing else to pour out to save him.))

The hand that almost touched him curls into a fist, skimming against her thigh as she rounds towards the front of the chair; his shaking has changed, switched from violent tremors to uncontrollable trembling. He's still waxy, covered in sweat as she bends in front of him, staring hard at his unseeing eyes. "Come on." She whispers, voice more desperate as she gets to her knees, begging him. "Come back, Wally."

A great shiver runs through him, his limbs shaking so violently he nearly rocks the chair forward; instinctively her hand shoots out to catch him, a jolt of pain running up her arm and pooling near her ribs as her palm cuts into the back of the chair. She feels sick, vomit spiking into the back of her throat when she smells walnuts; and he's close, so close, his muscles jumping and lips parting, struggling to pull in air, to pull back to himself, his sweat and blood dribbling down his face.

"You're almost there." She pleads, wanting to touch him but afraid to, her eyes stinging with tears as they flicker between his unseeing ones. "...Come back to me, Wally." She whispers. "Please."

The unseeing eyes blink, blood coated lips dragging the taste of her breath inside his mouth. The pupils blow out, and suddenly she knows what about to happen.

Unseeing, he leans in, dragging the last bit of life out of her.

---

His mouth locks on hers and she feels the first tear slip down her cheek.

For the first time in her memory she has to force herself to stay still, not to pull back when he kisses her; it's very hard to force the vomit, the trauma, back inside her, impossible not to screw her face up into a grimace as her body is violated all over. She hates it; hates the taste of blood and the reminder of the stain of Metropolis. Hates that as it happens she feels all her muscles flinch with revulsion, with hate, with fear for her life. She hates that her body suddenly feels like this thing others get to use, something that belongs to someone else for their needs rather than hers.

(She hates that kissing Wally has become another thing that scars her.)

(Hates that someone else has taken something precious and comforting and turned it into something she is too broken to stand.)

(She hates it, but it doesn't matter how she feels—right now, in this moment, she has to be a soldier. And no matter how battered and beaten it may be, her body belongs to this mission. To her Team.)

(To Wally.)

His lips are ice cold, unmoving against hers for the first few seconds; more than ever she can feel the eyes on the other side of the glass staring at them, watching as she screws up her face, trying not to cry. Almost forcibly he pries her mouth open beneath his, inhaling the taste of her and shuddering at the warmth she sends flooding into him.

(And at once it feels no different, Cameron on top of her and Wally kissing her now—either way it's not what she wants, not something she's doing of her own free will. Again the small thing inside her curls around her heart, wanting to run away, wanting to hide, to protect her from this violation, from another boy wanting to take something from her—)

((But it is different. With Wally it's always different. And this is the same thing as taking a bullet for him, or dragging him to safety though the dirt—they take care of each other, this is what they do—))

(She would trade parts of her to keep him safe. And this is no different, no different—)

She tastes walnuts without wanting to; not able to take it anymore as she pushes him off her, wincing at the sound of the chair toppling back onto its legs, another eerie shudder running through him as he opens his eyes—

As she makes to hastily wipe the tears from her cheeks she can tell he's back, can tell that he's inside his own head again; she hears the ragged sounding exhale that bursts out of his mouth as she wipes the taste of him from her mouth, swallowing the scent of walnuts from her tongue.

(She will never be able to kiss him again.)

Her cheeks sting as she scrubs them clean, finally raising her eyes to meet his; at once his pupils blow out, eyes blinking rapidly as he stares at her, taking her in. "Artemis?" He breathes.

He tries to move, to raise an arm in comfort, the binding along his arms and chest stopping the action before she has the chance to flinch back from it. At once she can see the confusion billowing out at the backs of his eyes, the apple orbs flickering down to where he's restrained in the chair, to where he's sweat through his clothing, to where the blood has dripped onto his shirt. "Wally…" She starts to say, listening to his breath hitch as he starts to panic. "Listen—"

He swears, the curse echoing around the room and ricocheting of his muscles as they begin to tremble. "Again?" He bellows in her face, waxy skin wrinkling as he screams. "It happened again?"

The shouting makes her head throb, a mixture of pain and panic spiking through her; ignoring them she swallows thickly, words spewing out in their place. "I'm sorry." She whispers, voice thick as her chin wobbles. "I-I tried to get you out of there but there was just so much—"

Wally's face twists up in anguish when she apologizes, head dropping until he's staring at the blood stains on his chest. "Oh my god. Oh my god." He repeats again and again, rocking against his restraints but no longer attempting to escape them. "What did I do? I-I hurt you again, didn't I?"

He's working himself up again, muscles beginning to jump at odd intervals along his neck; when she doesn't immediately answer he lets out a loud groan, the noise gut-wrenching against her ears. "What did I do?" He yells into his lap, voice growing thick as his ears redden. "What did I do?"

Again she's overwhelmed by the instinct to run. "Kid." She says, voice low and stern; biting the inside of her cheeks she forces herself to move towards him, her knees pressing into the tile. "Kid, come on. Look at me."

Like a child he shakes his head, ignoring her as she settles between his knees. "No." He whimpers, jerking his head away from her hand when she raises it to try to force herself to touch him. "I don't—I don't wanna see what I did. I don't want to—"

(He's breathing hard, the walnut scent like poison as he slaps her across the cheeks; she can't do this, can't be close to him, can't save him like she's supposed to—)

And she should be kinder about it, her own trauma and emotion getting the better of her; the ringing in her ears seems to reach a fever pitch as her nose wrinkles, snarling under her breath. Seizing a fistful of his sweat slicked hair she yanks his forehead back, forcing him to look at her. "You didn't do anything to me." She tells him firmly, unblinking as his gaze flickers between her eyes, looking for a lie behind the scratchiness of her voice. She does her best not to look at the blood dribbling from his nose. "I promise."

Wally winces when she releases his hair, brows furrowing as they stare at each other; she's sure it's only her use of the last two words that convince him. "… What happened?" He whispers at last, staring her down. "What— where are we?"

It takes her a second to figure out how to word it, biting her cheek and shifting her weight uneasily as her knees begin to grow sore against the tile; almost unthinkingly she looks away, watching as her fingers move of their own accord, hovering over his skin for a moment before they pull away. "We're below the Cave. Zatanna called it the Underground." She mutters. "Some sort of place for... I don't know."

She fumbles the end of the question, not sure how to give him information without upsetting him; as if aware that she's withholding something Wally frowns, glancing about the room. "What happened?" He repeats, looking at the blackened window before glancing back at her.

"... Same as always." She mumbles, watching his ears color again. "Only this time the whole Team was there. The lightning struck and you— you lost control. They took you down here to stop you from attacking everyone."

His sweat lingers between her fingers, sticking to her skin as she wipes her hand repeatedly against her thigh; Wally's breath rustles a piece of her hair as he exhales, watching her carefully. "… How long?" He breathes, clearing his throat. "How long was I… Gone?"

She settles her weight back onto her heels, hands twisting anxiously in front of her stomach. "I don't know." She says honestly. "They took me to the medical bay, I couldn't… A few hours at least. I… I'm sorry. I tried to get to you but—"

"Don't." He cuts her off, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologize. This isn't—this isn't supposed to be your problem. I mean, you were right—this morning, everything you said. I can't depend on you for… Everything."

There's weight to the words, enough that when she meets his eyes she's struck very suddenly by how intense the look on his face is—so this is it. He's done with needing her.

(Why does that hurt the way it does?)

And she knows what she wants to tell him— that he can depend on her for some things. That they're still friends, despite everything— but the longer she stares at him the more the words bury themselves inside her, unspoken. She never could lie to him, and maybe that's what the words are now— now that she's been bled out, now that she's more damaged than she's ever been. Maybe she'll never be strong enough to be anything for him, ever again...

Even though she drops her eyes to the floor he keeps staring at her, watching as she struggles to keep whatever she's been feeling hidden from him. "The Team sent out a League wide alert." She says after a moment. "… The Flash will be here soon."

"Right."

He's still looking at her, staring at her as if she's some sort of lifeline he's clinging to; shifting uncomfortably she gets to her feet. "So…" An awkward pause. "So I'll un-tie you."

When she makes to reach for Connor's belt still strapped across his chest Wally flinches, actually attempting to lean back from where her fingers brush against his chest. "I—Don't." He mutters, ears reddening. "I don't want to… I don't want to risk anything. If you're staying."

Her hand falls back to her side. "… Do you want me to stay with you?" She asks after a moment, voice oddly hoarse.

For some reason Wally winces again, suddenly unwilling to look at her. "You don't have to." He mutters, staring at his lap. "... It's just easier. If you're close."

The last part is so quiet she can hardly hear it, the meaning plain when his ears blush another shade of crimson. "... Wally." She sighs, feeling her stomach sink.

"I know." He interrupts before she can finish. "I know, I remember what you said when— I know." He says plainly, wincing. "You don't have to— we don't have to. Just... If you're in the room."

Her head throbs as she drops her jaw, staring at him and trying to see through his mumbling; when she doesn't immediately say anything back Wally backtracks, blushing. "I'm sorry." He winces, shaking his head. "I'm probably the most selfish person in the world for asking that. You probably— you probably want to be alone. After tonight, after everything—"

"No." She hears herself say before she can make a decision. "I mean—I can stay."

She's not sure why the words come out of her mouth, why they sound so sincere. This isn't what's supposed to happen—he's giving her an out, an excuse to run away from him the same way she did this morning, the same way she's been itching to since she first walked in here. He's trying to be a gentleman, to let her tend to her wounds in private, to let her sprint out of here and into the worst parts of herself to try to recover from... Everything. And she's supposed to leave, to turn her back on him the same way she's been trying to since she first left him, alone and cold in front of their window.

She wants to leave. But—

… Why is this so hard for her?

… Why can't she just let go of him? Just leave him alone? Why is it that the second either of them attempt to move on they're shoved back together again? Why can't she make up her mind, why is she so caught between wanting him and hating him, between wanting to forget and wanting to hold on, between walking out of the bedroom in the morning and dragging him closer in the darkness—

Apple eyes meet grey, his brows furrowing as she exhales loudly through her nose; feel frustrated with herself she turns her back on him, walking exactly three paces until she's less than a foot from the white paint of the wall. "… Have you slept yet?" He asks her.

She allows herself a second to compose her features, aware of his eyes on her back as she crosses her arms, stiffening. "No." She admits, turning back to him. "I'm fine though. Too much… Excitement."

"You'll feel better if you sleep." He says flatly.

"I said I'm fine, Wally."

This is a lie— she can't remember the last time she's been less fine— and as usual Wally sees through her; as she tucks her hair back behind her ears she senses the muscles around his throat tightening, his jaw tilting and scientist eyes turning to her, looking for a distraction. "You never used to sleep much." He tells her. "… I think last night was the only time I saw you get a full night's sleep."

The words are sticky, toeing around something she doesn't want to talk about; instead of replying she makes a show of leaning back against the wall. "Hm." She mutters vaguely, allowing her knees to give out as she slides her way down to the cold tile.

Wally's eyes drop to the speckles of blood on his shirt, his ankles flexing around the restraints pinning his legs to the chair—not as if to escape, but almost as if testing them, mentally debating their strength, their structure. "Three or four hours." He mutters, not looking at her. "I stayed up once, trying to count. Three or four hours and then you wake up. Right?"

When he glances up at her she feels her eyes narrow, feeling very suddenly like a subject in one of his experiments; biting hard on the inside of her cheek she doesn't say anything back.

The silence, as usual, isn't a deterrent. "I used to think it was me." He mumbles. "That I was tossing and turning too much. But you're a heavy sleeper. For those three or four hours it would be almost impossible to wake you up, you were... So peaceful. At your most beautiful—"

"Wally." She cuts above him, nose wrinkling.

The interruption is enough to get him to pause, apple eyes beginning to grow glassy as he slips into another thought. "I loved watching you sleep." He tells her, not quailed when she scowls at him. "When you're awake it's like you breathe fire— you're always making a face or glaring at me. I never noticed how beautiful you were until I saw you sleeping."

She doesn't want to hear this, can't stand to have it thrown at her so easily; pulling her knees tight to her chest she focuses on the ringing in her ears, the sound not quite enough to block him out when he keeps talking. "That night on the couch, I remember... I was all pumped up about my Dad. I couldn't even focus on what we were watching." Despite herself she places the memory— Wally, storming in and upset, finding her on the couch and making a deal not to talk about it. "We must have sat there for an hour before I finally figured out what I wanted to tell you, how much to say about home and— and you were asleep. Beside me. Like that was normal for us.

"We were barely even friends." He chuckles unexpectedly, still staring at her. "But I just— it was like I was seeing you for the first time. Like I was just noticing all the little things about you: the way your hands were sculpted from pulling arrows, the freckles on the side of your neck, how the tips of your eyelashes are almost white, how the center of your lips are always chapped... I should have kissed you, when I walked you back to your bedroom. I wanted to, I wanted— I wanted to go to bed with you and just lie there, just watch you, just see every little thing about you all that glaring used to hide..."

She feels her knees knock together as she blushes, too afraid to say anything back; at the movement Wally blinks, breath hitching and stuttering out of his chest. "— Serotonin." He mutters, eyes growing buggy again. "In most medical studies patients suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder have altered levels of serotonin, leading to an inability to sleep and nightmares—" His breath catches on a piece of phlegm, a rippling shudder running through him so violently he can't speak for a moment. "You have nightmares. And, after Athens—"

He's working himself into a panic again; feeling her own fear twisting in the pit of her stomach she sits up, muscles tight against the wall. "Wally—"

"—the nightmares were about Garth, weren't they? Weren't they? And you ran from me, you ran from me—"

"Wally!" She snarls, her voice so loud it jars him into silence; for a long moment there's no sound between them other than slightly ragged breathing. "Stop it. Just… Stop."

She doesn't want to hear how screwed up she is, how her flaws haven't escaped his notice; curling her legs tight to her chest she hides behind the tops of her knees, not wanting to watch him continue to stare at her.

"… Why you didn't tell me about Garth?"

The words are low, the quiet kind of accusatory; feeling a low burst of shame in her stomach she can hardly gather the courage to glance at him, to see the hurt branded on his features. "… There were a lot of reasons."

She knows this isn't enough of an explanation; when his eyes only narrow at her she inhales, ducking back down behind her legs. "We were fighting." She whispers. "Because of me, and—the way that I am. I was never good at being close, at being… Who you needed me to be." For some reason her throat tightens, an awkward pause cutting off the words for a moment. "… You already knew how screwed up I was, even if I wasn't telling you. And we both knew you thought of me as a pity case. Do you really think—I mean… How would telling you what happened help anything?"

She's expecting him to deny the dig she throws at herself, expecting him to argue and save some of her dignity; for some reason her heart seems to fall through the white tile when Wally nods, chin bobbing twice before he bows his head, staring into his lap. "… You still should have told me."

"So you could have what?" She counters, scowling at her knees. "Punch Garth a few months earlier?"

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Wally open his mouth, face tight and ears reddening; after a moment he seems to think better of the argument, lips sealing shut. "… I don't know."

(There is something there, something she can't read; for a moment she's expecting him to tell her she's selfish, horrible, the most horrendous person he's ever met. He could say it, and it would be true— she is every awful word she can think of. Her, and all her secrets, are the reason things between them fell apart; the reason neither of them are happy.)

((He loved her. He loved her but she couldn't give that back, because she's too bruised and too cynical and so incredibly fractured in all the wrong places. And Wally West can't love someone like that. She won't allow it.))

Finally they look at each other properly again, matching scowls screaming towards each other from across the few feet of emptiness between them; for the first time it feels as if there's very little that's unsaid between them, as if very suddenly nearly all of their secrets and splayed in front of each other, unhidden.

Wally's the first one to break, scowl twinging when he lets out a bitter sounding half chuckle. "This is never going to be easy, is it?" He sighs, nodding to the space between them. "Us being friends."

"It never was." She mutters, head aching when she tilts it back against the wall. "Remember?"

Another strange sounding chuckle. "... Right." He snorts, raising his head in time to watch her glance away from him and to a point somewhere on the opposite wall. "What are we, then? If we're not friends?"

"We are friends." She corrects him, eyes narrowed despite his teasing tone. "Just not the kind that... I don't know. See movies together."

"We watch movies."

"You know what I mean." She sighs, finally giving in and repeating her own words back at him. "We just— we take care of each other. That's what we do."

(Yes, they are the kind of friends who take care of each other. They save each other from themselves. They hold each other in the darkness, even if it doesn't entirely make the darkness go away. Because the world is full of their own personal hells, their own demons to fight. But even if the nightmares are still walking maybe they're the kind of friends who hold each other when they aren't feeling safe, and maybe they're the kind of friends who just make things seem better. Maybe they are the kind of friends who can whisper "It's alright" and "You're okay" and other lies when they just need to hear it. Maybe they are the kind of friends who can, for a moment, make the darkness not seem so bad.)

(And she understands now why he came running to her the second he heard what happened out in the Siberian snow. It wasn't out of love, or wanting— although this may simply be the two of them denying things. But Wally came running because it's what they do, it's the same reason she will risk her life out in a storm to pull him back in, the same reason she left the safety of her bed to seek him out. They take care of each other. They take bullets and they suck out blood and they kill the soft places inside of themselves if that means protecting one of them from the kind of violence they're both too young for. They take care of each other because that's what they do, because if they didn't— who else would?)

Wally nods. She can tell he's really mulling over her words, attempting unsuccessfully to shift against his restraints; as he tilts his head back against the chair she feels her eyes lingering on the stubble beginning to blossom around his throat, the red hair blotting against his skin like freckles. "… I called Linda today." He says to the ceiling.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. We're going out next week."

It breaks her heart to hear it; without questioning why her tongue licks out to taste his blood, still trapped in the creases of the chapped skin on her lips. "… That's great." She says, trying to mean it.

He doesn't look back at her but she still watches as his overlong ginger lashes blink at the ceiling, listening hard to the silence that follows these words as if hoping to find a meaning she isn't sure is there. "… Artemis?"

He's growing tired; she can sense his exhaustion as it creases around the letters of her name, sounding like so many other times he's muttered it in sleep, or in the darkness. "Yeah?"

His throat bobs as he swallows, the words not coming as easily to him as others; something in the hesitation makes her uneasy, her own voice ringing out before his can. "You should sleep, Wally." She tells him, hesitating before she throws his words right back at him. "You'll feel better if you sleep."

The ginger lashes blink again, the corner of his mouth quirking before his eyes shut.

---

Her head rolls on her shoulders, the sudden movement jerking her out of the half sleep she's drifted into; her legs are aching from sitting on the tile, the muscles in her lower back tight from pressing against the wall.

As she forces herself into wakefulness she can hear Wally snoring; after several blinks she can pull him into focus, his head still lolled back against the chair, mouth open and letting out a ruddy sounded gurgle every second breath. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, her own exhaustion having outweighed her determination to sit up with him, making sure the eye of the storm didn't pull him back in—how long has she been here now? An hour? Maybe two?

She's just in the process of rubbing sleep from her eyes when she senses movement outside the door again, someone no doubt coming to check on them. Getting somewhat wobbly to her feet she makes towards the exit, hoping to head off the intruder before they enter—Wally needs sleep, needs quiet, questions can be asked later, when someone other than her can—

She clicks the door open and immediately feels her brows disappear into her hair, tired eyes blinking confusedly at the mess of red Kevlar. "Oh." She says dumbly, the word accidentally coming out too loud; behind her Wally snorts in his sleep.

The Flash blinks down at her through his mask, a strong chin jutting into a politely crooked smile as he places a hand on her shoulder. He's much taller than she expected. "Is he in here?" He asks her in an undertone, effectively steering her out of the way and not noticing her wince as he takes a step into the room.

She feels slightly useless, not bothering to answer as she's pushed off to the side, already forgotten. She's seen him before, always in passing, but up close he's not how she expected. Broad shoulder that are somehow rounded, as if he's used to hunching over a desk; twitching fingers that continue to move even after he pulls up short. A lopsided smile—so much like Wally's, somehow, despite the fact that she knows they're not really related— that grows jagged as he catches sight of his nephew, pinned and strapped to a chair like an animal.

She's never been good with parents, or mentors; watching his face harden she's more out of words than she's even been, the awkward space between the door and the wall that he's forced her into feeling suddenly airless. "I—" She starts, voice cracking in the back of her throat when he looks at her, almost accusing. "... Sorry."

Like a coward she slips out of the room, cold sweat clinging to her temples as she presses her hair back behind her ears; it seems to take a second for the words to register to his ears, his head swinging between her and Wally for a fraction of a second before he makes up his mind. "Hold on." He whispers after her, letting out a single annoyed sound when she doesn't stop moving, heels aching as she pounds them into the cement floor. "Wait—"

She should be expecting it—the burst of air that engulfs her, the sensation of her hair blowing out behind her ears; in the half second it takes for her to finish glancing back to the door that's just been shut too quickly he's in front of her, looking down almost sheepishly. "You, uh—" He starts badly, apparently not encouraged by the way she peeks out at him between the strands of her hair. "You'd be Artemis, wouldn't you?"

Her eyes narrow, fingers fumbling between bandages as she struggles to set her hair back in place; before she can say anything he's talking again. "You look like what I— I mean, I've seen pictures on his phone, or—" The babbling stops when she only looks at him suspiciously; as if settling himself he takes a breath. "You're her, right? Artemis? His old girlfriend?"

She blinks. "... Yeah."

The crooked grin suddenly reappears; feeling her nose wrinkle she glances down when he offers her his hand. "You'd know who I am, of course."

"The Flash." She nods, clasping her palm around his once and breaking off the handshake before he can finished bobbing her fingers up and down a few extra times.

He's not how she imagined him; the few times Wally's spoken about his mentor she conjured up the image of someone paternal yet undeniably cool. For some reason the man in front of her seems oddly nervous, as if intimidated by her messy hair and the cuts on her cheeks.

"No, uh—" He starts, cutting off with an uncomfortable sounding chuckle; there's a very odd second where he glances around the hallway. "You know. I'm—" Another strange pause, and then it happens so quickly she can hardly see it—scarlet coated fingers ripping back a mask, revealing a very thick expanse of blonde hair and rugged cheek bones. "Wally's Uncle. Barry."

Her stomach instantly works itself into a knot and for some reason she blushes bright pink, caught off guard by the naked face in front of her. He's more handsome that she thought he would be, with stubble coating his cheeks and tired lines around his eyes. He's younger than she imaged too; despite looking nearly nothing like Wally there's an incredible air of similarity between the two of them, an old memory from too long ago stirring inside her— sand sticking between her teeth and Bialyan sun burning an exposed freckled face...

Eyes, so green she thinks of too-fresh mint leaves in spring, blink at her; the corner of his mouth quirks up again as she winces, embarrassed as she glances at her feet. "Right." She mutters. "Sorry, I—I wasn't sure if I was supposed to know, or—"

"Of course." He says for her, cutting across her mumbling and saving her from further embarrassment. "That's on me. Wally wanted us to meet a while ago—you know, out of uniform. I figured after what happened with Mary and Rudy…"

"Sure." She hears herself say. "I mean— yeah."

It's awkward, her brain slightly slow as she glances up to peek at him again; he's taller than Wally, but only by the smallest bit. Without her to fill the silence Barry finishes pulling his cowl back, leaving the Kevlar bunched at the back of his neck as if aware of the fact that she wants to keep looking at him. "… How's he doing?" He asks distractedly, stepping around her and making his way back towards the door.

"Better." She says honestly, hands twisting unconsciously at the front of her stomach as she turns to watch his progress.

Barry nods, shifting past the door and pausing to look through the window for a moment. "... And what about you?" He asks, glancing back at her. "I heard you had a rough night too."

Although it's said lightly she can sense the heaviness behind the words. "I'm fine." She says for what feels like the thousandth time. She's not sure what's supposed to happen now, if it's safe for her to leave now that Barry's here; against her better judgment her feet begin to move, hesitating only slightly before she makes to join him.

"Still." He says, voice kind but firm. "You'll feel better after sleeping in your own bed. Sure beats a night on a cold floor."

She can't tell if it's a dismissal or not, her eyes automatically looking through the window as she comes to a stop beside him; Wally's still sleeping. "I can wait." She says easily. "... Wally needed me. So..." She doesn't mean to add the last part, wincing when it comes out; again she blushes when Barry glances at her, eyes narrowing in a way that makes the first lines of age more pronounced. "Not that— I mean, I don't know. He says I make it better." She fumbles. "That it's always better if he's somewhere quiet—if w-we're somewhere quiet. Together."

Barry blinks away at the last few words, staring at his feet and no doubt catching something in the quietness of the tone that she wants to keep hidden. After a moment he goes back to looking through the glass, arms folding across his chest. "Yeah… Wally mentioned that." He mutters, a single thumb reaching up to scrub awkwardly at his chin.

She can sense there's something she's not being told; feeling as if she's pressing him on something she turns towards him, eyes narrowing. "Do you… I mean." She hesitates, losing her nerve. "Why does this—with him, and—" She nearly bites her tongue before the words simply rush out of her. "None of this makes any sense to me."

For some reason Barry smiles again, a single huff of breath fogging up against the glass. "Well, not a lot of this makes sense to me either." He chuckles, glancing away from his nephew for a moment to survey the hallway around them. "Like why you kids needs a whole block of governmental standard interrogation rooms underneath your little club house, for one."

He's so much like Wally; trying to make light of a situation with a half-attempt at a joke. Like his nephew he catches sight of the look on her face and immediately drops the charade, looking away when she narrows her eyes. "... He's my best friend." She says firmly, not daring to let her eyes leave his face. "I don't know what he told you about me, but— none of it matters. He's my best friend, and he's—"

She's about to say something else— some other way to describe how she feels, other emotions and sentiments that her mouth won't allow her to say. "... He's too good of a person to be stuck down here forever." She mumbles, looking away. "And if you know something, then... Tell me, Barry. Please."

Instead of answering right away he stares at her, watching as she tries to set her face, tries to stop the twinging of emotion pricking along her edges. She can sense it again— scientist eyes analyzing her, seeing through her, x-raying her pieces better than she can. "… Did Wally ever tell you how he got his powers?"

It's not the response she's expecting, and she supposes it must show; when her brows furrow in confusion Barry lets out another strangely huffy chuckle. "I guess that's a no." He grins, glancing at her. "Wally was right. Your face doesn't hide a thing, does it?"

She doesn't like this—that he knows so much about her and he's such a mystery to her. There's no time to dwell on this, though; before she can say anything affronted back he's continuing. "Okay, okay. I guess—I don't really know where to start." He sighs, the façade of easiness fading for a moment as he struggles to get his thoughts together. "… I guess it all begins with the Speed Force.

"It's this—thing." He says badly when she only looks confused, motioning to the air in front of him as if there's something she's supposed to be seeing. "… An energy field. Or a God, maybe, I don't know. It's where all speedsters get their powers from."

She blinks. "… Okay."

Barry sighs again, an oddly boyish piece of hair falling across his forehead before he pushes it back into place. "I don't really understand it— pieces of it, at best. But I have this theory that it—it chooses people. People who are strong enough to handle the power it can give them. I don't know why—why some people, and not others. But it chose me. It struck me with lightning, spilled a mess of chemicals on me. It chose me, turned me into The Flash.

"But Wally…" For some reason he strays off, lost for a moment. "Wally chose the Speed Force. I... You know him. He gets an idea in his head and it just takes hold of him, possesses him and... He's a stubborn kid, always has been.

"He had already been obsessed with The Flash for years, but when he found out that I was... You can see the appeal. Wally's home life, his relationship with his parents... It was never the best. Iris and I were already taking him in every other weekend whenever his father decided he couldn't stand to look at the kid anymore. We were already closer than we should have been, but after he found out that I was The Flash... Wally wanted more. Like becoming a superhero was the only way he could escape what was happened with his dad.

"He recreated what happened to me, he forced it to—" Barry's voice doesn't break but something in the back of his throat shifts, a shadow passing over his features. "He was ten years old. The impact of the lightning nearly killed him… I work the forensic department for Keystone Police. I've seen… Well, there's a reason people call us in to look at a crime scene. But… I've never seen that much blood splattered all over a garage floor before."

He pauses, exhaling and inhaling sharply; her stomach feels as if it's churning around a block of lead. "… I never should have told him the case file I had been working on." Barry mutters, shaking his head. "I underestimated how smart he was for a kid, how easy it would be for him to thumb through the books down at the station when I wasn't looking, figure out what chemicals…"

A wrinkle appears over the bridge of Barry's nose as he scowls, only there for a fraction of a moment before the look is smoothed back into nothingness. "… When I run I can feel it there. The Speed Force, I mean. It's like having someone's shoe skim the back of your heel while you're walking. Not enough to trip you up but… A reminder that it's there. Pulling at you. Giving you a piece of it to use.

"Lightning never strikes the same way twice, and I—I don't know if it's the same for Wally." He admits. "There aren't many of us out there, and comparisons can be... It's not an exact science, whatever Wally might think. But sometimes it feels like he's running on borrowed time. Like that thing he stole from is just… Waiting. Waiting to suck him in, the way he did with it."

The words send a low thrum of panic running through her, her voice cracking when she speaks for the first time. "What's that supposed to mean?" She asks, voice hushed.

Barry's eyes leave the glass, the mint green surveying her for a long moment before he changes the subject. "… Wally's told me you've been helping him. With the lightning storms."

"I—" Her voice breaks, gaze flickering over his face with confusion. "Yeah. Yeah I have."

Another sigh. "He started having problems with them when he was twelve or so." He mumbles. "When he started hitting puberty, growing up. At first his parents thought they were night terrors—he'd wake up screaming, shake so hard his mother could hardly get a hold on him. It used to be manageable—as long as he could find something to focus on, as long as you could keep him talking, he'd stay with you.

"When the lightning hit me I was already an adult. My body was at its physical peak. Whatever the Speed Force is, however it's manifesting itself in Wally… It's just a theory, of course. But I don't think it's coping well with the change in his physical form."

She bites the inside of her cheeks, staring though the glass to watch as Wally shifts in his sleep. "… It got worse after his growth spurt." She mutters, more to herself than to Barry. "I mean, the first time—months ago—he was still talking normally. We had tea and he seemed... And when I found him, before Quarac—" She doesn't finish, brows furrowing. "… So what? The storm gets close and it… Triggers something? Something unbalanced inside him?"

Her panic is beginning to show on her face; when Barry glances at her again she's too slow to hide it. "... Not exactly." He says carefully, and suddenly she gets the impression that he's debating how much to tell her. "... I think being close to any source of lightning intensifies his relationship to the Speed Force. Makes it more primal. Makes him want to run until it can drag him… Away."

This last part sounds sinister, enough so that she actually turns to him, alarmed. "So… What?" She asks accusingly, voice raising an octave; her heart beat seems to hammer against her temple, the sound and pressure making her nauseous. "This… Thing is pissed off that Wally stole from it and now it's—what? Back for revenge? Set on killing him? You can just look at all that and be fine?"

Barry's mouth quirks up, his smile less crooked and somehow fake when he looks at her. "Of course I'm not fine." He tells her, a strange puff of breath strangling the last few words. "The only reason I can even look at all this and not want to—god." He sighs, hand migrating to the back of his neck. "You need to understand something, Artemis. I need you to listen to what I'm about to say very carefully."

"I—"

"Can you do that?" He cuts across her, looking suddenly very adult. "... Because what I'm about to say is important. And you need to know it, so you— so you can understand."

This is it, she knows it is— the answer to all her unasked questions, the reason she's been searching for; pushing her emotions aside she sucks in a breath, nodding. Barry still hesitates, hand returning to his side. "This... This is still just a theory." He starts lamely, pausing too collect his thoughts.

"The Speed Force is… A double edged sword. The powers it gives you— the speed, the ability to heal, the metabolism, even the capacity to alter time, to jump through different dimensions—It's incredible. But... It comes with a price. The knowledge that at any moment it can sweep you back in. That it can devour all your energy in a second, and force you to be lost within it, running between dimensions and time and all the matter of existence…

"… But it gives you something. One last line of defense before that happens. It's… A Person."

He hesitates, long enough for her to suspect once again that he doesn't entirely understand what he's talking about, more sharing harebrained theories that she hardly can make sense of. "I don't know if it's the kind of thing where you can control it, or if it's somehow picked for you the moment you get your powers. But the Speed Force gives you… A Lightning Rod. It's like a—"

"Landmark." She says without thinking, voice breaking as she stares at him.

He not expecting her to know this, his brows furrowing when she slips into stunned silence again. "Yeah, sort of. It's this person who you can… Divert your energy to. An intense emotional attachment to cling to. A person who's existence in time and space you can focus on to prevent you from losing yourself.

"I'm not saying I understand why this is happening. Why some storms seems to bother him more than others, what other factors— emotional distress, physical state, stress... It's just a theory." He reiterates, brows furrowing when he looks at her. "But from what Wally described to me— how you're the only one who can calm him down, how it feels when he's in a panic and you touch him, how even you saying his name seems to get feeling back in his body... You were the first girl Wally loved." He says kindly. "... And I think you're the person he's chosen to be his Lightning Rod as well."

She feels as if she might vomit, bitter tasting saliva flooding across her tongue. "I— Okay." She mutters, looking wildly between Barry and the window, hardly seeing anything as her vision blurs. "I mean— I thought as much. But this— this is temporary, right? Like, when he— I mean, he's seeing someone else. This, this new girl, she'll become—"

She doesn't quite know what she's trying to ask, not encouraged when Barry flashes a pity-laced smile in her direction. "... I can't say for sure." He mumbles with the air of letting her down gently. "But as far as I know, each speedster gets one Lightning Rod. And one Lightning Rod only." The ringing screams shrilling in her ears, the sound is so painful that she actually winces, Barry mistaking the expression for something else. "It's a good thing, Artemis." He tells her gently. "My Iris, I mean, my wife—"

"So—" She cuts across him, hands clapping against her cheeks and sweaty fingers pushing her hair behind her ears; she feels as if she's just been thrown into an arena to face some sort of unknown monster, feels as if the thing haunting Wally's insides is staring directly at her, snarling. "So you're basically telling me that— that I don't get a say in this? That Wally doesn't either? That this—this— thing just decided this for us. That Wally and I are supposed to be together, even though we can't be in the same room without wanting to—"

"Artemis—"

"We're sixteen." She hisses. "We're kids, and— and we don't get any say? I don't get any say? I don't get to have my own life, or my own—because I'm Wally's Lightning Rod, and, and, that's it? That's the rest of my life? Someone's baby sitter?"

She's rambling, shock coursing through her as he simply stares at her; she's getting the impression that Barry's unaccustomed to dealing with hysterical women, the gentle smile on his face faltering slightly. "… Not necessarily." He says carefully, watching with confusion as she tanks at the wispy hairs about her temples, trying to keep the noise there at bay. "But it does mean you two are intertwined together. You have a responsibility to him. Even if it's not—"

Vomit actually spews up the back of her throat, bitter on the back of her tongue as she forces it down; he's still speaking to her, saying words of little comfort as numbness floods over her.

(And suddenly her father's hand is on her shoulder, squeezing tight as she lowers her arrows. She is someone's pet again, someone's slave—)

(—Cold hands are ripping her legs apart—)

(—Wally's mouth is forcing her lips open—)

(And that was the whole point of joining the Team— was supposed to be free, carve her own space out, exist as more than something for someone else to use—)

(And she loves him, she does, but how is it fair to let herself be cut open, again and again— She can hardly keep herself together, how is she supposed to—)

((She belongs to someone again, and her life will never be her own.))

She hardly registers the fact that Barry's still speaking, turning away from him blindly before he's finished. "Artemis." He says firmly, fumbling slightly when she shakes her head. "Don't leave. I'm not explaining this right—"

Gloved palms skim her wrist, reaching for her the same way his nephew has a thousand times over; unfeeling she rips her arm from his grasp, not hearing him call after her as she breaks into a run.

---

AN: Another big one. I know the breaks between chapters are long, so I figured something this length would make it up to you.

On a side note, after lots of asking for quite a few months I've finally made an official blog for this fanfic- that way you can see my mind working even when I'm not actively posting on here. I would love to see any of your guys' fanart or writing for Young Justice or this fic if you feel like sharing! The link is on my profile.

Please read and review!