You Can't Go Home Again

This was a mistake.

That's exactly what that little voice inside her head whispered the entire nineteen-hour flight from Kuala Lumpur to New York. And now, as she walked down the jet bridge into Gotham International, it had stopped whispering and was now screaming at the top of its lungs to no avail.

One minute she'd been making travel arrangements to Puerto de la Cruz to meet her sister to discuss contract work they'd been offered; the next she was waking up as her plane taxied to the gate, depositing her in a city she hadn't stepped foot in for almost a decade.

She was passing up good money, easy money. Tracking down a high ranking official within the Madrid Stock Exchange who'd decided one day out of the blue that he was done laundering money for the Los Charlínes cartel, instead keeping what he thought he rightfully deserved and fleeing the country.

She knew all the routes in and out of Morocco like the back of her hand. She'd have him in custody in three days tops. What the cartel did with him afterwards was not her concern.

So why was she here? For closure, out of respect, obligation? Perhaps it was a mixture of the three. It was complicated, and she hated complicated.

Returning to the States wouldn't exactly be a cake walk. She'd need well forged passports, false names, disguises; items which were easy to come by when she was a Shadow, no so much now as a civilian.

She also had no idea if she was on some TSA watchlist, and if she was, could the facial recognition software they used be able pull her out of a crowd. But despite all those hurdles the biggest challenge out of all of it would be the cost.

She'd barely scraped together enough money together to purchase the round-trip tickets, and what she couldn't afford she'd borrowed from her sister without any explanation as to why or what for. How her sister had come across the money was an entirely different matter, but Jade had always been resourceful when she needed to be

Heading towards the baggage carousel, she felt the strange mixture of excitement and dread. First and foremost, she had to visit her mother's gravesite to pay her respects, she owed that to her. Paula Crock may not have been the best mother, but she did what she could.

It took losing her ability to walk for her mother to finally see what a life of crime had done to her family. She'd chosen that path, her daughters had not. No matter what it took, Paula had to give them the chance to break the cycle, the opportunity to be whoever or whatever they wanted.

At the same time her husband wanted nothing more than to have his two daughters join the family business. Daddy's perfect little soldiers.

Artemis clearly remembered the arguments, the yelling, the screaming, but she never heard the threats until her mother told her later in her teens. Paula had been willing to call whatever agency wanted him the most; CIA, FBI, MI6, BND. She'd confess to them everything thing they'd ever done, every unsolved case, every employer…every murder. She was willing to go back to prison and dragging him with her if it meant saving her daughters.

Finally, Crusher Crock agreed to leave, but he never forgot. In the end, Paula had given her youngest daughter a new life but had lost her oldest one in the process.

Maybe that's why Gotham meant so much to the archer, why she had to come back in person to say goodbye. It had been the place she and mom had started over. A new city, a new school, a new life.

It wasn't easy at first; making new friends wasn't exactly her forte. But thanks to her father, she owned a specific set of skills, and she wanted to use those skills for good. To try and make up for all the harm and suffering her family had caused. So she'd sneak out at night, doing what she could to protect the innocent and punish the guilty; her mom none the wiser.

However those actions did not go unnoticed.

And then when one night, two vigilantes appeared in her living room, two heroes she always admired, offering her an opportunity to become part of something bigger, something special. All because she was special.

Boy we're they dead wrong she bemused.

But nostalgia aside, she knew why she was really there. It was them; it had always been them.

Despite the offering of an incredibly bad inflight movie, she'd chosen instead to browse the web, her first unfettered use of the internet in years.

So with her new found freedom, she began a search for anything newsworthy or of note currently happening in Gotham City, just items or events she should be aware of prior to arrival. That was it, nothing more. That plan lasted all of about five minutes before she changed the parameters and searched instead for specific individuals. As the information appeared on the screen, she was surprised by the results, puzzled that her inquiries had provided such little information.

When she left the Team those many years ago, they were all heroes on the rise, future members in waiting to join the Justice League, but to her surprise none actually had, not the core group anyway. Doing a separate search of their civilian ID's had been a little more fruitful.

Of course, the adopted son of one of the world's most powerful and well known businessmen had been easy enough to find. All she had to do was click on any Gotham gossip site and Dick Grayson could be found sitting somewhere on the homepage along with some model or socialite under his arm. However, his alter ego was another matter entirely.

The person wearing the modified Robin uniform these days couldn't be more than fourteen; definitely not the teenager she fought side by side with all those years ago.

But digging deeper, she came across an article in the crime beat section of the Gotham News Journal. The vigilante known as Nightwing had recently broken up another human trafficking ring stretching from Gotham to Blüdhaven and beyond, his sixth with the last two years.

He dressed all in black, except for a familiar domino mask along with a blue bird crested across his chest. It didn't take much effort to make the connection.

Another former teammate had become the Atlantean ambassador to the United Nations, not a terrible stretch for the noble and dignified man she remembered. Why he'd chosen to leave the life wasn't much of a puzzle either. His first responsibility, as well as his heart, had always belonged to Atlantis.

Zatanna Zatara, the daughter of the world-famous magician Giovanni Zatara, was a master illusionist in her own right, with a recent stint of sold out shows stretching from Boston to San Francisco. Despite her notoriety, Artemis easily recognized a striking resemblance to a reserve member of the Justice League; one wearing a slightly different uniform and hairstyle from that of her stage persona. How no one had ever made that connection was beyond her, but another League member had protected his secret identity for decades with nothing more than a set of eyeglasses, so anything was possible she supposed.

The remaining few were a mystery, finding no listings for Kent, Morse, or…West. It would take some effort to find them if she chose; finding people was what she did. The issue was she didn't know if she should.

The smart thing to do was to lay low, stick to her plan and a week from now she'd be sitting on some Spanish beach surveilling a target, and finally having a little money in her pocket to start over. There was no need to make contact. She didn't owe anyone an explanation. She was dead, end of story.

I don't do complicated, she reminded herself over and over.

xxx

The next night, a solitary figure in black raced across the rooftops of Gotham; heavy footsteps crunching against stone and asphalt. It went against her every instinct to be this thunderous, but tonight she wasn't trying to be stealthy, she was trying to be seen.

The archer had sought out the usual high crime areas of Gotham, occasionally letting an arrow fly as a warning that somebody was watching; all the while well aware that someone was watching her.

This quiet cat and mouse game went on for several hours before she finally took a break, perching herself on the ledge of the Gotham Metropolitan Opera, staring down at the streets below.

Artemis watched in wonderment at the sea off people scurrying across the streets and sidewalks like rats trapped in a maze, the unfulfilled promise of cheese that would never come.

It was the same story everywhere, the middle class working themselves to the bone just to survive, corrupt politicians and corporate fat cats flourishing off the fruits of their labor, and those that hid in the shadows waiting to feed off both.

They called it the city that never slept, the quintessential definition of a cesspool, but it was Gotham, it was home.

The sheer volume of people was a far cry from just a few months prior when she'd spend weeks lying in some wet marsh or cold desert floor, never seeing another living soul for days, waiting for a target or a mark to slip up, climb out of some cave or hole in the ground just long enough, completely unaware that their life was about to change drastically.

Sitting here now watching the city seemed so surreal. She felt infused with the same energy and excitement she'd had as a teen when she'd first became a hero.

From up high, she watched a young couple walking hand in hand down the sidewalk below, obviously in love, completely oblivious to anything or anyone around them but each other. She wished she could remember that feeling.

Artemis kept them in her sight until the two lovebirds finally disappeared down the subway steps, just as a batarang sparked across the ground, landing at her feet.

Suddenly a voice spoke out from the shadows "Welcome back from the dead."

The archer jumped to her feet, her hands instinctively drifting towards her weapon. Nightwing noticed the motion but didn't engage. If she was here to kill him, she would never have gone to such effort to be found.

Artemis had to admit she was impressed. It was one thing to watch YouTube videos and news reports, it was quite another to actually see him up close and personal.

The teen she once knew was now at least a foot and half taller, wiry limbs now packed with solid muscle. Gone was the ridiculous color scheme and cape; replaced now with black kevlar and attitude. He looked very commanding, very authoritarian…very Batman.

But what she noticed most of all, was the way her looked at her, like someone who wasn't remotely overjoyed by her return.

"So no hugs for your long lost teammate huh?" she replied with a smirk, surprised at how nervous she suddenly felt standing in front of him. Behind the black domino mask all she saw was a cold calculating gaze, very reminiscent of the man he'd spent his youth swearing he'd never become.

"You don't seem surprised," she said. "How long have you known?"

"Awhile" he answered. "The Shadows have leaks just like any organization. Rumors of two biracial assassins on a killing spree throughout Asia and the South Pacific, doctored intel, a rare binary explosive that only handful of bomb makers know how to produce, blast doors that I couldn't hack. When Batman and I finally tracked down the bomb maker, after a little persuasion, he described you and your sister to a tee."

"Who else knows?" she asked.

"Just he and I."

"So why didn't you tell anyone?"

"What was the point? When we finally figured it out, you'd been dead for years. There was no suspect out there to apprehend, no killer to be caught. You'd obviously gone to a lot of trouble to cover your tracks and by then everyone had mourned and moved on. What good would it do? You joined the team full of secrets and lies, and you left the same way. There was no purpose in reopening old wounds."

His words were factual if not a little biting. Unwilling to meet his eyes, instead she focused on the blue insignia on his chest, studying the new uniform, the new persona. The friend she once knew now a stranger.

They stood in silence, studying each other carefully before he finally spoke.

"Why are you here?" he asked sternly.

"I don't know. I've been asking myself the same question."

"Was it worth it?"

She just shook her head with a laugh. What a strange question coming from someone who'd suffered such a similar loss. Did a part of him really want to know, or was he just planting his flag on the moral high ground, reminding her that he was above such petty concepts like retribution or revenge. Deep down he had to know that if Bruce Wayne hadn't entered his life at just the right moment, he probably would have had his answer. Still, she didn't need his judgmental bullshit.

"Well I guess that's a matter of opinion. Kill the man who brutally murdered my mom or let him go free so he could continue to hurt and kill other innocent people. Um gee Dick…I'm just not sure."

Her cockiness soon turned bitter. "He murdered my mom in cold blood. Attacked a defenseless woman in a wheelchair and tortured her for three days, all because she turned his daughters against him. She wanted something more for us then to become just criminals or assassins like both of them.

"She must be so proud," he said bitterly.

She ground her teeth, but didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. He'd become so much like his mentor, closing himself off, putting up a wall that he thought no one could see past. But she didn't have to look through it to know he was angry; betrayed. Deep down she didn't blame him. He'd been the team leader that night; her death had been on his watch. That was a lot of burden to place on a sixteen-year old's shoulders.

"He got exactly what he deserved. There was no way in hell Jade and I were going to let him just walk away. He must have known we'd be coming for him, but was either too arrogant or too stupid to think we wouldn't kill him. So, to answer your question, yes. It was worth everything to make sure that piece of shit never hurt anyone else again, and if I had to do it all over, I would do the exact fucking thing. If you're waiting for an apology, I hope you packed a lunch, cause you'll be waiting here for a long long time. I owe you an explanation, nothing more."

They stood silently, starring each other down, unsure of what to say or do next. She could tell he was holding back, his emotions almost bubbling at the surface to get out, but he was too much like his mentor now; cold and silent. The mark of a true Bat

They'd been close once, not just teammates but actual friends. But this man in front of now didn't want to have anything to do with her. If she'd sought him out for closure, she'd gotten it, just not in the way she'd hoped.

"What you do from this point on is your business, but remember this is my city. If you're here on business, I'd suggest you do it somewhere else."

"My city?" she repeated in amusement until she saw the deathly serious expression on his face

"Did I say something funny?"

"You know who you sound like right?"

Nightwing reached down and recovered the spent baratang, locking it back into place on his belt. He began walking towards the edge pausing momentarily to turn and face her.

"Take care of yourself Artemis, but just a word of advice. If you go searching for closure you may not like what you find. People have changed and moved on with their lives. I'd suggest you do the same."

She watched as his head tilted slightly, putting a finger to his ear, most likely listening in on some police channel he'd been monitoring. Nightwing stepped to the edge, removing the gun from his belt and shooting the grapple. Looking back briefly he spoke his final words.

"Sometimes the dead need to stay buried."

Seconds later Nightwing disappeared into the dark Gotham night.

She sat on that ledge for an hour, cursing herself for not listening to that inner voice now. This had been a mistake. Thomas Wolfe had said it best, and it was so ironic that his last published work, the only one she'd ever read cover to cover, had so adeptly mirrored her own story.

Artemis hadn't expected hugs and kisses from her former teammate, but maybe a bit more understanding from someone who'd lost their parents to the same kind of violence as she had.

Just a word of advice, if you go searching for closure you may not like what you find

He was probably right, but something about his remark had been so… cryptic? In all the years she'd known him, Dick Grayson had rarely misspoke. Those last words had message hidden in them, and she began to have a disheartened feeling of those he was possibly referring.

xxx

A cold wind blew behind her as she climbed over the rusty wrought iron fence. In the moonlight, the crooked and cracked headstones stood silently, the messages they once bore losing the battle against the ravages of time.

Making her way through the patchy overgrown grass and tangled weeds of the poorly tended cemetery, she noticed the statues of praying children, the crosses and sun-bleached angels. There were no fresh cut flowers, no newly turned earth; no one had been buried here for a long time.

In the distance, a small chapel and mausoleum rested on top of the hill; an expensive final resting place paid for by loving families and friends; not negligent assassins driven by revenge.

Up ahead she finally found the headstone, engraved on it just five simple words.

Paula Crock - Child of God.

There was no beloved wife, no beloved mother. Just her name.

The archer barely remembered anything about the service, only just sitting there between her friends trying to bottle her rage. She could barely focus on the mother she'd lost, only the man responsible. That's where the plan began.

All she knew was her mother had died alone, and now standing before her again, knowing the man responsible had died badly gave her little solace.

The archer wondered what her own funeral had been like? Who had come, who had spoken, who had grieved? She'd always hoped in a morbid kind of way that she and Jade would one day be buried next to their mother, but by the looks of it, that hadn't happened. There was no body to bury, no ashes to scatter, no grave markers, no nothing.

Searching for a headstone standing over an empty grave seemed like a waste of time. It was better to let such things lie. She didn't need another reminder of all the heartbreak she'd caused.

Artemis stood silently in the darkened graveyard for almost an hour; reminiscing, remembering, regretting.

She knelt down, removing the dead leaves and weeds that covered the marker. She pulled the fresh flowers from her satchel, laying them gently under the headstone.

"I miss you mom,"

Wiping away her tears, she made her way out of the cemetery, wondering if this would be the last time she'd visit her mother again. Only time would tell.

She spent the rest of the evening visiting old haunts. As she'd suspected, the apartment building she'd once lived had been leveled to make room for some urban revitalization project. Schwarz's Bakery, Zaragoza's Grocery, the Boys and Girls Club; all gone. The sign if front of the empty lots displayed images of high end condos and mixed-use neighborhood shopping, dining and entertainment venues that would soon be built in their place. All the things that gave the old neighborhood character and made it special had been stolen or stripped away. She could easily relate.

Next she made her way onto the grounds of Gotham North, now renamed Hamilton Hill High School in honor of the stuffy bureaucrat that had been the city's mayor for so many years.

Despite the fancy new name, it still looked old and worn down, much like the man it was dedicated to. This school was the first place she'd actually made friends of her own, the first chance she'd gotten to feel what it was like to be a normal teenager, at least until she was forcibly enrolled into the snooty Gotham Academy.

It seemed smaller now and Artemis wondered how long it too would last before being demolished and forgotten. It surprised the her how the feelings of nostalgia pulled at her heartstrings, and even more so that she still had heartstrings left to pull.

Throughout the night she visited a few more haunts, places that still remained special to her, places that reminded her of who she once was. That in of itself had been worth the trip she supposed.

As dawn broke, jet lag and the emotional rollercoaster she'd been riding had finally taken their toll and she needed some sleep, however cash flow was a bit of a problem. She'd scrounged together just enough for the tickets with little remaining. The job Jade and Nash had procured them in Spain was supposed to kick start that problem.

She wasn't going to waste what little money she had left on a decent place to stay. After spending the better part of a decade living in filthy shacks, shanties, and hostels, roughing it in Gotham for one night was more like a day at the spa comparatively speaking.

All she required was a quiet place where she could steal some Wi-Fi, book her return flight, close her eyes, and get her mind right. By late evening she'd be back sitting on the tarmac waiting for her flight to depart. Dick had been right, it was time to move on, there was nothing left for her here, she'd seen what she'd come to see… at least that's the lie she told herself.

As Artemis reached the far end of the borough heading towards the Narrows, she recognized a certain building off in the distance. Back in its heyday it was probably one of the nicer apartment complexes built in that era, until Gotham in all its wisdom decided to build an asylum just blocks away directly across the Gotham River. Once Arkham began accepting clientele, local residents couldn't move away fast enough.

Now it was just another low rent apartment building in disrepair, probably worth more if the city would buy it and tear it down. However, if she had her bearings correct, inside that building might be just what she was looking for.

A former teammate, one she was not fond of in any sense of the word, used to keep safe houses and weapons caches tucked away in different cities up and down the east coast. Rundown out of the way places where apartment owners would gladly accept rent for years in advance with no questions asked. If Artemis wasn't mistaken, she was looking at one of them right now.

Secure hideaways were hard to come by, which is why most people never let go of them simply because you just never knew when you'd need one. The archer was hopefully this particular person had owned that same rationale.

She mentally counted the windows; digging deep into her memories to find the exact floor it was once located. When she discovered the newspaper covered windows, she knew that was the one.

In the dim morning light, she easily reached the fire escape unnoticed and scaled the stairs until she reached the 22nd floor. The archer peaked through a small tear in the paper. The apartment appeared barren and empty, just as she hoped. She was surprised to find the window unlocked considering the apartments likely contents, but just to be safe she carefully examined the frame for any pressure triggers or sensors. Once everything appeared clean she slipped in silently.

As she stepped over the sill, she kept her bow raised and began scouting the space. The room was sparse, with no apparent weapon caches to be found, only a musty old couch and empty bookcase used for decor. It had an odd, dank smell about it.

She opened the refrigerator and closed it just as quickly as the whiff of spoilt food filled the room. The outside door to the apartment caught her eye; being steel reinforced with a double-sided lock confirming her theory of the apartment's true nature. Unfortunately, that also meant if things went south for any reason, the only entrance or exit would be through the window, so she kept it cracked slightly if needed.

Artemis sat down on the stale couch, stifling a yawn and put her bag silently on the floor. Pulling out her phone, she opened the Delta airline app, placing the phone on the side of the couch to let it download.

She removed her heavy Kevlar boots and unzipped the body suit, taking it off and stretching it out across the musty cushions. Next, she pulled out the jeans and hoody she'd packed for the crisp Gotham fall, leaving them neatly folded beside the couch next to her crossbow.

Her eyes were heavy, it had been a really long night. but she couldn't close them until she'd booked her flight. She grabbed the undershirt from the duffle to sleep in and was about to take off her bra, when she began to hear the feint sounds of laughter coming from the bedroom.

How could she have been so stupid not to check the bedroom? she cursed herself.

Before she could grab her clothes, the current occupant stepped out laughing, walking towards the kitchen to get a drink from the tap when he saw movement in the darkened room.

Roy Harper's face turned deathly white as he gazed at the intruder.

"Fuck!" they cursed in unison.