"He's dead."
"What?"
Snow crumbled under Artemisia's feet when she paused. In an impulsive motion, she reached for a manual hook and saved herself from declining into the ridge. She hissed through her teeth, biceps pulling. She pretended to keep it together, the time for acting frail was over.
Her partner, a slightly taller black woman, continued reading the message, ignorant of Artemisia's near death. She was waiting at the top, pacing about. "Somebody fucking killed him. I can't believe it. Fuck!"
Struggling to climb the last few meters, Temi found the strength to continue the exchange ( turns out using the hook made the challenge easier ). "Was it one of ours?"
"Does it sound like it was one of ours?" Milo König stared down at her with her arms crossed, still refusing to acknowledge Artemisia might have needed help. She stepped away from the border, allowing her room to slither up. "It was those guys you asked us to spare. What a fucking mistake."
The snow was soothing against her aching feet, she wished for her entire body to be embraced in chilliness. She plopped onto the hard bed of snow, grunting at the impact. Her eyes closed involuntarily, unwinding. "Well, at least we get to rest for the next week."
"Not really. They'll want us to do better for the next mission." Milo's footsteps echoed through the iced ground; it was deafening. "You don't achieve that by lazing around. In fact, we should start right now."
A wooden staff punched her abdomen, knocking out her breath. She did not complain, not out loud. The League was no place to feel hurt. Her glare struck Milo as she rose to her feet, seizing the weapon.
Her fierceness shattered when a gush of cold breeze pushed her back. She wasn't far from the rim. The staff anchored into the heavy snow, Artemisia held onto it with all her spirit. "We have to train up here?"
Milo rolled her eyes, unafraid of the wind that threatened to take them away. Her staff danced among her limbs with ease, defying nature's force. "You're seriously scared of falling?"
Taunting this newfound terror, the woman swung the wooden weapon at Artemisia with intent. Dodging the strike, she pushed towards the safer area, the less crumbly base. Color returned to her freezing face. "I'm more scared of the whole dying and being brought back to life part of falling."
"Dying is not that bad."
The fragile, white cushion cracked as Milo purposefully jumped on top. Artemisia caught her suit with the staff, dragging her away from the border. The woman croaked out a laugh, disentangling the weapon with aid of her own. Another smack of wood forced Artemisia further onto the center, where she recovered confidence.
"I dreamed about dying. More like revived it." The train, Joker, explosions, it all flashed before her eyes. The memory of Dianna's death was forever carved into her mind and soul. She suppressed a shiver, tensing the muscles of her back. "It felt awful. And, mind you, I've been tortured."
Milo circled the woman as she attempted to attack. Her staff smacked the back of Artemisia's head; she just rubbed the sore area and stepped back. They fell onto their stances. One defending, the other attacking.
"Maybe your friend wasn't ready to die then. Once you get through that part, you'll willingly jump onto the pit."
In a blink of her eyes, Artemisia's staff was suddenly halved; two smaller pieces fit in her hands. Blocking the attacks became fluent; block up with one arm, quickly defend below with the other. Talking while sparring turned out to be an easy task, too.
"I don't know." She shrugged, sidestepping a murderous slash. Knees bent, arms squared; she waited to be jumped. "I'd rather fight to stay alive for as long as possible."
"Not with that stance, you're not." Milo raised a brow. One swirl of her staff was all it took to bring her down.
Artemisia found herself thudding in the snowfield, the ache in her ankles was the only proof of the assault. Sitting up to caress her pain, she sensed the surface crumpling beneath her body. Her gaze shot towards her partner, wordlessly begging to be rescued.
The weak ground gave in, holing up below her. As a result of her panicked moves, she began falling head-first. Every second lasted an eternity. Her vision caught snowflakes dropping along with her, how they glistened on the sunlight. . . Her shattered staffs missing her skin by inches. . . The trees around her grew closer, more detailed, she could almost count the leaves. . . The warm clutch around her calf─
Everything accelerated. Only she stopped.
Her throat burned. Had she been screaming? She sealed her lips. The shriek that had stunned her had stopped. Shit, she was screaming like an idiot. Both of her palms slapped against her mouth in embarrassment.
The hold in her leg began to pull her into safety, catching her other calf. The bitter snow burned against her unfixed clothes, but she remained silent, allowing herself to be carried in.
"Remind me not to take you to any missions in the wild. You're useless," Milo said through her teeth, pulling on the final centimeters. She plopped on her butt with content. "I can't have you falling in places and screaming to the top of your lungs. Beats the point of being a Shadow."
"Fine with me. I prefer the cities."
Something vibrated in her clothes. She squirmed, tapping around for the potential bug ( she wished not to find any, though ). Snow, branches, leaves dropped from her winter jacket. Her phone. She caught it before it landed on the ground and got buried. It pulsed in her hand.
Wiping away the snow and creating shadow, she looked at the screen. Kory was calling her. "Wait, we have reception up here? Crash." She answered. "Hey, long time no hear."
"Hey," Kory's mood did not match her vibe. She was unnaturally quiet. Artemisia felt the muscles of her mouth loosen. "Listen, I'm sorry you have to find out this way. Jason's dead."
"What the hell? That's not funny. Did he put you up to this?"
Kory paused, her voice strangled. "No, Temi─"
The pieces clicked together in her brain. Three weeks ago she had feigned a mission in Blüdheaven and sent the intel to a stressed-out Jason. "Just because I tricked him into taking a vacation last month doesn't mean he gets to joke about death. It's off-limits."
"Temi," the woman interrupted her banter. Her tone hadn't changed. Why hadn't it changed? "It's not a joke. He went out after Joker and got his head bashed with a crowbar."
Red.
Joker's eerie laughter.
Red.
A crowbar? That fucking psychopath. Thoughts invaded her brain: Joker abusing his position of authority, pleasuring from Jason's agony until his last moments; everlasting torment; blood. . . So much blood that the boy drowned on it. Joker would continue to beat him up until he grew bored─
"Dick just took off to Gotham."
Kory's words stopped her from imagining the misery. It was fake. He didn't go out like that. She swallowed the acid taste that grew in her mouth.
"We're staying in the Tower for now, until everyone is okay. I just thought you deserved to know."
How could someone so far away feel so close? Just listening to her voice was soothing, cushioning the harsh news that would've─ should have slapped her. She was empty, not a single emotion truly surged. "Thank you, Kory. Let me know if you guys need anything."
"We'll be fine. But Dick─" Artemisia tensed at the mere mention of him. "Is there any chance you could call him? I know things aren't the best between you. He needs someone to talk to and, honestly, I can't handle everyone's breakdown."
A favor for Kory. She could do that, ask him how he's doing ( not that he'd get personal ), offer mental health guidance, and go on with her life. Sounded easy. "I'll talk to him when I see him in Gotham."
"You don't have to go all the way there."
"I'm not going for him," she immediately defended. Too harsh. Maybe she did want to cross him. Only glance at him, make sure he hadn't changed much, then proceed with her life. "I cared about Jason. He was the only one who messaged me every day since came here. I need to say my goodbyes."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." Her words didn't seem to convince the woman. Artemisia turned serious. "I promise. He would only ask me random shit. Typical Jason, I guess."
Kory's response was a forced chuckle, it came out airy, saddened. She wasn't ready to allow herself to laugh, yet. "I─ I should go prepare everyone some snacks. Bye."
Artemisia kept the phone by her ear for a few seconds. Jason was dead and she couldn't react normally to it, not a tear, not a heartbreak. Only that neverending twist in her stomach. Guilt. For not feeling anything about his death. Going to Gotham had to trigger something. Anything.
"What is it?" Milo quipped the moment she lowered her phone.
"A friend just got killed." No voice cracks? Not even the slight temptation to cry? Saying it out loud makes it real, right? It's real. Please react. Search for any sentiments. There's nothing. "I'm going back to Gotham."
"Oh, that's fun!" Milo's grin dropped once her brain processed the situation. "Not that your friend died, so sorry about that. We get to go on a field trip. You have business in Gotham, I have business in Gotham. . ."
She shushed her by grabbing her arms and frantically bobbing her head. Milo gave a short jump. "Let's get off this stupid rock."
Artemisia approached the precipice and peeked down. It no longer felt so frightening. A white haze impeded the sight of the distant bottom. It caused no vertigo in her system. She didn't react to the crumbling snow nor the wind that drove her forward. Maybe Milo was right, dying wasn't so scary, not anymore.
"Hey! We're not going that way." Milo's voice broke her spell. She looked at the woman, then glanced down the peak one last time with a longing sigh. "There's a path down over there."
Her gaze snapped around, following her pointing finger. There was, in fact, a nicer route to descend; one that wasn't ragged or extreme. A nice path with a thin layer of snow and growing plants. It was a beautiful sight and yet she couldn't muster a genuine smile.
"You're hilarious." She hissed, taking her things and marching down. She didn't hate Milo for making her climb ( she actually couldn't ), it was refreshing to remember feeling a cocktail of emotions. She couldn't grasp that it had been minutes ago. . . It felt so far away.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Artemisia was pleased to admit she felt anxious. Normally, she wouldn't, due to perfect appearances and stuff. However, due to the void that had plagued her for the last hours, even in her sleep, any indication of anything was good.
She stared at the door. She'd knocked three times, she had counted, but no one answered. Seventeen seconds had passed─ longer than average. She continued standing by the entrance, reminding herself that Wayne Manor was not average. Dick and Bruce could be any place, including the Batcave. The route from the lower level to the front door could take minutes.
Or maybe they hadn't heard her knocking. Had she been too quiet? Should she try again? Forty seconds. Definitely trying again.
Her fist raised, drumming once against the wood; the second time, the material was pulled from reach as the door unlocked. Her hand hung in the air, inches away from Dick's stern face. He raised a brow and she dropped her hand.
So, he opened the door, what was she supposed to do now? Her plan ended right then. . . But the promise to Kory didn't. Damn it.
"Hey," Artemisia breathed out. A smile adorned with gladness nearly escaped her, she caught it by nibbling on her lip. "Sorry to come by surprise. I flew in this morning, as soon as I found out. How're you holding up? How's Bruce? Sorry. Am I asking too much?"
"Stop apologizing and come in. It's cold out here." He stepped aside, opening the door wide. The inside looked so relaxing, so warm, so inviting. Dick gestured inside in reminder.
"Right. Sorry." She heard her own words stumbling over each other, wanting to roll off her tongue at the same time. 'Stop apologizing' he had said, so do it. Forcing out a thin smile, she marched inside. "I'll work on it."
The door closed, sealing the warmth of the manor. It was getting a bit hot, or was it just her? A sneaky hand touched her cheek, then moved towards her ear. They weren't burning. It was the house and the fact that she'd lived in a violent cold climate for the past three months.
"Want something to drink?"
Her eyes followed Dick as he moved across his home. He was rubbing his hands, reversing the freeze of standing by the door for one minute. Contrasting him, Artemisia was on the verge of sweating out her tension.
"I'm fine."
Dick, still recovering, shook his head. "I'll make you some coffee." He guided her towards the big kitchen. A broad window displayed the manor's snowy garden and also allowed some coolness to penetrate the room, balancing the temperature. "Two sugars and a drop of oat milk?"
"Yeah, thank you." She plopped down on a stool, following his hands as he prepared her caffeinated drink. Twiddling with her thumbs she searched for his gaze. "You didn't answer my question. How're you doing?"
He stopped for a moment, the coffee dripping into her mug. Shaking his head, he resumed working. "I accepted the risk of our lifestyles long ago, so it's not a shook. Still, this is Jason─ it's Robin." His face turned away, but she could see his back flexing. "If one crazy clown crosses Batman's boundaries, the others will follow."
He had gone back to avoiding his emotions, keeping things from her. And here she thought they'd crossed that barrier long ago. She had returned to that boring race for his trust; until then, she would have to play along.
"Things seem calm now, though."
"They're giving Batman a moment of grief. It's the calm before the storm."
How many Gotham freaks would attempt to cross that line? What about the people? They deserved to know hell was coming. Batman couldn't protect every single one of them. "If you need help─"
"We'll be fine," he dismissed her. Artemisia nodded slowly, sinking back into the stool. "Bruce can handle most of it."
"Where is he, by the way?" She pretended to not be hurt. She couldn't blame him, he was still hurting, unaware of his bursts of emotions.
Dick reached for the plant-based milk, carefully pouring one drop onto the dark beverage. "He's clearing his mind. Death doesn't affect him the way that it does to us. Here you go." He moved the cup in her direction, making sure not to spill his work. He smiled at the coffee, then up at her.
"Thanks." She attempted to mirror his expression, the small twinkle in his eyes. She couldn't. No matter how hard she tried. That feeling was simply not there.
This was gonna be a long day.
And it was. The cup of coffee in the afternoon, chattering with a cold Dick by the kitchen felt like an eternity. Yet, in a blink of her eyes, she found herself in the dining room, a glass of water in her hand; Dick had eased into her presence, though remained secretive about many things, she could tell.
After that long evening, swallowing food with a closed throat, the day did not finish. The duo would not dare to walk away from one another, it seemed like time paused, that nothing could harm them. They resolved their need by resourcing to alcohol.
Artemisia swayed her drink as Dick told an anecdote of his times as Robin. He had stood from the couch, imitating the movements that had been marked in his memories. She watched him from her spot, her mind buzzing thanks to the wine ( she wouldn't remember most of his stories ).
". . .so I banged my head against his." Dick acted out the tale, adding the size difference and everything. "He dropped me and stared at me in surprise. He didn't think Robin could be on Batman's level of violence. From there on, the bad guys had a bit more respect for Robin."
She was mesmerized by the whole combo. In her mind, it sounded like the most interesting story ever told. "And this was on your first year?" She gulped the rest of the wine, making him space to sit down. "I don't remember doing anything crazy for the first two years. I guess that's why I kept getting shot."
"What, did you just stand there?" Dick chuckled, plopping down by her side. His arm rested around her.
Artemisia considered her old maneuvers, how inexperienced she was. It was a horrible sight. "Pretty much. You've seen the scars that prove─"
The awkward moment was prevented by a loud slam in the room behind them. Both snapped their heads around, startled by the noise. The booze in their veins seemed to evaporate when their senses became sharp once again. Their wide eyes met, realizing their closeness.
She scooted away, turning her head. "Is that Bruce?"
It took Dick a few extra moments to react. He stated at his watch, processing the displayed numbers. "I thought he'd gone out on patrol by now. It's late." Then, he raised his voice: "Bruce?"
The man paced into the room. His face was blank, a smear of blood tinted his jaw. In his hands was a crowbar, more blood coated the metal, staining his fingers. Drops of the crimson evidence slipped onto the floor.
"Bruce?"
He launched the weapon to the ground. The clang echoed over the manor. "He started it. I ended it."
"Ended what Bruce?"
Bruce gazed ahead, disconnected from their reality. It seemed like he functioned on autopilot, his mind long gone after eradicating everything he stood for. "Do you know what he was doing as I caved in his skull? He was laughing. He laughed at me because he won. You and Barbara were right. It's all a game I should've stopped playing a long time ago. It's over for me now. It's over.
"You see things I don't. You saw that Jason was in trouble, that he was involved in something. Because you cared more than I did."
Artemisia couldn't help herself from deviating her eye; her glare bore on Dick. How could he keep something like that from her? What other important things he wasn't telling her?
"The city is yours now. You save it. Do what I couldn't. Trust in those around you. Be a better Batman." Bruce's eyes shifted around as though he had just realized he was in his home. Then, the weight of his actions slammed onto him. The color drained from his face as he scampered out of the room.
"Bruce!" Dick pursued the man, continuing to call his name. Artemisia shadowed him, searching for the man. They stormed onto the garden to find it empty. They were too slow. Bruce was gone.
Artemisia took this chance. The adrenaline in her body pushed her to demand an explanation. "Dick! What the fuck happened with Jason before he died? And why didn't you tell me? I thought we were trusting each other again."
His head fell with a huff. "It's complicated."
"It always is with you."
Dick's head craned in her direction. He cornered her towards the door. "I couldn't tell you because I can't trust you! You think I didn't know you came to Gotham before you knocked on our door? Or worse, that you brought a friend with you?"
He turned the tables with two single accusations. She was the one being pushed now, compelled to be defensive. "She had business in Gotham."
"How convenient," he seethed. He spun on his heel, glancing down at his phone. "I'm calling in the team."
Calling in people to stand between them, he meant; someone to interfere in their fights, to force them to avoid each other. He had turned a blind eye to what they had shared not too long ago.
"I should head back," she reached for the door, only to stop herself. "Call me when they arrive. Not because I want to know your stupid secrets, because they're my friends, too. And I deserve to see them."