"Like this?" Rachel asked between happy gasps, her palm manifesting a small portion of her powers. A dark thread danced over her skin, treated with caution, preventing any type of action. Robin's eyes followed the waltzing darkness, admiring the beauty of chaos. She closed her own hand, shutting down the warm glow that illuminated their isolated table.
"Just like that," she congratulated, watching her take her powers back with ease. They shot a look around, fearing anyone would see them. "It's just a matter of practice, you start small, and before you know it, you're mastering your potential."
Rachel summoned the weathered energy, admiring it once again. Artemisia could notice the proud smile on her face, resembling an old image of herself when she was getting started. "You're the best teacher ever. Thank you."
Taken by surprise, the girl's arms embraced her, pulling her close. She blinked a few times, pushing the shock away. Seconds later, she returned the hug, connecting with her past self, patting her back. "How about I get us more food, huh?"
Accepting the offer, Rachel let go of the woman, allowing her to fetch some treats. Walking confidently towards the bending machine, she passed by Gar, who took the opportunity to approach Rachel. She shot him a playful glare, chuckling at his initial reaction.
Her feet continued to lead the way forward, her path soon to cross with Dick and Kory's, who stood by the main door, having some serious chat by the expression in their faces. She parted her lips to speak, ask if everything was alright. Those concerned words stuck on her tongue when the man moved closer to her, his voice low. "Hey, can I talk to you?"
She glances at Kory in desperation, wishing to receive a relieving answer from her. She got a simple shrug. Still skeptic, she replied, "sure."
Taking her agreement, he grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her at safe distance from the group. The motel's light barely reached their bodies, only half their faces visible under the darkening sky. She shoved both hands into the pockets of her pants, waiting to hear what Dick had to say, a bit unnerved by his long face.
From his jeans, he seized a small, bright pink paper moved in front of her eyes, red scribbles passing as a blur. Yet, it was enough for her to recognize. "What is this?" She gulped, remaining silent. Dick pulled the notorious note out of sight. "I've seen you leave these around since we left the station. Who are you trying to contact? Are you with that crazy family? Was it all a trick?"
"What? No," her hand angrily snatched her belonging from his grip, crumbling it with strength controlled by her emotions. Robin was outraged, feeling the need to punch something, thus the fists clenched on both her sides. She had stood by his side whenever he judged someone, even if there wasn't a total agreement, but now that the light shone on her, she promised to never do it again. Some of these assumptions were bullshit. "I'm not going to leave a clue every place we go to. There's certain rules to make them seem invisible. And only we know them."
He folded his arms, towering over her. Yet, Artemisia was not intimidated. For the first time in her life, she saw past the body build, her anger suppressing his. "We?"
"Me and Zach," she snapped, fulfilling the temptation to throw the balled note at him. It hit him in the chest, slowly dropping to the ground as she kept on hissing through her teeth, "these are for him. He's probably trying to find me and since we went literally everywhere, I had to leave a trail."
"Maybe this family picked up on your trail," Dick blurted out, trying to find any weak point to dig deeper and bring out something dark to use against her. She cursed at Bruce Wayne for teaching his stepson about this stuff. "Neon pink post-its in the middle of the street, not interesting at all."
His sarcasm was about to tear through her sweet persona, evolving her kind manner into a ferocious beast. Instead of pleasing him, she decided to hear his words. Her gaze dropped to the ground, where the pink note had fallen, crumbled into a ball. He might have been right. The bright paper could still be seen even after wet, when the laces of their shoes could not. Artemisia rasped, accepting the notorious object. Perhaps they did need to change some tactics of this plan.
Watching her lips curl down, he stepped closer, not to comfort but to confront. "And you said it yourself. Your friend is dead. He isn't coming for you," Dick's voice was a notch too high, the rest of the group that hung not too far away turned to them, seeing the tension between their bodies. Hell, Robin hadn't even noticed how close they were stepping towards one another in anger. If she had, things would have favored Dick, who would win thanks to her embarrassment.
Flaring her round nostrils, she shot a glance over her shoulder, finding two pairs of curious eyes on them. Sighing, she turned back around to face him again, lowering her tone, "he is not dead."
"How do you know?" With every sentence that sprouted from the brunette's thin mouth, her emotions varied, shifting accordingly to a perfect response.
Artemisia's fingers ran across her dark strands, pulling slightly to release tension, an anxious quirk she developed in school. "Because he's done it before," she explained, recalling the sense of grief she experienced, "faked his death in front of a gang leader so they would lower their defenses, then next thing they knew we ambushed them. I'm sure he was up to something this time, too, but things went south."
He was quiet, mouth shut without attempting to think of a reply. She scoffed, recognizing this set of actions from Washington when Rachel stood in her place and defied him. It was her turn to cross her arms in disappointment, hurt by his lack of effort. Or maybe... she shook her head, denying a second thought.
"Thank you for not believing in me, Dick," she copied his sarcasm, tears filling her eyes. After all this time together, she thought they were getting somewhere, yet he had proven not much had changed. He did not trust her. "I'm sick of your constant anger and how you load it off on people. See this?"
From her pocket she took the ticket from the ATM, slapping it into his chest, feeling for that split second, his hard pectorals. She did not blush, as it was common with her. His hand reached for the ticket that remained on his shirt, still shook by her brutal move.
"There's other invisible clues he can follow," Artemisia explained, looking down. She gave in to the first idea that crossed her brain, confidence washing off, "I'm not stupid."
He gulped, eyeing the proof of her statement. "I'm sorry―"
"Are you?" The last spark of security reflected on her words, building up enough signals to control her body until she was out of sight. "Or is it just part of your act?" Dick was left with a wobbly mouth, moving his eyes around the small crowd that witnessed their argument. Robin blocked them from her peripheral view, going straight inside, that fantastic idea of eating another round of fries leaving her mind. Right now, she wanted to give in to her dramatic exit. So she did, leaving them all behind, proud of each response she gave.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Artemisia struggled with two postures in her brain. One felt anguish, on the verge of regretting what she had done. The other simply said fuck it, and it was the reason she held a bottle of cheap whiskey in her hands. She stared at herself in the mirror, having an internal argument between both personas. She recognized one of them as Dianna, the side that was careless. If they were to be put in the same room, each in their own bodies, and told to mingle, things would have exploded. They were very different, which made it hard to coexist in one vessel.
But, in moments like these, it felt warming to have company. Even if it was just a voice in her head or a faint reflection in the mirror. Since they were forced, the pair learned to get along.
Her hand clasped around the cap, deciding to open it up and relieve the drunkenness of one of the most shameful moments in her short life. She stopped, taking her time to hush the echoes of her mother's voice from that particular event. It had to be the second-worst thing she had done, following the official departure from home, giving up the path set for her with years of effort. Now, it was those words that filled her psyche.
"Screw you, mom," slipped past her tongue, stopping her beating heart for a second. It wasn't truly her who said those words. She tried to think and show Dianna the respect she had for that woman. Robin sighed, resuming the easy task of opening the glass bottle. "I don't need permission to drink. I'm older than twenty-one."
At last, it popped open, releasing a strong, acidic smell, face screwing up in disgust. Out of all the things she could choose, she had to pick out this. She lifted the drink nervously, taking it to her plump lips. Every inch closer, she inhaled less air, denying to smell the strong odor. The edge touched her skin, all that was left now was raising it high enough to allow the liquid to enter her mouth.
Her eyes ogled the brownish drink, hoping to like its taste. She tilted her wrist, seeing the liquid approach the edge, and then― she pulled away, saved by a confident knock on her door. Using this excuse, she could not lose any minute, taking as much time to postpone the drinking. On her way to the door, she left the whiskey by the bedside table, hand reaching out to the golden handle.
When the door swung open, Artemisia remembered the recent fight. Dick stood on the other side, hands shoved on his jacket, a usual stance, she had noticed. They stared at each other, wondering what the next move was going to be. Neither moved a muscle, waiting for the other to act first. Both were too proud.
Being Dick who lost in their argument, he took the first step, leaving his pride behind, "can I come in? I need to tell you something."
"Yeah, come on in," Robin offered a shy smile, pacing out of the way. He slowly walked inside, the door shut behind him by her hand. She turned on her heel, following his figure with her eyes, "so, what'd you got? Anything else that incriminates me?"
He breathed out a chuckle, studying her expressions to see if she meant it in a humorous manner. He was pleased, to say the least, when she cracked up a grin, playing along. Dick's face fell again, sucking away the glee. "Listen, I really am sorry," he started, this time, speaking from his heart. Robin wrapped an arm around herself, listening to what he had to say. "I lashed out on you because I was scared the one person I immediately trusted was lying to me. To all of us. I shouldn't have. I see the way you treat Rachel, helping her out when you can. I was wrong to doubt you."
"Maybe we should stop having these kind of secrets," he raised an eyebrow, plopping down on her bed, "correct me if I'm wrong, but those are the main issue in trust. So, go ahead, tell me one secret," she smiled at him, waiting to hear the shadowed side of the man. He shook his head, thinking of an excuse, but she had given a logical reason for him to spill something out, "you already know mine."
He thought for a few seconds, head leaning towards left, then― "nope. No secrets."
"Sure thing, Grayson," Robin scoffed, eyes lingering on his face, watching his muscles work, tugging for a faint smile. She reflected his expression, hers more noticeable due to her chubby cheeks. "Everyone has something hidden."
"Well, you know my biggest secret," his fingers intertwined with each other, falling the gap between his tights. He looked to the bedside table, pointing out the full bottle. A new interest fired upon his eyes, "is that whiskey?"
Artemisia rolled her brown eyes at his diversion, deciding to play along just enough to make him feel safe. As she stepped closer to the bed, her hand reached for the bottle, grasping it with two fingers, carrying it with her while she took a seat by his side. "Your bird-boy persona is not the kind of secret that strengthens a bond. Something deeper."
Dick chuckled at her nickname, a thoughtful glace spreading through their eye contact. He puffed out one last gentle chuckle, breaking away the intensifying connection. "I can't think of anything right now."
"Maybe this will help," she suggested, holding out the bottle. With a devilish smirk, he snatches it from her hand, wasting zero time in taking a large gulp. Robin was amazed by the simplicity of his swallow, no cringe, not even a small complaint. How?
He repeated his pondering, squinting his lids as though the answers were somewhere far. With a blink, he admitted: "still nothing. I have no secrets."
Amused by his response, Robin took back her alcoholic liquid, some droplets spilling into her mattress from the swift move. She strived to keep a serious face, "so you just came here to drink my booze."
"Like you're going to drink it," she foresaw his attempt to steal back the bottle, pulling it out of reach just in time. He grinned, fingers closing on thin air. Taking her by surprise, Dick moved fast, regaining position of the drink. Anticipating her childish behavior, he stole another large gulp, enjoying his short seconds. His hand was held out, keeping her back, "how about I take this one to my room and buy you a better drink tomorrow? Something worth the hungover."
Any excuse to not drink that whiskey. Acting doubtful, she eased into a nod, "I'll hold you onto it," he lowered his hand, circling it on the bottle's neck. His thick bushes rose when her face beamed with recall, "oh, and take this too. I was planning on taking a shower and handing it over."
In a quick shift, Artemisia grabbed the hem of the sweater, pulling it over her shoulders and past her arms. Tugging on both sleeves, she managed to turn it upright, soon followed by strategic waving and folding. Seconds later, she handed back the warm sweater that warmed her in their time at Ohio.
Dick took it from her hand, skins brushing. Artemisia's lips parted slightly, a silent gasp entering through the small gap. She had seen into his mind, peaking on his thoughts for just a glimpse. Yet, it was enough to startle her. It was too much, the pants and groans, even the flashing images of his hand tugging on dark hair, or his pink lips teasing―
She snapped her hand away, letting the sweater fall from her hold. Luckily, Dick caught it just in time, the tendons of his hand stiffening. Her gaze shot someplace else, wishing to look anywhere but him. "Are you sure? It kind of suited you."
"Yes," was her immediate response, eyes glued on the bathroom door. She sighed, vowing to finish the conversation, and send him to his room, the forget all about that. Her watch returned to him. "Yes, I'm sure. I bought a new jacket at the store to replace the old one I lost at Hank and Dawn's."
Artemisia Robin's mouth opened to wrap up the visit, but she was forced to shut it again when he spoke, getting no clue of her intentions. "Oh, yeah. I liked that one. The one with the short spikes on your shoulders and" his eyes roamed sneakily on her frame as he imagined the tight jacket she owned, "waist. It looked really good."
An unknown region of her stomach twirled frantically under his gawk. She also noticed the pores in her skin release small amounts of sweat, just enough to make her skin glisten under the yellowish light. "Thanks," she smiled, feeling the heat jam on her neck and chest. Curious about this foreign sensation, she allowed it to show what it meant.
Her focus moved from his dark eyes to his lips, remembering the scenario she saw. She looked back to his gaze, only to find it wandering elsewhere in her round complexion. She licked her lips, paying attention to the growing desire of his pupils. He inched closer, free hand placed on the mattress for support.
Before he could get any further, Artemisia broke from his spell by a harsh pain in her ribcage, the sting speeding across her nearby bones. She clasped on her side, hissing. Dick broke away from the tension built, leaning back in shock, watching her face calm. "You okay?"
She only nodded, removing the pressure from the point. It had gone away after appearing with the sole purpose of preventing any further action. Her brows furrowed in realization, it had indeed been created with that purpose.
Dick studied her expression, acknowledging their path ended there. He held tightly onto the bottle, carefully getting to his feet, "I should probably go back and get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow―"
Her most longed goodbye had been, for the second time, postponed by a suspicious crash outside the room. Their heads shot in direction of the disturbance. Dick frowned and stepped towards the door, when his hand reached for the handle, the lights went out. A single emergency bulb shone tiredly over the drawer. As Dick slowly turned the doorknob, Robin jumped on her feet, rushing towards her special case.
By the time the locks clicked open, the cautious man opened the squeaky door, taking a peek outside. Artemisia was rummaging through her stuff, tapping around for a particular object when she noticed Dick take a step back, mumbling something under his breath, hand on his jaw.
She swiveled around, hand buried in the piles of clothing and weapons. Into the dark room stepped the Mom and the Father, wearing their cynical smiles. Dick tossed the whiskey bottle into his right hand, and swung it at the larger man, hitting his across the face. He barely flinched.
Dick took a step back, glancing at Robin, who just had circled her fingers on a blade. From behind them, the psychopaths heaved their weapons. An ax and a drill.
"Well, shit," Robin sighed as she pulled out the significantly smaller weapon. Still, she carried it with confidence, holding it out before her. The pair of assassins looked at one another, syncing their actions. In unison, they lurched different ways. The Father went for her, towering over her smaller frame like a giant.
He raised the ax, aiming down at her. She scurried out of the way, jumping high enough to land one foot on the drawer, using the solid footing to leap over the man, take hold of his weapon. With the strength of one arm, he tossed her off his back, regaining position of the tool.
Robin drooped on her back, pushing herself up with the upper back. Her boot ruined his second attempt to chop her in half, weakening his wrist, which ended on a sloppy blow. She took those instants, where the man tried to pull the ax from the wooden floor, to check on Dick. He was struggling with the woman on the bed, her drill inches away from his eye. She was about to help when he nudged her on the stomach, moving her away.
He looked at her, making strong eye contact to send his message clear. "Find the kids and Kory!"
She nodded. On the way towards the door, her foot pushed harder on the ax, distracting the man. Yet, he decided to give up on that, choosing his physical skills. Artemisia got hold of her case, shutting it close before swinging it at his head. Her leg snapped both of his together, body dropping on top of the tense ax handle.
Panting, she hurried out of the room, case gripped tightly on both hands. She looked over her shoulder, they were both on Dick now. She wanted to return, help him out, but the idea of leaving the teenagers alone when the two kids were nowhere in sight, it tore her in two.