Genetic
Fandom: Young Justice
Characters: Artemis Crock, Paula Crock, Wally West
Rating: T
Summary: The second worst thing in the world is seeing your mother cry. The worst thing, being the one who made her cry
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the fandom
The only things I can think as I’m led to my front door is 1) the fact that the hand clutching my elbow is really tight, and 2) a long list of every swear word from every language I know. The tall, dark skinned man that’s cutting off the circulation in my right arm knocks loudly on the door and I hear movement from the inside.
Here’s a tip: if you going to shoplift from a store, don’t try the one that’s own by the same guy who owns your apartment block.
That was a dumb move.
I wonder if he does this to every teenager that tries to nick a packet of chips from his store. Probably not. He probably just takes them out the back and beats them into law abiding citizens. I’m just a pity case of his.
My mom opens the door and I’m struck again by how tiny she looks in her wheelchair. You’d think it’d be something I’d get used to, but I still get slammed with it every time I see it.
She looks at me with a frown on her face as our landlord explains. “Your girl was stealing from my shop,” he says shortly and gruffly. “It happens again, your rent goes up. A third time and the cops get involved.”
He releases my arm and gives me a stern look that makes me want stick one of my arrows right up his ass. Mom shakes her head, part disbelief, part disappointment. “You stole?” she hisses as I walk in and slam the door. “Artemis, what were you thinking?”
I wasn’t.
“What do you need to steal anyway? I thought we had everything you needed…” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Yeah, Mom, like you’d know what I need. I make a beeline across the living area for my bedroom as she continues. “What were you even think-?”
I slam my bedroom door so hard that it probably won’t open up again. I wouldn’t even care. I can hear the wheels on Mom’s chair squeak across the floor, and somehow, that makes me even angrier.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, every essence of me boiling. If Dad were here, all he’d be angry at would be the fact that I got caught. But of course, he isn’t here, and won’t be for a long time, if ever. I can remember every word Mom said to him as she kicked him out; there’s no way he’s going to change his lifestyle.
“Artemis, come out of your room.” God, I want to scream at her. “I need you to explain to me why you did this. I thought you were trying to make a change for the better, why would you go and throw that away?”
I roll my eyes and want to laugh at the irony. “Gee Mom, I dunno,” I say, sarcasm filtering through my teeth. “Maybe it’s genetic. It kinda runs in the family to break the law, doesn’t it? Maybe I’m just doomed to be this way for the rest of my-”
“Artemis, that is not funny.” I can hear the anger in her growing through her voice. Good. “I thought I was getting you to turn a new leaf. You’re still young, you have a chance to make a good life for yourself away from this life of crime that your father and I set as a poor example for you.”
Shut up, Mom, please just shut up.
“You are doing so well, why would you try something stupid like this that can destroy everything you’ve worked for?”
I can’t stop myself. I explode. “Well at least I’m doing a better job than you ever did!” I yell through the door. It feels unbelievably good to be able to blame someone else, rather than facing that it’s my own fault. I release a breath and wait for her equally loud reply, but it doesn’t come.
It’s horrible. I need her to yell at me, but all I get is silence. Dad always said I get my feistiness from her, and I believe it, because he sure doesn’t have a warm bone in his body. I can even remember her showing that aspect of my present attitude from years ago. She should be yelling back at me, it’s in her nature to…
I throw open the door and see her sitting there motionless, staring at her knees, one hand covering her mouth. She doesn’t acknowledge me when I stand in front of her.
“Mom-”
“No, it’s fine.” She finally moves, wheeling backwards and turning around, “You’re right.” I feel the ultimate guilt settle on me as I notice the excess water in her eyes. “You’re absolutely right,” she whispers, wheeling herself into the kitchen.
Shit.
Shit.
I kick the door, and tell myself that the pain I feel afterwards probably serves me right. I listen closely to see if I can hear Mom in the kitchen, ultimately regretting it as I distinguish her sobs.
Nice job Artemis. You made your mom, who only wants to save you from making the same mistakes she did, cry. You stupid, cold-hearted bitch.
I don’t even need to think about where I’m going to go as I push out the apartment door and run out of the building, immediately making for the phone booth in the alley next to my building.
I’m so pissed at myself that I’m not sure how I manage to punch in the code. I furiously wipe at the tears that have decided to pop up in the corner of my eyes and wait for the teleporter to take me straight to the cave, far, far away from here.
As the cave announces my arrival, I hope to myself that Megan isn’t around. As much as I like her, I won’t be able to stop myself from telling her every detail about what’s wrong, and if I end up having to tell her and receiving a pitying look and hug from her then there will be no way that I’ll be able to stop myself from crying.
I make my way to the only place that’s going to be able to handle me at this point. The gym. All I want to do is just shoot the crap out of the target range and lose myself in the process of aim and fire.
I stop so suddenly in my stride that I give myself momentary whiplash as I step into the gym. I was hoping, praying to any transcendent being that might exist, that it would be empty. However, I find it occupied, being used by one of the last people I want to have to deal with right now.
Wally’s over at the punching bags, attacking one with a flurry of hits that are so fast that they only appear to me as a blur. His top is off; I vaguely notice it in a careless pile off to the side, and I can see the light dusting of freckles in his back, shining under a covering of sweat. I watch the defined muscles in his back and shoulders work for a moment before I stop and remind myself that no, I am not here to think about that and move towards the punching bags myself.
He must notice me as I get closer, because he pauses in his assault and turns towards me, panting, red hair clumping in a slick, sticky tangle on his forehead. He looks at me and says simply, as though he owes me an explanation, “My dad’s an ass.”
The words spew out of my mouth so suddenly that I’m not even sure if they come out right. “I just made my mom cry.” Wally just nods, and moves over to the next bag, leaving the previous one open for me, and I can’t help thinking how eerily calm it is between us, despite the both of us being emotional bombs ready to self-destruct in five, four, three, two, one. It completely contrasts the crazy storms we collectively create when we’re both in better moods.
I pull off my jacket and throw it to the side with Wally’s shirt. We both punch the bags in silence, each releasing our volatile emotions onto the fat, hard tubes.
Sometimes I wish that I could go back to Bialya, where everything from the last six months had been erased and I couldn’t remember the fact that Mom had been released from jail, and that Dad had left. I could’ve been perfectly happy staying in that stupid desert with Wally forever; not knowing about the awkwardness that I felt when I saw my mom for the first time in six years, or recalling how hard she tried to get to know me, or how she would keep telling and telling me over and over again that I had to make a good life for myself.
I could’ve been fine, apart from being completely confused, just staying in that moment.
I stop punching and rest my forehead against the bag, my chest heaving and sweat trickling down the sides of my face. I can see Wally move out of the corner of my eye.
My arms are shaking with effort as I use them to push off the punching bag, leaving a wet patch where my face was. Wally says something, but I miss it.
“Sorry?” I gasp.
“Your mom, she’ll forgive you,” I glance up and see him wiping his face on a towel. “I once made my mom cry, when I told her that I wanted to live at my aunt and uncle’s house instead of home.”
I can’t help myself from rolling my eyes. “And you were what? Ten years old?”
“Actually, it was only about a month ago.”
Damn. I look down at my feet trying to hide my embarrassment as he shrugs.
“The point is,” he says, “she got over it. Your mom will too.”
It feels so strange that I’m taking advice from Wally, and I have no idea how to reply, so I don’t say anything. It’s probably better if I don’t say anything anyway, seeing as it was something that I said that got me into this whole mess.
Wally probably thinks I’m an idiot, standing in the middle of the gym staring at my feet, but I don’t want to move. I hear him walk across the floorboards of the gym before feeling a soft nudge on my arm. I look at it and see his hand holding my jacket, with his shirt already back on. I mutter, “Thanks,” taking my jacket and pulling it on, the cold leather chilling my skin.
“Yeah, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck, “No worries.” His gaze flits around the room, not unlike mine, the both of us not wanting to meet each other’s eyes. We both stand there for a moment, the discomfort growing so great that it makes my wonder what just happened between us. Thankfully Wally breaks the silence, shrugging and stepping away. “I should probably go home,” he mutters, making vague movements with his hands, still not meeting my eyes, “Before my mom calls the cave.”
“Yeah, me too.” I guess I’m going to have to face my own mom sometime soon, and I don’t see much point putting it off any longer.
Wally stares at me for a second, like he wants to say something further, but shrugs it off and turns to walk out of the gym. “I’ll, uh, see you later.” I nod, and open my mouth to say goodbye, but he’s already out of the room, leaving a slight breeze.
I pull my jacket around me tighter, even though I’m still heated up from my round on the punching bag, and make my own way out. Dumb as it is, I cross my fingers and hope that what Wally said is right, before pushing into the teleporter and sending myself home to make things right with my mom.