Paula did not like to think she was a good woman.
She knew better.
She didn’t value life, or strangers.
She’d had her husband, and she’d loved him.
Together they’d had two daughters.
Two beautiful, wonderful, talented daughters.
She liked to think that it was them that started to change her outlook on life.
She liked to think that, because it felt less selfish in her mind.
To think she’d changed for her children.
Rather than just…
Adapting, to changes in her circumstances.
The incident that crippled her had been a hazy thing, in her memories.
Apparently a normal thing, the doctors told her.
Sometimes the brain intentionally lost things.
Dulled memories.
She’d remembered her time in prison just fine, though.
In some ways, those were the easiest years of her life.
In so many others, they were the worst.
She got up when she was told to.
Ate when they told her to.
Showered when they told her.
Slept…
Well, as best she could, with one eye open and a pair of dead weights where her legs had been.
Lawrence had never come to visit.
Jade had, a few times.
Begging and broken by what her father was training her to do.
More than prison, more than her legs, that was her biggest regret.
Paula didn’t know if being a mother changed her, if prison changed her, if her struggling to crawl into a wheelchair morning after morning had changed her.
She knew her daughter asking ‘What’s wrong with me?
Why can’t I be what dad wants?
Why can’t I be -like you-‘ had definitely changed her.
It was why she took Artemis when she was released from prison.
Why she kicked Lawrence out from both of their lives.
She didn’t regret it…
She just wished she’d known what she was signing up for.
Artemis was intelligent and willful.
The girl didn’t like sitting still for too long.
Not outside of a hunt, at least.
And she refused to tell Paula where she was going when she headed out!
Already it was getting late, much later than Artemis was normally out anymore.
It kept Paula up with worry every night, but this was even worse.
A few short years ago, she’d have been pacing.
Now, now all she could do was sit.
Sit and wait.
Eleven O’clock came.
Then Midnight.
By One, her anxiety was beginning to get the better of her.
The door slammed open just shy of Two in the morning.
Paula wheeled away from the window (How had she missed her?) to look and freezes for a moment.
Artemis is standing there, barefoot, only wearing a blue hoodie.
No socks, no backpack, no -pants-.
“Artemis?
What happened?!” “Him.” Is all she say, lifting her arm to point behind herself.
The hem of the hoodie raises, and Paula realizes that it’s literally all her daughter is wearing.
“Me.” A boy walks in behind her daughter.
Wearing a dark red button down shirt, fading jeans and welding goggles, of all things.
“You?” He waves at Paula, clearly amused.
“Me.” He walks right into the kitchen, barely paying any attention to her.
She rolls in after him, speechless at the sheer disregard he seems to have for her while he’s rummaging through her cabinets.
“What is going on here?
Who are you?!” She reaches behind her back, going for the small gun that would be incredibly uncomfortable to sit on, if she could still feel it.
“I-” The young man starts to say as he pulls out a cup.
“-am Alchemist.
And your kid wants to have me do something.” “And what are you making her do for you?!” She’s incredulous when he fills the cup with tap water instead of using the water cooler.
Is the boy insane?
She flicks the safety on her little .22 pistol off.
“We haven’t discussed payment yet.” He pauses for a moment to sip the water.
Either he doesn’t know the danger, or he doesn’t care.
“I figured you might be better suited to helping me than she is, anyway.” “You want to just tell her why you’re here, or are you going to keep being an asshole?” Artemis stepped out of the hallway, standing just behind Paula’s chair.
“Wait, are you seriously drinking from the tap?” “You took an hour to get us here.
I’m thirsty.” “Oh my god, you really are an idiot.
How has the smilex not killed you yet?” He took a long, slow drink.
Seemingly contemplating the question before shrugging.
“Alright.
So.
Mrs.Crock.” He set the empty glass down next to the sink.
“How would you like to walk again?” “…The doctor’s said it’s impossible.
I’ll never walk again.” She didn’t want to hope.
Not anymore.
“Yeah, that’s nice and all.
Look, we live in a city where a sociopath with daddy issues beats up the mentally handicapped.
There are literal gods and goddesses walking around, making even more bastard children.
Magic is a thing.
And you?” He snapped his fingers and she felt…
She felt something.
It was pain, but it was pain she hadn’t felt in -years-.
“You can walk.”