Archive of Our Own

There’s a sharp hiss and then Artemis is shoving Tara out of the room. 

“West!” she shouts, banging so hard she feels blood vessels break in her knuckles. “Open this door!” She flicks on her radio, trying the handle. It’s locked. “Agent Lewis to all units. The unsub is in office 912. She is alone with a BAU agent.”

Immediately, Emily’s voice crackles in her ear. “Lewis, repeat. Who is with the unsub?” 

“West locked herself in with her.” She stills her breath, straining to listen. The hissing has cut off. She can hear voices, Artemis’ sharp, commanding tone and Phan’s low, growling resolve. No weapon discharges. 

“BAU, move to the ninth floor. Lewis, sitrep.” 

Tara scans the hallway. Cookie cutter offices from end to end. Trash cans set outside for the custodial staff. The walls are an inoffensive olive green, tasteful art in primary colors hung on the walls. 

She tries the doors of the two adjacent offices. Both locked, no chance for a side entrance. 

Near the elevators is a small conference room, the only windows in the hall. The blinds are drawn. 

It’s long after hours, even third shift has gone home. Probable cause had SWAT ramming open the door, teams of two have been clearing the building floor by floor. 

No keys, no equipment. 

“Single entrance, locked door. There was a hissing noise before West pushed me out. Both occupants are speaking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.” 

There’s a loud thunk. 

She rams her shoulder into the door. “West!”

A second thunk. 

Tara knows what it sounds like when a body drops. 

“Both the agent and the unsub are assumed down.”

Over comms, Penelope breaks in. “SWAT is one floor away, they’re bringing a battering ram. Did you say a hissing noise?” 

“Yes. Does that mean something to you?” 

The clacking of keys fills the radio. “Phan was previously arrested in Gotham in a sweep of Jonathon Crane’s associates.” 

“Crane?” Luke repeats. “Alias Scarecrow?” 

“Yepperty depperty.” Nerves lace Penelope’s tone. 

He’s slightly out of breath as he swears. “Tara, has the air quality changed at all? Green haze? Sour scent?”

Tara blinks, taking in the air, tracking the way dust catches in the light fixtures. All still cast in the sterilizing white of modern office culture. She breathes in half her lung capacity, cautious of the potentially aerosolized compound. Stale. Nothing. 

“It’s clear,” she reports. “No signs of…” 

“Fear gas,” Penelope and Luke fill in. 

Just the name makes Tara’s heartrate tick up. Ten minutes of the annual substance training was dedicated to the nightmare in the bottle. And Artemis enclosed herself in a hundred square feet with it, no chance for it to disperse. 

“BAU, fall back,” the SWAT captain orders. “Delta team, gas masks on. Approach with caution. Priority: containment. Agent Lewis, remain in position until decon arrives.” 

Tara feels her skin crawling. “West?” she calls, overwhelmed with the desire to no longer be alone. “Phan?” 

A single prick against her thumb. The masked tech guides three drops of blood onto a cartridge and slides it into a portable device. She presses a circular bandage on Tara’s thumb. 

“We should have results in fifteen minutes,” the tech reports, pleasant and professional in a tight fitting hazmat suit. Specialty. 

Something about it soothes Tara, even as unease twists in her stomach. She nods, an oxygen mask muffling her acknowledgement. Standard protocol, another of the trio of Wayne Enterprise rapid responders told her as they set up a decon shower. She didn’t enjoy stripping in the lobby to the office building, front doors still busted from SWAT’s intrusion. Still, it’s a necessity she isn’t aiming to wiggle out of. Artemis already sacrificed enough ensuring that all of this is a formality. And it’s not the strangest place she’s gone nude. 

Her hair drips onto nondescript gray sweats. Her toes curl atop cheap black flip flops. She runs her forefinger over the bandage, wishing her phone wasn’t being sterilized in a van with the rest of the items on her person. 

The members of the delta squad have been cordoned off as well, gear confiscated for sanitization. A second tech is fitting them with oxygen masks, clearing out their lungs of any lingering exposure. Tara had been the first to go through the process, the first sent away from her teammate. 

The third Wayne tech is up where she was now. Before her comm unit was taken, Penelope informed her that fear gas reacts with the argon in the air. One canister usually becomes inert within two hours. Tara assumes that the clean up process consists of upping the argon concentration in the affected space. 

Artemis and Phan aren’t in the office anymore. They’d been found passed out on the short tan carpet, unresponsive. EMS carted them off before the Wayne techs even arrived. The risk of toxin overdose too high, they were rushed to the hospital once SWAT was able to get inside. 

Delta Squad had to disassemble the door to get in. 

Disassemble. 

After fixing a spare gas mask over Tara’s face and sending her toward the elevator, the agents had busted out the tried and true battering ram. The door didn’t budge. Tara remembers the lightning panic lancing through her fingers when the awaiting crash never came. 

Someone, presumably Artemis, caulked the gaps in the door frame with an expanding foam. The vents had been similarly covered. No air was able to leak out. No fresh oxygen was able to get in. 

She strains her memory, but Tara hadn’t heard it happen. Worse, no one knows where the foam originated, unless she managed to confiscate it from the unsub. It’s certainly not something found among staplers and spare printer ink. 

The Wayne team had been Emily’s call, literally. Bureau policy is to report all suspected gas attacks to DHS and Wayne Enterprises. WE specializes in the weirdest of the weird. 

They’re contracted with the UN to contain the spillages of Gotham sadism. They arrived thirty minutes after Emily placed the call. 

According to Penelope, Wayne Enterprises doesn’t have offices in this state. 

These sorts of coherent thoughts are evidence enough that Tara wasn’t exposed to the fear gas. A whole canister was released in that room. An amount that could easily spread across a city block in the right weather conditions. 

Artemis made sure Tara didn’t get a whiff, damning herself to forty minutes of exposure. 

The tech who pricked her blood has moved on to the SWAT agents, collecting blood samples to test for the presence and strain of the toxin. 

Samples that will be destroyed within twenty-four hours, she’s been assured. A strange policy. 

The portable analyzer dings softly. The tech slides in another sample, then checks something on her tablet. 

“Agent Lewis,” she announces, calm, unshakable. “You’re clear. No toxin detected.” Tara slumps with relief. All the panic she’s felt tonight has been her own, the strange specter of potential exposure messing with her head. Heightening the rush of adrenaline. “Your things will be mailed to the address provided on your consent form once they’ve been sanitized. Free of charge,” she tacks on.

Tara removes the humid mask and stops the flow of oxygen. “Thank you.” 

JJ is waiting for her outside. “Luke is with Artemis.” She holds up her phone. “She was admitted to the local ER about fifteen minutes ago. Dave and Emily rode with the unsub. She’s been admitted as well.” A noticeable decrease in sympathy at the final update. “Do you want to go back home or…?” 

“Hospital,” Tara confirms. Nothing in her will settle until she gets eyes on their youngest agent. 

JJ smiles, gesturing toward the car. 

Stepping into the bustling DC emergency entrance, Tara half regrets not asking to detour for a change of clothes. It was a local case, so her go bag is forty minutes south in her bottom desk drawer. Her house is an hour west. 

JJ flashes her badge with the charge nurse, breaking through the aching feeling of being watched. 

“Ms. West hasn’t been cleared for visitors,” the woman states, hardly glancing up from her boxy computer. “The man that came in with her is in the family room.” She presses a button under the desk, unlocking the clear door leading further into the department. “Third door on your left.” 

Luke stands when they approach. “They took her back as soon as we came in,” he reports. “I haven’t seen her since and none of the staff have come in for an update.” 

“Has Will been informed?” JJ asks, peering down the hallway before taking a seat. Tara lingers as well, but ultimately, the medical staff will come when they least expect it. 

Luke shakes his head, an embarrassed duck of his chin. “No. Shit, I’ve been trying to get Gotham PD on the phone, I didn’t even think…” He holds up his phone, soft music playing. “I’m on hold with their interagency coordinator.” 

“I’ll handle it,” JJ assures, tapping through her contacts. After the horror of Lian’s kidnapping, everyone has Will’s contact plugged into their devices. There’s two lines associated with it. A Star City area code and a one eight hundred number. It’s unspoken, but the latter is not to be contacted unless it’s the end of the world. 

It’s heavy, the knowledge of who Will was. Of who Jade is. 

She doesn’t know how Artemis does it. 

Luke’s gaze catches on Tara. “How are you holding up?” he asks. 

She forces a smile even as stoicism washes over her. She won’t be anything near okay until she hears Artemis snarking about mandatory leave. “No toxin exposure,” she settles on. Then, because it’s the only question running through her head that won’t have her spiraling about Artemis alone in a hospital room, she asks, “How’d you know about the gas?” 

Her teammate sighs, rubbing his brow. “Jonathan Crane, the psychologist who invented that shit? He broke out of the psychiatric care facility he was passing his sentence in during my second year on the Fugitive Task Force. Hunting him down… We got him cornered up near the Delaware River. He managed to dose my superior with the intravenous form.” Something haunted pinches in the corners of his eyes. “I’ll never forget that case,” he concludes after a contemplative moment. “Never.” 

“Agent Alvez? I’ve got Commissioner Gordon for you.” 

Luke jumps up to take the call outside. On the far side of the room, JJ’s phone tones with an unconnected call. She stews a moment, before pinging Penelope. 

“How is she?” rushes through the speaker, none of Penelope’s usual charm. 

“No news yet,” JJ announces mulishly. “Does Artemis have a secondary contact? Will’s going to voicemail.” 

“Okay, okay. This I can check, I am very very good at checking… Yes. Yep, Barbara Gordon, um. Gotham area code, passing along her number now.” 

JJ pulls the phone from her ear to check her messages. “Thanks, Pen.” 

“Of course. Is there anything else?” 

Tara imagines her friend buzzing with anxious energy, the fidget toys spilling across her workspace. “If you’re wrapped up at the office,” she casts her voice to cover the room, the city. “Could you bring me a change of clothes?” 

There’s an audible woosh of air escaping Penelope’s lungs. “Tara,” she breathes out, relieved. “You’re okay.” 

“I am,” she confirms. “Only thing that could make me better is some more good company.” She pauses. “And close toed shoes.” 

There’s a faint smile in Penelope’s voice. “Both will be out for delivery in just a mo.’”

“Hello?” 

A small amount of tension ratchets down Tara’s shoulders. 

JJ introduces herself, then the situation. 

Barbara takes it all with a level of calm that Tara recognizes from first responders. “Have you spoken with her medical care team yet?” 

“No,” JJ answers. 

There’s a momentary pause. Tara thinks she hears typing. “Okay. I’m forwarding her medical files to the hospital now. She’ll need to be sedated as soon as possible.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

There’s a soft knock on the exterior wall of the waiting room. “Family of Artemis West?” A nurse in fish patterned scrubs looks expectantly at them. 

“That’s us,” Tara confirms. 

“Is that a doctor?” Barbara asks. “Put me on speaker.” 

JJ looks to Tara. She shrugs. JJ holds up the phone. “You’re on.” 

The nurse introduces herself as she sits on the opposite couch, projecting calm understanding. “As you may know, your loved one was exposed to a chemical commonly known as ‘fear toxin.’ This substance-”

“I apologize, ma’am, for cutting you off. Has your team administered an antidote?” 

The nurse pauses, brow furrowing, a professional irk she tamps down. “No. We don’t get many cases and the general antidote isn’t shelf stable for very long. Some are being shipped in from Gotham.” 

An oversight, Tara realizes, sending Artemis and Phan away before the Wayne techs arrived. They surely have the antidote. 

“The latest GA is shelf stable for two years,” Barbara corrects thoughtlessly. “Regardless, it should not be administered to Artemis. I’ve forwarded her medical file for review, you’ll see that Artemis is to be sedated until an SSA, a strain specific antidote, is available.” 

The nurse forces a smile onto her face. “I appreciate your insight ma’am, and our team will review any relevant medical information we receive. However, following the empirically derived fear toxin protocol is hospital policy in such events.” 

Barbara doesn’t back down. Something hard enters her tone. Something familiar. “I’m Artemis’ medical proxy. She’s unconscious and I’m authorized to make all medical decisions on her behalf until such a time that she is able to make them for herself. Do not administer a GA. Sedate her, restrain her. This is not Artemis’ first exposure to fear toxin. The FTP is a general guideline for first time exposures. As a member of her care team, I’m sure you’ll agree that personalized medicine is imperative.” 

Silence. Even the usual bustle of the hospital momentarily fades away. 

Tara’s brain strains, trying to recall a time that Artemis would have been exposed to fear toxin. Any personal anecdote about being dosed. 

“I’ll speak with her doctors,” the nurse allows. Challenge enters her posture. “We’ll need to see a license to confirm you’re Ms. West’s medical proxy.” 

“Understood.” 

The nurse hesitates before giving a few more updates. Artemis’ blood has been taken to test for the strain. She’s been placed in a private room in the psych ward. “She’s not yet cleared for visitors, but we expect that to change soon,” the nurse promises. “She’ll be on a concussion protocol, so no bright screens, a quiet environment.”

Tara thanks the nurse as she heads out. She can hear Luke faintly, arguing with Gotham’s commissioner.

“Agents,” Barbara says, capturing their attention with that same unyielding voice. “I’ll be in the city in four and a half hours. I believe SSA Prentiss is her medical proxy on the- team?” 

“That’s correct.” 

A door locks faintly. “Impress upon her the importance that Artemis should not be given a GA. It will not work and it will make further antidote admin more difficult.” 

“She’s really been dosed before?” Tara asks. It’s just… Artemis was a professor in Star City before joining the Bureau. From everything she’s heard, fear toxin is a Gotham affair. 

Then, distantly, she recalls that this is where Artemis’ mother lives. Did Artemis grow up there? She never really considered it. Everything she knows about Artemis points to being from Star. 

“Enough to have a mild resistance to it.” 

Tara’s chest tightens. Multiple exposures. 

“It’s best that she remain unconscious until Lian is there. There are…” For the first time, Barbara hesitates. “Artemis has hallucinated many different past experiences, but these are malleable. It’s best if we trigger fears of Lian being in danger with Lian there to comfort her rather than letting something less soothable take root.” 

Again, Tara and JJ exchange a look. It feels bottomless, this pit of unknowns. Tara thought after all that happened when Lian went missing last fall that the impervious layer of privacy Artemis shielded behind would disappear. And it seemed, truly, like it had. 

Tara is an expert on human behavior, beyond even what many members of the team bring to the table. She’s studied people since she was eighteen, getting her bachelor’s in psychology between waitressing shifts.

Once again, Artemis had her convinced that there were no secrets between them. The pain of being proven wrong is sharp, twisting. 

“Are you able to get in contact with Will? He hasn’t picked up when I’ve called.” 

There’s a pause. An elevator dings. “No. Will’s not available right now. Lian’s staying with her grandmother. I’m going to pick them both up and bring them to DC. Four and a half hours. Keep her sedated.” 

The call goes dead. 

By nature of being with Artemis before it all went wrong, Tara earns the first shift sitting at her teammate’s side. Emily sends everyone else home, promising JJ that she too will return to her apartment once another medical proxy has arrived. 

Tara’s returning from the vending machine with a protein bar and Sun Chips, very pleased with her past foresight to keep petty cash in her go bag, when she catches sight of Lian. 

The ten year old has a subdued, tired expression. She’s dressed in pajamas, green animals patterning her fuzzy pants and a faded gray shirt for a hockey team Tara doesn’t recognize. A pink and purple striped cat is clutched under one arm. Her fist rubs at her eyes.

Despite her clear exhaustion, she is easily able to keep up with the strong Vietnamese woman wheeling through the emptied halls. Tara recognizes her from some holiday photos Artemis shared. Her mother has a layer of sternness concealing concern in her features. A gray jacket is pulled over a sleep shirt. There’s a stuffed full backpack hanging on special handles on her wheelchair. 

“Agent Lewis,” the mother acknowledges, allowing her momentum to slow. 

Automatically, Tara shakes her hand. “Ms. Nguyen,” she greets. “Hi Lian.” 

The child mumbles something in return. She tugs on her grandma’s jacket. “Wanna see Auntie Mouse,” she demands. 

“In a moment, bug,” Paula promises. She draws her granddaughter in front of her. Lian chews on the paw of her cat. “Artemis is asleep. Remember what we talked about in the car?” 

Lian nods determinedly.

Neither elaborate, as much as Tara wishes they would. Instead, she tugs open the door to Artemis’ room and allows them inside. 

“Are you certain that Lian should be in here?” Emily asks after pulling a spare chair out of the way. 

Her unit chief is exhausted. Securing the unsub, transferring custody to the local officers, coordinating with the Wayne techs, serving as Artemis’ proxy. 

It’s stark, seeing her asleep. Her face is slack, medical restraints unnecessarily securing her.

Lian hovers at the foot of her aunt’s bed, arms tightly wrapped around her toy. Her tangled hair overshadows her face. 

There’s a soft beep from one of the machines and Lian flinches back. 

“Come here, bug,” Paula requests softly. Her granddaughter hesitates briefly before obeying. Paula cards the knotted hair from her face. She sighs. “You’ll tell me or… your aunt’s friend if you want to leave, yes?” 

“Mhm,” Lian confirms. “Gonna help.” 

The grandmother smiles tiredly before reaching behind herself and tugging her backpack into her lap. Brightly colored child’s clothing spills out. She pulls out a few items until a book with a creaking cover appears. 

Lian immediately takes it into her hands. “Can I really?” 

Paula nods. “I think your aunt would love to hear her favorite story. Just be careful.” 

“Yes yes yes yes yes!” she cheers. She sets her toy and book on the seat Emily pulled aside and clumsily moves the chair until it’s right beside Artemis’ head. She wriggles on top of the chair, adjusting her cat until it too can look down at the first page of the weathered book. “Alice was begin- beg-in-ning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: one- once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or con… conveer… conversations in it, ‘and what is the use of a book,’ thought Alice ‘without pictures or con-ver-sa-tion?’”

With a heavy, loving gaze, Paula observes her granddaughter read. The words wash over Tara so effectively, she almost forgets Emily’s question. 

Almost. 

Her boss raises an eyebrow at Paula. 

“Lian is very strong,” Paula answers. “And very brave, like all my girls.” Her mouth twitches and Tara is suddenly reminded that this is the woman who raised Cheshire. “It is better for her to be here, supervised, than off on her own, trying to get here.” 

As she answers, the door opens once again, silently. Tara only notices because the quality of the light changes. 

“Lian being here will also help us control what the toxin triggers, as I mentioned on the phone.” 

The woman in the doorway is shadowed by the light of the hallway. Her face is framed in brilliant, frizzy red hair. She looks about Artemis’ age, with a similarly determined set of her mouth. In the harsh hospital lighting, she looks almost translucent. Tara doubts she gets much sun, especially knowing this is likely the Gothamite Barbara Gordon. 

“Ms. Gordon, I presume,” Emily greets. 

Barbara nods. “Agent Prentiss,” she returns. “I just spoke with Artemis’ nurses. They’ll be in to stop the sedatives before too long. The Wayne techs are en route with the SSA.” 

Tara notes the way Emily’s jaw ticks. The paperwork may check out, but they’ve never heard of Barbara Gordon. 

“We’ll take care of her from here,” she finishes. 

Emily raises an eyebrow. “A member of my team will be around when we’re able. Dr. Lewis is taking the first shift,” Emily asserts. She holds out her card. “Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything.” 

Stir crazy intelligence sparks in Barbara’s eyes. “Of course.” 

It’s another half hour before Emily leaves. Lian reads through the first chapter of her book before her grandmother calls her over. She crawls onto her lap and lets Paula brush her stringy hair from her face. They speak quietly in Vietnamese, Lian mostly nodding along to whatever her grandma is instructing her on. 

Barbara has pulled out a laptop and is scanning something intently. When Tara catches a glimpse, it looks to be some sort of chemical structure. 

Emily gives Tara one last appraising look. “If you need anything…” 

“I’ll call,” Tara confirms. “The nurse should be by soon to stop the sedative and deliver the antidote. We’ll be fine.” 

Her unit chief sighs. It’s hard leaving anyone behind, especially an unconscious teammate. But Artemis couldn’t be receiving better care. She’ll be recovered in no time. 

Lian is transferred to Barbara’s lap when a new nurse arrives. Based on the way Barbara adjusts herself in her chair, she seems to have a bit more mobility than Paula. Her spinal injury is likely at a lower vertebrae. 

Lian is wrapped up in a blanket with Robin’s yellow R dotting it. She rubs her cheek against it every few minutes, struggling to keep awake. 

Tara feels much the same way. While she’d been able to sleep in her own bed last night, she hadn’t slept well. The case hadn’t sat right, the profile swirling every time she tried to shut her eyes. 

A nurse with pale pink scrubs enters. She smiles at each of them, seemingly more awake. Early in her shift, especially since Tara hasn’t yet seen her. 

“I’m Lydia,” she introduces, tucking her beautifully braided hair behind herself. Tara wonders how long she had to sit to get the style done. If she went to a hair dresser or had a loved one help. “I’m the Gotham specialist in the department, so I’ve got more than enough experience treating those exposed to fear toxin.” 

The room relaxes slightly at that. Barbara especially has been at odds with each inexperienced healthcare professional that has weighed in on Artemis’ treatment. 

“She’s been exposed before,” Barbara repeats for what’s possibly the twentieth time. 

“I saw in her file,” Lydia agrees. “Per her treatment plan, we’ll start easing her off the sedative now. The Wayne Enterprises team should be here right around when it’ll be fully metabolized by her system. I got word a few minutes ago that they’ve identified the strain and won’t be needing to fabricate a whole new antidote. It’s not the most common, but it’s not rare by any means. I read through the reports. None of the major side effects associated with this antidote are unique compared to the others. Does that all make sense?” 

Tara nods. While pursuing her PhD, most of her friends had been through the Black Student Union rather than her psychology cohort. Several of the MDs rubbed off their studies on her. It’s made her more comfortable visiting doctors ever since. 

Barbara gives her assent as well. As medical proxy, it’s her opinion that matters most here. 

“I’ll check that the medical restraints are still secure, then stop the drip.”

Tara watches as Lydia confirm each of Artemis’ limbs are properly held. As the drip is turned off. As the line is carefully removed. 

Artemis sleeps on. 

And on. 

And on.

She doesn’t so much as shift before the Wayne team arrives. They administer the antidote around midnight in the same port where her IV once was. Tara lets the breath caught in her chest exhale. It’ll be easier from here on out. The toxin she inhaled will be counteracted, nullified. Her family will be here to soothe her through every nightmare. Tara will be able to provide insights only a psychologist can as the fears arrive. 

The night grows long. 

Tara herself drifts off sometime before sunrise. Her dreams are empty, nothing like the nightmares that must be plaguing Artemis in her rest that surely is not as peaceful as it seems on the surface. 

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Lian asks in a small voice. She sounds closer to Tara than she’s been most of the evening, hovering near Artemis’ right hand. Her concern tugs Tara from her rest. 

The lights have been further dimmed and the Robin blanket now lays over her legs. Lian brushes her aunt’s arms with steady fingers, waiting for a reaction she doesn’t get. 

From the foot of the bed, Barbara responds, “I don’t know, sweetie.” Tara holds in a yawn, more exhausted than she realizes. For a moment, she thought she heard Barbara call the girl speedy. “Come sit back down. Your dad will be sending his check-in soon.” 

“Mmkay,” Lian agrees, feet padding silently over the tiled floor. 

Tara forces herself awake, catching Barbara’s eye as the young girl settles back in her lap. 

They smile weakly at each other. At least comforting Lian is something to do. Tara wishes she didn’t feel so impotent. She wishes it was her and not Artemis who got dosed. She wishes her team was never assigned this case. Of, better, that Phan never decided to take the power of Fear into her own hands. 

Instead, Tara watches the shallow rise and fall of Artemis’ chest and wonders what horrors trap her. 

In the true morning, Penelope comes to relieve Tara from her post. She fusses over everything in the room, unable to confront the fact that their teammate is still unconscious in the bed. 

“They gave her the antidote, right?” Penelope asks, fingers worrying the hem of her jacket. She’s dressed down in pale blues and sneakers. Emily gave the team the day off, determining that the paperwork could wait a day while their teammate healed. Tara can’t imagine filling out any sort of form just now, and she’s been at Artemis’ side for hours. 

Barbara nods. “Most of the toxin should be neutralized by now.” Her eyes are smeared with dark bags. Tara doesn’t think she slept at all last night. Paula at least allowed a nurse to bring in a cot so she could stretch out. Barbara’s probably at risk of sores from staying in the same position for so long. 

“She’s supposed to be awake,” Lian complains. She’s curled up with her grandma, thumbing through her book. “I want her to be awake.” 

“Me too,” Barbara sighs. “But she needs her rest. I know she’ll be very excited to see you when she’s feeling better.” 

Lian slips out of the bed, contemplative. She steps to her aunt’s side and shuffles the blankets around until she can hold her hand. “Is she scared?” 

“Oh sweetheart,” Penelope enthuses, kneeling down beside the girl. Artemis’ desire for privacy has made it difficult for Penelope to be the godmother figure she was born to play. After overhearing the consistent reassurances to Lian that her whole family came to support her after Borowy abducted her, Tara has a feeling that Penelope has some steep competition in that regard. 

Barbara’s steadying presence has only further confirmed that. 

Tara imagines all the capes that must care so deeply for the daughter of Red Arrow. How many new masks join their ranks each year. 

Lian Nguyen-Harper has quite possibly the largest extended family in the world. 

Right now, her focus is on the one who matters most. The aunt who raised her. 

“She is scared,” Barbara answers softly. She’s been idly braiding her hair. It’s frizzy at the ends and greasy at the roots. It will likely take a lot to convince her into a hotel room to rest and clean up. “But we’ll remind her that she doesn’t need to be.” 

“When she wakes up.” Lian blinks at her aunt, waiting for it to happen. 

“When she wakes up,” Barbara agrees.

Tara takes the train to Quantico to pick up her car. Emily’s in her office when she stops by to get her keys. 

Her unit chief is on the phone, pinching her brow at whatever she’s hearing. 

Tara takes her time in the bullpen, slowly gathering up things that don’t necessarily need to come home today. She watches in the corner of her eye for the phone to be placed back on its cradle. It’s slammed down. 

Tara understands. The end of the last case had been a genuine clusterfuck. They still don’t know how Artemis sealed herself in so effectively and the unsub has been having a rough come down from the toxin. They can’t interrogate Phan until she’s out of the hospital. Everything is twiddling thumbs and waiting room chairs for the time being. 

Not something her team excels at. 

They’re meant for action. They get in just before it’s too late and get out before the dust settles. A slow wrap up is not in their comfort zone. 

“Tara,” Emily greets stiffly as she exits her office. She hasn’t changed from the suit she wore yesterday. 

“Everything alright?” 

Her supervisor sighs. Her thumb taps on the banister above the bullpen. Her eyes rove for any eavesdroppers, but the space is empty. “That was the hospital. They’ve officially declared West to be in a coma.” 

Tara’s heart thuds. She hadn’t even considered that a possibility. Her patience had worn thin at her friend’s bedside, but she hadn’t once thought that it would need to run out. That there would be a chance that Artemis wouldn’t wake. 

Her shock must show on her face because Emily gives a sympathetic smile. “Get some rest,” she urges. “We’re back on the case tomorrow.”

That night is when the dreams come. Her brother and his doppelganger chasing her through the forests of Germany. Her ex-husband overdosing in their living room. Rebecca’s betraying her over and over. Her every inadequacy on display. 

They thud against her skull, insisting that she isn’t good enough. 

Missed opportunities to get to know their newest agent flow by, chances she failed again and again to take. 

She jerks awake with her head pounding, mind empty with where she should hear Artemis demanding she stay back. She wasn’t even given a choice. 

Her hand feels numb as she presses it to her chest, feeling the air huff in and out. God, has it only been a day? 

The world feels out of sorts, no way forward until their teammate is brought home. 

She’s felt this before. When Spencer was arrested. When Stephen died. When Dave was abducted. 

There is something distinctly not right when a teammate isn’t accounted for. 

A coma. Artemis is in a coma. Not even toxin overdose. The texts she scans through indicate that the substance has been cleared from her system. They even did a round of dialysis just to be sure. Despite no underlying explanation, Artemis shows no sign of waking. 

It’s Luke’s turn to sit bedside vigil, but the rest of the team is gathered in the bullpen the next day. It’s somber, phones on top of desks, waiting for an update. 

Emily takes them all out to lunch even though they usually eat whenever they have a break in their work. Dave tries to get the mood up, but even Penelope is despondent, eyes on her phone. Tara glances over her shoulder once. She’s got medical records pulled up. There’s a notification from Spencer, filled with chemistry jargon that Tara can’t parse. 

JJ has the night shift and Tara helps push her out the door early so that she can get a few hours with her husband and sons before returning to the hospital. 

They leave work that day with little more than a plan on how to interrogate Phan. 

“Where did you get the canisters?” Tara asks, steady and intimidating. Vanessa Phan, hospital band still on her wrist, stares on resolutely. “I’m asking as a courtesy. We have CCTV footage of you entering a warehouse in Blüdhaven. It’s already been raided by the local police. They busted the operation there. Found a pretty interesting ledger. Your name featured quite a few times.” It didn’t. The ledger had been coded and Dave’s been working on it since the BPD sent a scan over. The warehouse had been empty of people when they’d raided it. There’s no one to lean on to figure out what cipher has been used. 

“But if you want to wait for your friends to rat you out first, I’m not in a rush,” Tara continues. “We’ve already got you on assaulting a federal agent with a chemical weapon, not to mention the three murder charges.” 

Phan shifts ever so slightly, allowing her hair to fall over her shoulder. She’s been quiet since being taken into federal custody, though the profile pointed to someone much more assertive. That, plus the reportedly bad reaction with the toxin recovery indicates that she’s never been exposed before. She can dish it out, but she can’t take it. Of course. 

Tara goes on a while longer, pushing and pulling and ultimately getting every last detail of Phan’s murderous reaction to a reasonable break up. But nothing that she really wants to know. Nothing that would indicate why she’s awake and aware and Artemis sleeps on. Nothing to explain the source of the sealant that trapped them in the room. 

Instead of returning to the office, Tara walks resolutely to the other end of the hospital. Artemis has been moved out of the psychiatric facility and into a private unit that she imagines are usually reserved for people much wealthier. 

She wonders who is footing the bill. The federal insurance plan isn’t the most giving. 

Inside her hospital room, Lian is on the floor, working through math problems that her teachers sent over. 

The ten year old perks up when Tara steps through, but slumps when she sees it’s not a nurse with a breakthrough or her dad. Will hasn’t returned from his ‘trip,’ though Tara knows they’ve been in communication. 

Unexpectedly, Barbara isn’t typing away at her computer, nor is she staring into space with that determined look she gets. Tara wonders what she sees. 

Paula is listening intently to Barbara’s low voice, her back to Tara. 

“... explanation. There aren’t physical symptoms, none of the scans have revealed anything. I had a biologist friend of mine give a second opinion. She agreed with the doctors here. That leaves the psychological.” 

“What do you propose?” Tara asks, not willing to eavesdrop a minute longer. As much as she wishes to understand all the controlled microexpressions and undertones, she knows that compromising their privacy will be compromising Artemis’ just the same. 

Barbara doesn’t startle. She never does. “I have a psychologist friend.” Like Artemis, she never states names without reason. 

Her eyes flick to her sleeping teammate. She’s a four on the Glasgow Coma Scale. “She’ll be able to help?” she asks skeptically. Her teammate doesn’t open her eyes in response to pressure. How she would be able to answer questions or give any useful data to a psychologist, Tara doesn’t know. And she is a psychologist. 

“Yes,” Barbara answers simply. 

Paula frowns, staring at her daughter. “I will attempt to speak with Jade again.” 

Another strange suggestion. Yes, Jade may be an internationally renowned assassin, but she would have little knowledge regarding fear toxin-induced comas. 

“I’ll put in the specialist request.” 

Tara doubts Barbara will be going through the care staff here at the hospital to do so. Her independence is just a little too Black Queen for Tara to believe that she would. 

“I’ll read to Auntie Mouse,” Lian adds, never one to be left out. 

Tara is walking the ten year old back from their trip to the vending machine when she sees an unfamiliar figure slip into Artemis’ hospital room. 

The woman, with her red hair cropped short, walking with utmost confidence. Her purple cardigan doesn’t catch on the door, nor do her gray heels click on the tile. 

Tara grabs Lian’s hand without thinking. She remembers how both Penelope and Spencer have been attacked in their supposedly safe hospital rooms. 

She’s not eager to facilitate a repeat. Widening her strides is second nature and Lian doesn’t have an issue keeping up.

The door is cracked open when they arrive and Tara motions for the young girl to stay put as she pushes it ever so slightly further. 

Inside, she sees the unknown woman with her arms wrapped around Barbara, knelt down to her level. “You should’ve called me sooner,” she admonishes. 

“And take you away from your students? I don’t think so.” 

“Thank you for being here, Ma- Megan,” Paula intones. Her eyes cut to Tara. “It’s rude to hover.” 

She apologizes, sending Lian in. The girl goes first to her aunt’s side, attempting to check her pulse like she’s seen the nurses do. She fiddles with the blankets, then replaces the Kid Flash stuffie that appeared between Tara’s first overnight visit and the next. Despite the coma, Artemis is still in medical restraints. 

She knows Emily has been fighting with the doctors about it, and lost consistently to Barbara’s calm resolution. 

“Hi, Aunt Megan,” Lian greets eventually. 

The woman’s eyes flash with love and compassion as she looks to the girl. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

“Are you going to make Auntie Mouse feel better?” Her voice is tight with hope. 

“I’ll certainly try my best,” she promises, and this Tara believes. It’s the way determination tightens her jaw and compassion loosens her back. 

The woman straightens, holding out a hand to Tara. “Dr. Megan Morse,” she introduces. “I’m a psychologist consulting on Artemis’ case.” 

Tara introduces herself in kind, then notes, “You’re a friend as well.”

“True,” she agrees. “But no less qualified.”

Barbara leans forward. “I don’t know anyone better suited to assist in Artemis’ case.”

The doctor’s cheeks warm at the compliment before she sobers. “I read her file on the way over.” A bit-cheek lie. Interesting. “I’ll need the room to myself in order to fully assess her condition,” she explains seriously. “I don’t anticipate that taking more than an hour, but Barbara if you could- have a nurse check on me if I haven’t returned in that time…” 

“Of course,” she agrees. 

Tara can’t help the way her eyes cut between them. The level of trust and the ease of reliance. More than casual friends. And then the question of the speed of Morse’s arrival. While it’s possible she lives in the city, her words a mix of New England countryside and distilled Midwest.

Paula calls her granddaughter to her side, but Lian instead returns to Morse. She tugs her hand until Morse kneels down once more. “Will you tell her I love her?” she whispers. 

Tara’s heart feels tight as she steps out of the room. 

Unable to keep her thoughts in line, Tara sends a short text to Penelope. 

She’s returned with the professional history of Megan Morse. While it’s true that she is a doctor of psychology, she works as a guidance counselor at a high school in small town Rhode Island. 

She has no business treating a coma patient in DC. She doesn’t have the licensing nor the experience. 

Yet, Barbara and Paula have utmost confidence in the new arrival. They settle in the family room, a different one from which Tara first spoke to Barbara just three days ago. 

“Megan will figure it out,” Barbara promises as Paula tucks her phone away. Another unanswered call to Jade. 

Lian has curled up on the couch, preparing for rest. 

She wonders what time will be late enough that Artemis’ loved ones will return to their hotel room. Hopefully not much longer, but without Lian yawning or whining, it doesn’t seem that they’re aware this is all too much for a child so young. 

Of course, from what JJ mentioned after this morning’s briefing, it seems Lian is the fiercest opponent of leaving her aunt’s side. She too must trust Morse more than Tara can understand. 

“Has she treated patients in similar situations?” Tara can’t help probing, knowing the answer. 

Barbara glances at her, then her eyes narrow. Just a fraction. Just enough to know that Tara’s innocent face has been seen through.

“Yes,” she states. Steely but no less true. Believed, at least. 

“And the hospital’s aware she’s here?” 

Barbara tilts her head. “Of course.” She tucks her hands in her lap. “Artemis’ well-being is very important to me. I wouldn’t allow her to receive anything but the best care.” 

Another truth. 

The walls around them feel just a little less straight, the air a little less smooth. War and storm and grief swirl in this young woman’s eyes. She has seen more than Tara will ever understand. She has stared down darkness and come out the other side just the same as Tara. 

There’s a knock on the door. It hasn’t been fifteen minutes, but nonetheless, Morse steps through. 

“Were you-?” Paula starts. 

Morse nods, breath heavy. “Yes.” Her eyes flick to Tara. 

“Tell us what you know,” Tara requests, shoulders tight. There have been many rooms in which Tara has not been wanted. She’s never left for another’s comfort before. She’s not starting now. “I don’t care how you know it.” 

“Artemis believes she is dead,” Morse states as delicately as she can manage. 

Tara feels her heart collapse. Her fingers still buzz with the pressure of the pen she’d signed her name with. Barbara had notarized it without looking. Paula had stood in as witness. 

And now Tara knows she sits in the presence of a meta. 

This shouldn’t be a surprise. She knows Artemis is close with hackers and magicians. Metas shouldn’t be a stretch.

In her many years, Tara has only ever seen metas on the news. She knows there are covert abilities, that there have always been comments about Spencer that he’s struggled to laugh off.

Now, she sits across from a mind reading meta who uses her powers to understand the intricacies of high school drama. 

Logically, Tara knows that there are metas who aren’t members of the Justice League. The Meta-Human Youth Center that cut its ribbon a many years back is evidence enough of that. 

Somehow, it never quite occurred to her that metas could have such normal lives. A stereotype she’ll be sure to wrestle into submission when she’s no longer relying on this mundane meta to save her friend’s life. 

“When I skimmed her mind, it was clear that very little of her brain functioning was dedicated to the present. What few thoughts were occurring were focused on… a training simulation from many years ago.” Morse takes a breath. 

Across the room, Barbara’s fingers itch to type. Another oddity. The librarian didn’t ask or plead or demand that Tara keep this secret. She very quickly pulled together (pulled up?) an agreement of discretion. Not a non-disclosure agreement, but a statement that the knowledge Tara gained would only be divulged in matters of life and death or at the behest of legal authorities. There was Justice League letter heading. It doesn’t sit right with Tara. None of this does. 

“It was a train for failure exercise,” Morse continues. “Artemis thought she was dead then too.” 

“So the fear toxin?” Tara probes. 

Morse nods. “It returned her to that time of fear. And… I’ll need to dig further to be sure, but the psychic involved in that simulation may have accidentally left a suggestion behind, which may explain why she hasn’t awakened even after the toxin has left her system.”

“I’m sure that psychic didn’t mean to,” Barbara says firmly. 

“Even so…” 

Paula tightens her arms around Lian. “You will be able to return her to consciousness?” 

Morse closes her eyes. “Yes. Yes. I’ll need to work slowly, ensure that no suggestions have been left behind, but yes.” 

The mother whispers a Vietnamese praise under her breath. 

In her lap, Lian squirms happily. Her wellspring of energy finally filled with joy instead of worry. 

At Barbara’s half-request, half-order, Tara refrains from telling the team that there may be a solution. While she knows they would rather get their hopes up than to be unaware of a change, she complies. It’s less to hide information from Artemis’ friends of new and more to protect her friends of old. 

Morse returns to the hospital room to work and the rest of them get cozy in the family room. Lydia, the nurse, stops by once, to let them know that Artemis’ vitals are still stable even during the intervention. 

Tara wonders if Lydia is another operative connected to the strange world that Will Harper brought to their conference room the day of Lian’s disappearance. Or, earlier. When Artemis called in a favor to bring the Doctors Fate to their Colorado case. 

Once again, she decides that she doesn’t care. All that matters to her is Artemis waking up, rolling her eyes, and demanding to know if Phan confessed. 

She gazes out the window, watching cars trail past on the highway. Lights in houses blink out, the streets empty of passerbys. 

Down the hall, Artemis sleeps. Or she doesn’t. 

A training simulation. Tara doesn’t let herself grit her teeth. Doesn’t let the confusion of that explanation clench in her gut. 

She’s known for months that there is more to Artemis West. 

A training simulation. From many years ago. 

Artemis is still in her twenties, although she’ll turn thirty this year. She had a career as an English professor before she joined the FBI. Yes, growing up in Gotham—as now seems to be the case—would allow for some strangeness when it comes to school drills. That still doesn’t explain training simulations. 

Two desires war within her. The thirst for knowledge and the safety of the unknown. 

She’s already signed one Justice League document affirming her silence. 

Tara doesn’t know how much more she can keep private. How much Morse deserves her discretion. How much Artemis has earned her trust. 

One last time, the door creaks open. 

Paula is the first to react, palms clutched around her rims. “How is she?” she demands, voice thick with maternal worry. 

Morse stands tall, as if she’s grown an inch in the last couple hours. “She’s asking for you,” she answers, somber but unburdened. 

Excitement too big for her body, Lian launches herself into Morse’s arms. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you,” she enthuses, squeezing as tight as she can. 

A look of contentment in her eyes, Morse cards her fingers through Lian’s hair. Her nails are painted red. Tara swore they were yellow before. 

Once the barricade of Lian’s body, shaking with gratitude, is cleared, they move quickly to Artemis’ hospital room. 

It’s not until she sees Artemis, sitting upright, rubbing her chafed wrists, that Tara realizes how little she expected Morse to have been able to deliver. And just how right the world feels now that she has. 

Tara stays to the side, allowing Artemis to be overwhelmed with the love of her mother, niece, and friend. 

Silently, Morse stands beside her. 

“You’re taking care of her?” she asks quietly. Tara barely sees her lips move. 

She nods. “As much as she allows.” 

Morse smiles. The connection between her and Artemis runs deep, Tara realizes. Deeper than that of Morse and Barbara or even Artemis and Barbara. 

Many years ago, Morse had said. 

Tara wonders how many. How young Artemis was when a psychic convinced her she was dead. How young she was when she had to pick herself back up from that. 

In her hospital bed, Artemis catches Tara’s eye. There’s a stony peace to her. An acceptance of all the things Tara has come to suspect. 

Thank you, she mouths. Tara doesn’t need to ask what for. She’s already decided to keep to her word, her signature. 

As Morse slips away, she resolves to not speak of her presence, her intervention. 

Artemis will have awoken as a medical miracle and be that less connected to the world of metas and monsters.