A/N: This little plot sprung from watching "Complications." I needed some Artemis/family bonding. There is a book called "The 5 Love Languages" by Gary Chapman that was referenced while writing this. I've never read it personally, but I've heard good things.

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights, and if CN loved us, they would give us more seasons.

The Five Love Languages

Artemis had found the book in Wally's room their senior year of high school. She had taunted and teased him about it, ignoring his mumbled excuses that his Aunt Iris had given it to him back a couple years prior.

"What for?" Artemis needled, waving around his copy of The 5 Love Languages, her grin comparable to the proverbial cat that had eaten the canary.

"She thought it would help…you know…with you." He muttered the last part out, but Artemis heard every word.

"And did it?" she demanded, unable to deny the adorableness that he had read a book on relationships for her when he was fifteen.

"Yeah, actually. You seemed to do best with words of affirmation…and…physical touch."

"So that's why—" A look of understanding bloomed across her face, ending with a twinkle in her eyes, "you told me I had nothing to prove."

Wally shrugged sheepishly. "Figured it was worth a shot. Also, you were always hitting me, so I thought physical touch was another big one for you."

He looked so charmingly flustered that she couldn't help but swoop in and plant a kiss hard on his mouth. "Want me to show you how important physical touch is?"

It was odd that particular conversation came surfacing to her mind now, of all times, as she battled it out with Sportsmaster. She never told Wally, but she had checked out the same book from the library not long after finding it in his room, reading it and trying to analyze her family members' love language.

Her mother enjoyed quality time and receiving gifts, not unlike all the letters Artemis used to write to Paula during her sentence in prison. Paula wasn't much for words, but any amount of time her daughter could spare to sneak over and spend with her was appreciated. The Crock matriarch was also delighted with the prospect of a granddaughter to spoil and spend time with, even if she didn't approve of the activities Jade engaged in while she watched Lian.

Jade wasn't much for quality time or physical touch (unless it involved an eloquently executed roundhouse kick to the other person's face), but she enjoyed receiving gifts and hearing from others words of affirmation, words telling her that she was important, that she was loved. And though she never verbally reciprocated her love for Artemis, Jade showed her sisterly love through acts of service. Whether it was knocking Artemis out of range of an avalanche, refusing to fight Artemis even under direct orders of the Light, silently supporting Artemis's decision to make more out of her life, or avenging the death she didn't realize had been faked, Artemis had come to realize that Jade did, in fact, care for her. Jade loved her the only way she knew how, and it was just fine by Artemis.

For the longest time, Artemis didn't believe her dad loved her, her sister, or even her mother. Receiving gifts from him may have been a potential love language he expressed, but all the gifts were meant for pain and destruction. The only quality time Crusher ever spent with the women in his life involved training, lethal missions, and more training. Physical touch was limited to hand to hand combat (and maybe a rare hug if the daughter in question had performed above his expectations). And Artemis was more likely to hear words of affirmation from the dead cactus in the window than she ever was from her father.

Which left "acts of service."

Artemis knew she shouldn't have been surprised at her father's absent emotional response to her death, moving on to address the slant at his reputation and plotting his revenge because of an imaginary slight to his name.

He had only really seen her and Jade as a means to further his own goals, pawns in a chess game on a board only he could see. Yet, here he was, agreeing to help her, to do this favor that would seal her cover for the time being.

And, as they fought, he somehow managed to shove a handful of detonators and sedatives and sharp objects into one of her belt pockets. "Take care, baby girl," he whispered before landing a sharp punch on her abdomen.

It was a moment of ephiphany as the spit and blood burst forth from her mouth at the blow. He had cared, had mourned, had worried about her. Sportsmaster didn't know how to grieve, how to deal with feelings of pain and anguish at losing a child. He knew how to avenge, how to get even, how to win the game of life; and he channeled his grief into the only things he knew how to do.

Artemis understood now that he loved her in his own awkward, selfish way. But, she realized as she later rolled a smoke screen pellet around in the palm of her hand, it was enough, enough for her.