More Robin/Artemis for y'all. Enjoy!

Bridges Burned and Bridges Built

Artemis should know better than to take out her communicator in school. But the urge to call M'gann and ask her how she is—if she's stopped crying already, if Kaldur is being too hard on himself, if Connor is holding his temper in school—overwhelms her. She knows she looks awful—uniform rumpled and face haggard, flower-petal bruises under her eyes. Her hair is a mess, tangled because she overslept this morning and barely had enough time to throw on her uniform and run out the door, forgetting her algebra homework and not even saying goodbye to her mom.

She's overslept every day this week, in fact, unable to wake up after only managing to get over the nightmares a couple hours prior. She's running on fumes, and maybe that's why she isn't thinking straight when she goes to a corner of the courtyard during lunch and takes out her communicator.

She texts M'gann first, as casually as possible, knowing she'll understand her need for reassurance. She follows up with Kaldur, Conner, and even Wally—for him, just a quick What's up? will have to be enough to convey I can't handle how much pain I caused you guys, please don't hold it against me. She hesitates and texts Robin as well, wondering where he is and what he's doing at the moment. God, if it weren't for Robin… she shudders and hears his words echo in her hollowed head (get traught or get dead) and they stir her stomach in a strange, not-quite-nauseating way.

She texts: Hey. Having an explosion-free day? Bored.

There. Casual enough and not at all hinting that she can still see his blue lips and clammy skin and how she was absolutely sure she was going to throw up as she watched everything she'd come to know as family crumble in front of her. She slides down to sit against the wall and waits for responses, though she knows she probably won't get any yet. She wants to tuck her knees under her chin, but the damn skirt won't let her, and she grips the hem of it in sudden anger and frustration.

She's staring at her phone so hard, so anxious to get any response, that she doesn't realize that one set of steps tap-tapping around her has come closer.

"Hey. Nice phone."

Artemis jumps so hard she drops the communicator in her lap. She has a second to look up, see it's that creepy freshman who took her picture, and grab the communicator and stash it in her pocket.

"That's not my phone," she says hurriedly, and then mentally smacks herself because shit, he'd given her the perfect excuse, and now she has to find something else to say to distract him from the fact that if it's not her phone, then what is it? "My phone is crappy and old."

He chuckles and leans back against the wall next to her, looking down. "Hey, nothing wrong with that."

Artemis narrows her eyes at his expensive wrist watch and the hint of cologne wafting from him as she thinks yeah, right.

The kid raises his eyebrows and slides down the wall to sit next to her. His hair is slicked back, which looks stupid, but he's pretty cute, with a wiry, compact frame. There's an easy balance to his movements that shows him to be in tune with his body— Artemis recognizes it because everyone in the League moves the same way. Clothing can hide a lot of things, but even with the uniform, Artemis can see the signs of a well-toned body in the muscles of his neck and the way his movements are clean and precise. She finds herself surprised about that, and wonders what kind of sports he does. She's jealous of the fact he can cross his legs while she has to remain with her legs straight out in front of her, knees together like a proper lady. She pulls her skirt further down her legs self-consciously.

"I'm serious. I don't judge others by what material things they have or don't have, unlike most other kids here," he says, unbuttoning the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt and rolling them up. Artemis stares at him. He looks up and smirks at her expression. "I'm sure you understand – there's more to life than money or reputation."

"Hell yeah." She can agree with that. Fervently. But what makes him think he's any different? And for that matter— "What makes you think I'm any different?"

He snickers as if she's said something funny. She huffs and opens her mouth to call him out on it, but he interrupts, eyes twinkling. They're gorgeous blue eyes, not as intense as Conner's, but deeper and darker somehow. It's in that moment that she realizes how sunken and tired they look, nearly as much as her own. She wonders what rich kids worry about.

"C'mon. You don't fit in here at all, you don't think everyone's noticed?" He seems to realize the way that sounds and adds, "But hey, that's not bad—yeah, it's hard dealing with all these stuck-up rich kids—" Aren't you one of them? Artemis thinks. "But I think it's cool to see someone who's got their head on their shoulders. You're more grounded, more real, and that's refreshing."

Artemis's mouth is pretty much hanging open. "What— what makes you say that? You don't know me!"

The kid grins, and Artemis would classify it as positively evil if he weren't some lousy freshman with an inflated, idealistic notion of… 'realness' and whatnot. Artemis isn't someone worth getting to know, or worth complimenting for what her life has turned her into, but she's not about to say that either.

"You just strike me as someone who's got more going on in their lives than what car they're getting for their sweet sixteen or where they're going for vacation. This? This is Gotham. You understand everything that means, don't you?"

He asks like he already knows the answer, and that unnerves Artemis.

"You…" she breathes in deeply, because he seems nice, but also— "You know, don't you? That I'm here on scholarship?"

He blinks and then shrugs. "So?"

She glares. "I don't want your pity, okay? It's not a big deal, and I don't want to be your friend just 'cause it'll make you feel good about yourself. I've got a lot of good things in my life," now, "so me being at this school is just a tactical thing. Better career prospects and all that, not because I need it. If it were up to me, I wouldn't even be here."

There. She said it. Artemis forces her shoulders to relax, staring defiantly at the kid's shocked expression. She wants to make sure that any friends she makes here, if that's possible, are real and not… not getting the wrong impression from her. She's not some charity case. Right?

He's making a weird face, and she suddenly feels awful because really, he was being nice, and actually trying to have a real conversation with her, and here she is being suspicious and mistrustful, and isn't that exactly what she's been wanting to avoid with the team? God, she's such a hypocrite—

"Shit, sorry, I'm exhausted, I don't even know what I'm saying—"

He raises a hand and puts it on her shoulder, giving her an easy, if somewhat bewildered smile. His hand is small but surprisingly firm; she can feel the strength of those fingers through the cloth of her uniform. "Chill, I was just a bit whel— er, overwhelmed." Artemis's stomach does a flip at the tip of a canine that peeks from the corner of his smile, though something about what he just said sounds familiar… "Just wasn't expecting you to say something like that, but you're… pretty straightforward, so guess I shouldn't have been surprised."

She grimaces and tugs at her ponytail sheepishly. "Erm, yeah… I'm a little too blunt sometimes…"

He mutters something that sounds a little like 'yeah, tell me about it', but she isn't sure, so she decides on another topic, because seriously, who is this kid?

"So… why did you take that picture of me on the first day of school? Why are you here now?"

He tilts his head and gives her a look of fond exasperation, but that makes no sense, because he doesn't know her.

"You just looked kinda down, and since you're new… I thought I'd say hi and get to know you." He suddenly looks away and scratches at his pants leg. "I mean. You seem. Like a cool person to get to know."

Artemis looks down at her own lap: chipped nails and callused hands, a scab on her knuckles from a scrape when she fell during training. There's no way he can ever really know her, and for the first time, she almost wishes it didn't have to be that way. "Thanks. Um, you too."

"I'm in your math class," he suddenly blurts.

"Oh." Artemis tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "But you're a freshman."

"I'm in a couple advanced classes," he says smugly.

"That's cool. That'll look good when you're um, applying for college, I bet."

His grin falls off his face, and without it, he looks suddenly exhausted and much older. "Yeah. I suppose. I'll probably just follow my adoptive dad in the family business." The way he says it sets off warning bells in Artemis's head—there's reluctance and fear mixed in the conviction and nonchalance. But she doesn't know what to do with that, because his tone is downright ominous, much darker than any posh kid in a private school should sound like. But she's not sure if she should ask, so she lets that slide.

"Oh, you're adopted?"

The kid's head snaps up. "You don't know who I am?" he sounds almost disappointed.

Artemis gives him a deadpan look. "New girl, remember?"

"Oh. Right."

Artemis rolls her eyes. This kid probably thinks he's real hot shit if he expected her to know him.

"I'm Dick Grayson, orphaned acrobat and ward to Bruce Wayne."

He says it like that's basically the end-all be-all of his identity, like everything in his life stems from those two things. Who is Dick Grayson? The orphaned acrobat, and Bruce Wayne's adopted son.

Then it sinks in, and Artemis realizes she does know him. Hell, what Gothamite doesn't?

"…Oh..."

Her eyes must be even wider than she feels, because he takes one look at her face and rolls over on his side, howling with laughter. Maniacal laughter, even. Robin could probably take some lessons from this kid.

"Oh God, you…" he breaks out laughing again, "you weren't expecting that, were you?"

Artemis crosses her arms and doesn't deign to respond. But this explains a lot, like why he feels he's so different from the other kids in the school, and about things that matter more than money. His parents, dead. Artemis's home life is far from perfect, but… she sometimes still calls her dad just to say hi, even though they avoid talking about anything other than the weather, and her mom was gone for six long years, but she's back and Artemis is grateful for that every day, even though she doesn't always show it. That's something Dick will never get.

"I'm sorry."

"For?"

"… Your parents, you know?"

Dick's eyes shy away for a fraction of a second, and he gives her a lopsided smile. "Life happens."

"Yeah," Artemis answers. "It does." She knows that as much as anyone. She chances a glance at him and is again surprised by the understanding and simple acceptance in his gaze. There's something so candid there that she feels her face begin to heat and turns back to staring at her hands, the ant crawling on her shoe, the bird lighting on the tree in the middle of the courtyard.

"I have a friend who's into acrobatics," she offers after a moment.

"Oh, really?"

She gives him a funny look at his insinuating tone. "…Yeah. He's pretty good."

"Oh, really?"

Artemis narrows her eyes. "Yes. Really."

Dick suddenly stands up, dusting his pants and lifting the hem a bit to adjust them. He takes off his blazer and holds it out to her and when she finally takes it, he steps back. Without the blazer obscuring his shape, she sees he's slim, with a narrow waist, but his clothes don't hang off him. Again, there's the signs of a well-toned body under the cloth. Dick waggles his eyebrows and tilts his head.

"Your friend, can he do this?"

Dick suddenly does a back-handspring like he's made out of rubber.

Artemis has to admit she's impressed – and that explains the muscles and body balance. But it's still nowhere near Robin, and Dick is obviously trying hard to show off. She's not about to give him that satisfaction. She reserves respect for those who earn it, not those who flaunt it.

"Sorry, but that's like kid stuff to him."

Dick doesn't look as upset about that statement as she'd have thought. In fact, he looks pleased.

"Alright, but can he do this?"

This time he does two back-handsprings with a tucked jump at the end, but he botches the landing, falling just a bit too far off center. Artemis gives him a slow, dramatic clap, opens her mouth and says—

"Sorry kid. You're still way out of his league."

Dick sighs dramatically and snaps his fingers, "Aw, shucks. If only I had his skills."

"If only," Artemis agrees, chuckling a bit as he sits back down next to her. "But he's been trained. Don't feel bad. I'll ask him if he does lessons," she adds with a laugh. "I take it you're in some sort of gymnastics club here, then?"

Dick shakes his head, "Nah, they don't have that here. I do Mathletes. Nerdy, I know."

She snorts, "No, that's not—no, yes, it is, sorry, kid. But there's weirder after-school activities."

Dick smirks. "Like?"

Artemis blinks and thinks fast. But not fast enough. "Archery?"

"Archery, huh. That's really cool. We have an archery club, you know."

Artemis cringes. Yeah. She'd checked them out already – girls with all theory, and no practice. A few guys more concerned with looking cool than actually having proper form and strength.

"Um… yeah, no, I do enough practicing with my friends." She twirls a lock of her around her finger and misses the way he snickers quietly at that. "Actually, Mathletes sounds more like my thing. I like math. It'd be nice to do something non-athletic."

Dick looks surprised, peering at her like she's suddenly grown two heads. "You're serious? You like math?"

"Woah there, that sounds a little sexist. Can't a girl be smart?"

"Um, er," Dick stammers. "No, girls can be smart. I just wasn't expecting you to—"

Artemis cocks her head to the side slowly, arms crossing and eyes narrowing dangerously.

Dick swallows. "I mean, yeah, I'd love to introduce you to our captain."

"Great," she says, voice saccharine sweet, and when he still looks like he's afraid she's going to smack him she rolls her eyes. "I was kidding!"

Dick perks up immediately, "OK, cool, didn't want to get skewered by an arrow before I hit my prime and all that."

"Pipsqueak, this is your prime," she teases.

"Dude, uncalled for! I grew two inches last—"

The jarring screech of the lunch bell rings, making them both jump and look at each other with sheepish grins.

"Well, I guess I'll see you in algebra." Dick gets to his feet in one fluid movement and holds out his hand to her. Were Artemis in superhero mode, she'd get up on her own, but here she's got nothing to prove and maybe a friend to make. She takes his hand and smiles.

Dick, stop being such a troll, and Artemis, stop being so secretive. PSA of the day.