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Artemisia hadn't found the strength to cry over Donna's death. She felt distant from every emotion other than guilt. She'd almost killed Conner and it had been tormenting her for the past hours. If Dianna hadn't interfered in the right moment, the boy would have been dead, and it would be his funeral, not Donna's. Or maybe even both.
The team hadn't seen her face since she'd ran away at the carnival. Marge had helped her settle down, soothe her anxiety. They'd determined what was best for the team and her mental health. She saw no other option than to stay back, only show up when things were calm.
Dinner sounded pretty basic, as long as no one barged into the Tower or any heated argument rose; she didn't know which sentiments would trigger another outbreak. She didn't want to risk it. Risk them, the team, her newfound family.
She blinked at her blank reflection in the mirror. Her face exhibited no indication of last night's battle; skin remained uninjured, preserved by the very magic she detested. A hand moved across her face, where Slade Wilson's strength had bruised her: gone. She didn't know if she liked that, it made her feel inhumane.
If she gawked into her eyes, though, it was a different story. She was in a perpetual reminder of her murderous acts; Doctor Light, that Hawk fan, Conner. . . Those stories flashed in her brain with every blink. They kept her in control no matter how much they tortured her.
A soft knock alarmed her, the phone in her hand dropping. She studied herself, insisting to stay calm. Her breathing began to slow down as she frowned at her image, hand in her chest. She picked the phone from the ground and breathed. Here goes nothing. "Come in."
The door opened gently. She observed Dick's reflection entering the room. He shut the door behind him, unsure of where to go next. He folded his arms atop his ribs and inclined against the wall. "I was beginning to think you ditched us last night. You weren't around after Donna, so. . ." He cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"
Artemisia hauled away from the mirror, walking towards her bed. She plopped down with a sigh. "It should be me asking that question. I'm sorry I wasn't there, for Donna's death and Rachel leaving."
Dick nodded slowly. He beelined in her direction, taking a seat by her side. "It's okay. You needed time. Dianna told me. . ."
"It wasn't an accident, Dick. So whatever she told you is wrong." Artemisia gaped at him, taking in his kindness one last time. She wasn't certain he would ever look at her the same way. "Remember when I told you how my powers sometimes took over and made me moody? Well, it's been getting worse. I risked people's lives when trying to capture Doctor Light, almost killed a woman back in Wyoming, and last night, it's like I wanted to kill Conner.
"My powers are out of control. People are in danger. All of you are. And I can't hide it anymore." Her gaze sank to the bedsheets, fingers playing with the material. "I need help controlling them. Which is why─"
