#yjam

Artemis was seven years old the first time she stepped foot into Wayne Stadium. 

It was an unusually warm spring day and the sun-soaked seat burned the back of her legs as she watched her father pitch his first (and only) no hitter. She remembers the way the crowd held their breath on every pitch, how her mother squeezed her hand so tightly whenever a pop fly threatened to break the streak, and the magic of the moment when her father’s famous fastball made contact with the catcher’s glove in the last pitch of the last inning.

The frenzied cheers from the crowd and the celebrating from the loudspeakers and the mass of people (her mother and herself included) running out onto the field blur in her mind. She vaguely remembers being placed onto someone’s shoulders, getting passed around from person to person like a rag doll until she reached her father’s waiting arms. He hoisted her up on his hip and buried her face in his jersey when the Gatorade came crashing down over both of them. There were whistles, laughs, and cameras, and people yelling, but the moment she remembers clearest is when her father took off his cap, stuck it on her head, and called her his lucky charm in front of 40,000 people. 

A lot has changed since then. 

When Oliver leads her inside to greet her new teammates for the very first time, the clubhouse, affectionally nicknamed the Cave, goes silent. Artemis surveys the room for a friendly face, but can’t find a single one in the sea of Knights staring back at her. What she does find is nothing new: trepidation, disinterest, confusion, anger, mild-to-high desire. Artemis rolls her eyes. They just never know how to react to her. 

“C’mon, fellas,” Oliver admonishes them, “that’s no way to greet your new pitcher.” 

A bitter snort comes from the redhead sitting on the sofa in front of them. 

He looks at Oliver defiantly when he says, “Wouldn’t need a new pitcher if someone had just done their job.” 

Artemis recognizes him as the team’s shortstop, Wallace Kid Flash West, and she promptly decides that his nickname more aptly describes his maturity level than the style of his game or the legacy he represents. 

“Shut up, Wally,” Conner Kent, first baseman, grunts from the back of the clubhouse. A small, wet towel flies through the air and hits Wally in the back of the head. 

Artemis snorts and she can feel the tension in the room begin to ease. 

“I’m serious,” Wally says, grabbing the towel from the floor and tossing it back at Conner. He rounds back on Oliver. “We had a perfectly good pitcher before you decided to-”

“Wally,” the team captain, catcher Kal Durham, interrupts him sharply as he rises from the bench in front of his cubby. “Shut up. You are being rude.” 

He doesn’t shut up. Instead, he stands from the sofa and gestures at Artemis, still not looking at her, but at Oliver. 

“I just don’t see why we had to call her up when Garth and Jason could’ve held it down until Roy got back. Now it’s going to be a thing to send her back down and the media is going to rip us-”

“Hold up. Listen here, West,” Artemis’s cutting voice fills the room, “your perfectly good pitcher blew out his shoulder in a stupid bar brawl, so if you want to blame someone for changing up the lineup, you can take your complaints straight to Harper.”

Artemis narrows her eyes at him when he looks at her like she’s an ant trying to crash his picnic. 

“And there won’t be a thing because I’m not going anywhere. I came to play baseball and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m here to stay.”

“Whatever, Rookie,” Wally sneers, roughly grabbing his water bottle from the sofa before walking past her and Oliver towards the exit. “When Roy gets back, I’ll be the first to kiss your ass on its way out.”

As Wally leaves, he bumps into Dick Grayson, old friend and present second baseman, knocking his sunglasses askew on the bridge of his nose.

Taking in the sour atmosphere, Dick clears his throat, fixes his glasses, and asks, “He’s already talking about ass kissing? Did I miss the welcome party?”

The players laugh and, without the scathing redhead with the misplaced anger issues in the room, Artemis feels a lot more ready to take the field tonight. 

Her first pitch is a ball, just a hair too high for the umpire, who gets booed by the buzzing crowd. Kal throws it back to her and she rolls the ball in her glove a few times to gather her frayed nerves and take a breath.

One pitch at a time, baby girl.

Her father’s voice is an intrusion, unwelcome and unsettling in her mind. In this stadium, on this field, on this mound, it was inevitable that he’d pop up sooner than later. 

As she acknowledges Kal’s call and her fingers find the laces on the ball, she imagines for a moment that the batter in the box is Crusher, tall and mean and waiting for her to screw up. 

Her next pitch is a fastball, swung on and missed. 

The air in the stadium turns electric as fans stand on their feet and their voices, chanting Art-e-mis, Art-e-mis, drown out the critic in her mind. Kal lifts his mask and sends her a smile. 

“Just like that,” he says, throwing her a ball.

She sets up for the next pitch with a confident smirk, and the game goes on.

The roar of the crowd begins to shake the old stadium at the start of the fourth. Artemis, nearly ready to start the inning, tosses the bag of chalk to the edge of the mound and tries to pinpoint the cause of the commotion. People in Gotham don’t usually get excited over nothing. Her gaze follows their pointing fingers and clapping hands towards the right field Jumbotron, where a tall man in a worn out Knights cap nods at the vigilant cameraman who caught him on his way out.

Artemis hangs onto the baseball in her glove with a white knuckled grip as her chest tightens. Her thoughts race in circles. Why?

On the screen, her father faces the camera fully, pulls off his cap, and waves it in the air- and the crowd goes wild. 

Lawrence Crusher Crock is still a fan favorite, apparently.

She starts the inning by skimming the batter in the back of the leg and it doesn’t get better from there. Her hand keeps losing the ball too quickly. Oliver watches her walk the next two batters, loading the bases, before he approaches the mound and asks if she needs an out. 

She takes it. 

As the crowd’s applause and the cameras follow her slow jog back to the dugout, she pulls off her Knights cap and can’t help but feel like the number 7 on the back of her brand new jersey doesn’t feel very lucky anymore.

A rough start for Knights pitcher Artemis Crock as she gives up two runs in the second and nearly costs the game in the fourth by loading the bases after a series of wild pitches. I thought Durham look a little tired jumping after all those balls. Luckily for the Knights, Garth Temp was able to strike Dover out before the guy could start something and initiate a 1-6-3 play to finish the inning. Infield and offense really came through for the Knights today. What do you think of tonight’s game, Cat?

People are being too rough on her, Snap. Talk about a changeup. Artemis Crock just made history. Five strikeouts, three flawless assists. Did you get a glimpse of that splitter in the second? Sure, she wasn’t in long enough to qualify for a win, but Crock held her own until the fourth. She’s got a lot of new talent to offer the Knights, especially with their latest pitching shakeup. You have to acknowledge the moment, Snap. There’s a lot of little girls out there who just saw the impossible become possible. I think things will only get better for Crock from here on out.