Hey, guys. I haven't made an appearance in a year and a half, damn. I'm sorry. I do plan on updating and finishing Asylum. I want to put out an update within the next few weeks, so keep an eye out, okay? I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, and I saw a Person A/Person B prompt last night, and couldn't resist writing a oneshot.

So here you are, my darlings.

This isn't an AU, but our beloved Titans are simply older and refer to one another by their names.

Last Call for Love

It was nearly eight o'clock at night, when he called her. She thought it was odd; he normally called when he returned from his nightly patrols. He was staying in Gotham lately, Bruce had come down with pneumonia and Alfred absolutely insisted that he was not allowed out of the house. She had been flipping through a book, something cutesy and romantic that Kori recommended, and truth be told, it wasn't half bad. Definitely not her desired genre, but not bad. Her cellphone buzzed, and to her surprise, Dick's name popped up. She, of course, answered.

"Dick?" She asked, nonchalantly. He probably finished his patrol early. A whisper flickered through her mind, vaguely hoping Bruce would be better soon. Because damn, did she miss him.

"Rae," his voice was quiet. "I'm glad you picked up."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I was afraid you would be patrolling."

"Like you should be doing?" She half-joked, but she was met with silence.

"Yeah," The response was weak. She shook it off; he could be sick. After all, the weather had been cold and rainy in Gotham all week. She knew because he kept complaining about it to her, though she knew it was simply because he liked knowing that she was there, listening. So he dragged on, and he talked and he talked just to keep her on the line. She didn't mind. She liked hearing his voice, his yawning, his breathing. She missed him so damn much.

"Anyway," she gently changed the subject. "you know I patrolled yesterday and today is Vic's turn."

"Right," he murmurs. "Hey, I need you to do something."

"Sure, what is it?" She asks, raising a delicate purple brow.

"I need you to go in my closet, okay? There should be a blue shoebox on the shelf. Can you get it down?"

"Yeah, give me a minute." She was already in his room. It smelled like him, and she felt closer to him in here. She missed him. She wandered into the closet, pulling out the shoebox. "I've got it."

"Open it up. There's a box inside, solid black." He instructed, and she complied, opening the shoebox. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and managed an easy smile. Inside, there were pictures. Dozens of them. Some were silly candids he'd snapped of her with his phone, some were paparazzi shots of them together carefully clipped from the newspaper, and some were, embarrassingly enough, selfies of them together.

"Dick, how long have you been collecting this stuff?" She asked, her voice hushed.

"Since we started dating. Open up the little box, Rae." His voice sounded mildly urgent. Her eyes found the small box, it almost looked like a ring box. But knowing Dick, it was probably entirely different. He'd scared her half to death a thousand and one times by making it seem like he was going to propose, and then pulling some other sort of shenanigans. But then she opened the box, and it caught her off guard. The ring, sitting snugly in the box, was beautifully simple. The band was silver and looked like tree branch, and resting on it was a nested pearl.

"Dick, this is a hell of a way to propose." She murmured, surprised. But happy. She could feel the warmth radiating from her heart to the rest of her body.

"It's not what I planned, trust me." His voice was quiet. He seemed so cryptic, so secretive. She'd had enough.

"What is this all about, Dick?" She asked, her voice tense.

"I just wanted you to know I love you, Rae." His voice was soft, almost pained. She instantly melted, feeling guilty for suspecting something of him. Of course he would pull an unconventional engagement. This was Dick Grayson, of all people.

"I love you too," she whispered, sliding the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, but that wasn't surprising in the slightest. He knew her, and he knew her well. It occurred to her suddenly that she couldn't hear his breathing anymore. The phone call had been ended. Vaguely confused, she dialed his number. No answer. Perhaps a bad connection, she mused. Or he dropped it off a building. He'd done that before. With a small chuckle, she dialed the manor's number, only to be met with Alfred's tired voice.

"Wayne Manor," He said, precise in his pronunciation.

"It's Rachel, Alfred. Can I speak to Dick? We got cut off."

"Miss Rachel, he hasn't returned from patrol yet." He stated, matter-of-factly. Her stomach bottomed out.

"W-What do you mean? He would never call me in the middle of a patrol."

"He hasn't returned yet, I know for sure. He was raised better than to come in without a greeting."

"But he would never-" Her voice died in her throat. The happy warmth radiating from her heart was instantly icy dread.

Her heart has yet to seize aching. She'll never finish that romance novel. She can't bring herself to read about love, not when hers was stolen. It's been three months. She visited the grave every day. She still couldn't believe how stubborn he was. Refusing to leave without telling her one more time that he loved her, that he had every intention of marrying her. Her knees are ground into the dirt, her body leaning on the gravestone as she tremors with silent sobs. She's clad in a simple black dress, the one she'd worn on their first date. She'd never exchange this black dress for a white one. Her small, pale hands clutch the stone, an engagement ring glinting from her left hand, never to be paired with a wedding band.

Well, what can I say. When I reappear, I do it to break hearts.

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