Please read A/N
A/N: You get my message? Anyways, if you don't want to go 'WTF' through the story I suggest you read "Perfect Deceit" to figure out who Lan is. Wow, I really deviated from the set plan on this shit. I can kind of see some of the story's original essence in here, but all the rest is just...wow. Looking back on this shit I realize some of you are gonna take this as implied Cy/Rae, while others are gonna see it as more of a close friendship. Feel free to take it either way, I think it's better to leave some things to the reader's interpretation anyways. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this read, I'm pretty happy with this one. Tell me what you think in a review, they're always appreciated.
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The Tower is...quiet, uncharacteristically so. Normally, I would welcome this change, take advantage of the peace I so loved to stretch out on the couch with a book in hand.
But...I really don't feel like reading. Or meditating. Or doing all the 'Raven-y' things that make me – well, Raven. I avert my attention away from the window, slick with the heavy storm pouring from the dark sky above, and for the umpteenth time, I look at my teammates.
There's no music, no video games, no talking, no laughing, no nothing. They're all just...sitting there. I don't like it. They're not being loud enough, not nearly annoying enough.
My gaze strays to Cyborg...or Victor. He's bent forward, head cupped in his massive hands. I feel pity, but it's dwarfed by the numb sensation of shock I'm feeling, the shock we're all feeling.
As always, I hide my emotions better than the others. Kori's on the verge of tears, a minute sniffle breaking the awkward silence now and again. I can tell Dick's doing all he can to keep himself from smashing the coffee table in half. And Garfield? He looks like a puppy that's just been kicked, droopy ears and all.
As for me, I just want to melt into the ground and disappear. I don't want to be here, plain and simple. I want to be in my room where I can be alone. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to break down and cry or anything. I'm too refined, too collected for that.
I've just got something in my eye, that's all.
And finally, Garfield speaks. "It was...it was that, right?"
Suddenly, it's all eyes on me. I give the slightest inclination of my head, "yes."
It isn't a nice fact, but it's a fact we have to accept. The demon – I haven't been tamed.
My fingernails dig into my palms.
"So...so it was not you." Kori asks in a meek, cracked voice.
I want to say yes, every fiber in my being tempted to put the blame on my darker side. "No, Kori," but I can't afford myself such a luxury, "it was me."
"It's late," Dick interjects stiffly, "let's not talk about this, not tonight at least."
They dodge around the horrible truth, never daring to raise their eyes far enough to look at me straight. They've taken responsibility, in their own misguided ways, they all believe that they should've done better, should've done more.
He rises, I know what he's going to say, we all do. "I...it's been a long day," a very long day, "get some sleep, team."
I remain seated, watching the others gratefully disperse towards their respective quarters. Dick stops in the doorway, and with difficulty, looks me in the eye.
"Coming, Rachel?" He asks, the concern in his voice is casual. He doesn't want to react correctly, because that would mean facing reality. And that's something not even the great Robin wants to do today.
I can't say I blame him.
"Maybe in a little bit," I reply, pulling my hood over my eyes, "I need to...think on this."
Sharp as always, Dick gives me a nod to show he understands before disappearing into the hall, the doors closing with a hiss.
The moment they shut, I permit myself to release a low, shuddering sob. The same sob I've been choking back all day. The anger, guily, and pure hatred is too much to bear, and I buckle under its weight. A single tear manages to escape my eye, cutting a trail down my cheek.
I laugh.
There's nothing funny, nothing remotely amusing about my – our situation, and yet I laugh. It's the kind of laughter that hurts, the kind you use to keep yourself from screaming.
"Damn it," I manage to choke out between ragged, almost hysterical giggles.
"God damn it."
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I stop in mid-motion, my hand inches from the door. I know I should leave him alone, I know he doesn't want to be bothered.
But a mixture of curiosity and concern overrides the logic in me, driving my knuckles against the cold metal.
"...Vic?" I call softly, almost hesitantly. "It's me. We need to talk."
Predictably, no reply.
"Vic," I repeat, "I know you're not sleeping." And he isn't. I know Victor, I know him very well. Mr. Stone is sitting in a chair, staring hard at the far wall as he reflects on today. Blames himself for today.
Silence.
"Ok." I whisper, and as much as I hate to say it, I'm hurt, "maybe tomorrow."
And with that, I turn to the hall, my cloak rustling in the silence. The lights glow dimly before me, the Tower's power conserving system leaving my way sparsely illuminated. For the first time, the dark is unwelcoming, the quiet almost oppressive.
And I finally get the whole 'lonely' thing.
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10:59
It's been four hours.
11:00
And I still can't sleep.
I stare into the dark, a single thought echoing in my head.
I'm a killer.
The idea sends shudders along my spine, I'm no better than the filth I put away. I no longer have the pleasure of looking down on my enemies. I'm every bit as impulsive, vicious, and weak as they are. If there was anything I'm – was sure of, it was my morality, the code of ethics I had operated by my entire life. But tonight there is only doubt, my righteousness is gone, my sense of direction frayed.
And to be unsure, to be lost, that scares me.
A steady beep breaks the silence, the interface on the far wall tinging my room red as the screen flashes to life.
"Miss Roth, you have an incoming message," synthetic as it is, there's a strangely human quality to Comm, a creation of Victor's. It was part of his campaign to 'lightly renovate' the Tower, which ultimately ended with him practically rebuilding half of it. For all of his work, Comm was the only direct result we could find. The rest of Victor's work was too complex for the rest of us to understand, or see for that matter. "Would you like me to send it through?"
"Who is it?" My snappy demand comes out a hoarse whisper.
"Unknown, miss," Comm replies, "I have no records of this caller, would you like me to disregard the call?"
"Allow it," I work my way to the end of the bed as the machine concedes and grants my caller a visual.
"Rachel," my eyes widen at the face I haven't seen in...well, too long. A bit older, a bit more worn, but my former teammate still looks like his ragged, unkempt self.
Oh God, he doesn't know, does he? Ok, play it cool, just...just act like nothings gone wrong.
"Lan?" I blink in mock surprise. "The hell are you calling for? "
I'm shot down by a disapproving glare. "I just spent my evening scraping your mess off the walls, Rachel, I'm in no mood for your bullshit."
"...how?" Shit, shit, shit. He knows.
"Dick came to me for 'cleanup' work," Lan says with a shake of his head, "he wouldn't give me all the details, but I figured it out ok on my own."
"Then...the body – "
"Won't be missed."
Lan knows, not only that but he got rid of the evidence. This day just keeps getting better and better.
Biting my lip, I avert my eyes, "you wasted your time."
"Look," Lan sighs, "it's bad, I know. Scarring, traumatic, the whole bag, but you have to believe me when I say it will pass."
"Pass?" I feel the beginnings of anger boil in me. "I kill a man and you say it'll pass?"
"Cold, I know," I watch Lan run a hand over his face, "but it's the ugly truth. You're going to work through this because – well, frankly between your friends and a city to protect you don't have time to reflect on this. Give it a month or two and this'll all be just a pang of guilt every now and then."
My acquaintance is...well, he's a bit of an authority on this particular subject. But I'm not about to open up, that would mean admitting he's right.
"I know how you feel, Rachel," he says understandingly, brushing away onyx strands from his face, "I still remember my first one. Couldn't look at myself in the mirror for weeks."
I don't respond, using the silence as filler. I don't know what to say, what canI say?
"Alright, alright, you don't wanna talk," Lan laughs, the sound is rough and...strangely empty, "I know what an identity crisis feels like."
And suddenly it's like our roles have been switched. I'm the one who's transparent, and Lan can see it all. I don't like that, "Identity crisis? What's that supposed to mean?" I don't like that at all.
"It's a little scary, isn't it? To be on the other side."
"The other side?" He's being too perceptive, and my displeasure shows. "Are you lumping me in with criminals?"
"I never said – "
"I know who I am," no, not anymore I don't, "and I am nothing like them."
A few moments pass in silence, in which my falsely indignant glare never leaves Lan.
"...right," he finally replies softly, pityingly, "g'night, Rachel."
And before the screen goes blank, I swear I can see the beginnings of a smile pass over Lan's lips.
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"Raven!"
I don't listen, I can't. Another voice fills my ears, keeping the protests of my friends, the pleading of my victim all but non-existent.
Do it. A facet of emotion whispers maliciously. Take him, make him pay for what he's done.
And I want to, oh God do I want to. My fingers curl further towards my palm, the imperceptible grip I have on this bastard's head tightening. He squeals, literally squeals like the pig he is. I swear his fear is palpable, and I relish its sweet taste on my tongue.
He doesn't deserve prison. There's more than one now, and they all urge me on. Bring true suffering unto him, the pain he has earned. The others can't stop you, they're too small, too weak to break through the wall.
I steal a glance behind me. They're all pounding against my barrier in some futile attempt to stop me, from bringing justice to this...this thing. A hideous abomination wearing the skin of a white, fifty-something middle class man.
Is this what hatred – true hatred – feels like?
Because it's wonderful. Wonderful enough to bring me closer to the brink. It's never been so tempting to fall into the maw, to accept my other half.
Do it. My head is buzzing with noise, and ever so slowly, my trembling fingers curl inward. For the children he's used, for the mothers who will never see their kin again.
"Please..." is the pathetic whimper. Please? Who is he to beg for his life? TO THINK HE CAN ESCAPE YOUR JUDGMENT? "Please..."
You are his God, and he is unworthy. Judge him as such.
I step over the edge, and the black rises up to take me. My hand snaps shut, and in a shower of gore I watch his head implode. Blood gushes from the crushed mass, bits of flesh and brain clinging to my skin as it washes over me. My tongue slips out, sampling the red warmth clinging to my upper lip.
And it's good, so good.
A hand grabs my shoulder jerking me around. "Raven! What has – " Kori stops short, her eyes transfixed on me. I can't imagine what could illicit that kind of response, but whatever has become of my visage, it's enough to make Kori let go. She steps away, and I can tell it's not just fear, but repulsion.
That disgust wakes me up. I feel no power, no hatred, only panic. The blood burns, I can feel it eating at my skin.
I scream.
Off, I want it off. I claw wildly at my face, but it won't come off, the burn won't stop. My skin rips open sending trails of blood seeping down my stained face. Laughter in my head, they're laughing at me. My nails dig harder into the lacerations, tearing them deeper.
Get off, get off, GET OFF.
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Wiping trace amounts of bile from my lips, I watch the vomit float aimlessly about in the toilet.
"I'm never eating again," I mutter, reaching for the flush. It hadn't been a nightmare – no, that would suggest that it had been fabricated, fictional in some way. I put down the lid, rising to my feet.
I had just been remembering.
I look into the mirror, catching sight of the somber, gloomy little girl I've seen so many times before, an insecure pretender whose fears are kept behind a cowl. I slip silently back into my room, stopping at the foot of my bed. The sheets are a tangled mess, attesting to a...less than peaceful sleep. My body gives an involuntary shudder, and I instinctively reach up to my face for wounds already healed.
I think I've had enough rest for one night.
My eyes flicker to the clock, "damn," five A.M, roughly two hours until daybreak. Two hours is too long in solitude. My eyes sweep over the dark, dreary interior of my room. I don't want to be alone, not tonight. I turn my gaze to the outside world, the city lights dotting an otherwise impregnable darkness. For once the idea of 'other people' is tolerable, and I know just where to find them.
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Coffee.
Don't ask me why I ordered it, I'm not entirely sure myself. It's always tea with me, green, chai, and all the kinds of herbal. I sigh, peeling open the creamers taken from the counter, by hand I might add. I make a point to avoid using my powers in public, I get a lot less stares that way.
Of course, that's not an issue tonight, apart from the odd couple, the Dark Muse is more or less abandoned. The coffee house harbors a more or less macabre décor, a theme of black and red pervading the venue. Needless to say, it's more popular with the 'darker' locals: goths, emos, and the like. I only come to hear the occasional (admittedly bad) poetry, usually consisting of the same generic angst that seems to be so prevalent among my generation. If I'm lucky I'll catch someone with some semblance of originality or talent, but those bouts of good fortune are few and far between.
I cast a glance outside, catching a reflection against the dark framed by the window. It's the same somber, gloomy little girl I've seen so many times before, her fears still hidden behind a monotone wit.
"This seat taken?"
I look up, blinking. I didn't see him come in, but he's definitely out of place. A fine stubble peppers his shaved head, the anarchy sign tattooed just above his left eye, "...no," I've been approached like this more than once, multiple times in fact, and I've turned them all away. But for once I'm glad for the company.
He pulls up a seat, adjusting his studded vest adorned with multiple pins, "much obliged, miss..?" Some of the other patrons have taken notice, and true to their rivalry throw my acquaintance dirty looks.
His thoughts are...hazed, I can't tell if he's pretending or not, "Jessica," I humor him, tossing out the first name that comes to mind, "and you?"
"Don't have one."
"Don't have one?" I echo incredulously.
"Didn't like it," he shrugs, "so I got rid of it. Never got a new one."
"Right," I pour sugar into my coffee, stirring it methodically with a spoon. The teen, lets just call him 'Nameless', observes me intently, the ghost of a frown creasing his brow.
"You come here a lot?" My eyebrows perk and with surprising accuracy he interprets the expression. "Not a come on, just a question."
I bring the mug tentatively to my lips before taking the first sip, "no, I don't really like it here," an involuntary wince passes over my face at thetaste.
"Not a big coffee drinker?" Nameless chuckles as he watches me force the swill down.
"Tea's more my thing," I reply, pushing the mug away.
He stretches out, intertwining his fingers behind his head. "So, what makes a girl sit in a place she doesn't like with a drink she doesn't want?"
"...trouble at home," again, my hand traces over scars that aren't there.
"Ahh," Nameless nods knowingly, "fight with the parents?"
"No, no," I let my head rest against the window, my breath spreading onto the glass in a gray film, "nothing like that. It's just...I made a mistake. A big one." My eyes move along the faint outline of the clouds, swollen and gray with the promise of rain. "And I'm scared to go back."
"Because of what you might find," it's not a question.
"They might not see me as...me, I'll be someone new to them, someone different." I'm pouring out my soul to some complete stranger, I don't know why, but the worlds flow and I can't seem to stop them. "I'm scared that might change things for us."
"Huh," Nameless breathes thoughtfully, scratching at the stubble lining his jaw.
I watch as he reaches into his back pocket and produces a worn, overstuffed wallet. He flips it open, plucking out a faded photo, "y'know, change isn't always bad."
It's your average family snapshot: mom, dad and a son all bunched together against some cloud themed background, big plastic smiles all around. "You look...normal."
Nameless laughs as he looks down at the scrawny little boy with overgrown tangles of sandy brown hair. "That was back when I had a name. Before I took off."
"You ran away?"
"Yeah," he laughs, the genial sound echoing in the silence, "and I still regret it."
"You never thought about going home?"
"By the time I got down from my anger high I had changed too much to just...up and go home. What's done was done, and there was no sense dwelling on it. Change is inevitable, nothing we can do but just accept and try and make the best of it."
And it suddenly dawns on me. "You're trying to tell me something."
"Do they love you?"
"What?" I ask, taken aback by his question.
"Do they love you?" He repeats.
"...yes."
"And do you love them?"
"Yes," more than anything.
"But you're still sitting here in a place you don't like with a drink you don't want," Nameless quirks an eyebrow.
"I..." and it occurs to me how stupid I've been. "I've got some people to see." I stand, offering him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."
"Oh, no," Nameless takes my coffee, raising the mug to me before taking a drink, "thank you."
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"Rrrgh!"
I watch Victor punish the punching bag, each superhuman punch sending the weighty object flailing through the air. He doesn't notice me, all his attention focused on pouring as much frustration as he can into each and every blow.
He's always been...a source of confusion for me. The others are natural, wholly organic, and with that purity comes a transparency perceptible only to me, I can feel what they feel, know what they think. But not with Victor, his artificial components are a blind spot in my 'vision', leaving me with only bits and pieces of a bigger picture. Maybe that's why it's so odd, almost surreal to see him act like this, the muted anger is inconsistent with his body language, the movements showing an infuriation that I can't detect.
"Hey."
Laying into the bag a final time, Victor straightens, his back to me.
"Hey."
I float my way across the gym, touching down a respectable distance away, "you're up early," looking at his build, I realize just how massive Victor is, broad shoulders heaving rhythmically with labored breaths.
"Thought I'd get a head start on the day," he stalks towards a bench, seating himself, "didn't see you at breakfast this morning."
"...I grabbed some coffee."
"Coffee?" The small talk is hollow and Victor knows it. We tentatively circle the question that's on both our tongues, we won't ask it of course, not yet. "You hate coffee."
I force out a laugh. "First time for everything, I guess."
Silence. Painfully awkward silence.
With an exasperated sigh, his head drops limply down to his chest, the red glow in his artificial eye seeming to dim slightly. "They're not under control?"
"No," I reply bluntly, "they're not."
Three years. Three years of blissful mastery over my powers, no shattered glass, no breakdowns, no nothing. I was sure that I had finally worked out all the kinks. I wasn't just a hazard or some accident waiting to happen, I was in control, just like everyone else.
The delusion was nice while it lasted.
"Then...where does that leave us?" There it is.
"I don't know, Vic," I brush errant strands of hair from my face, eyes locked to the floor.
"Do you still feel the same way?"
"Of course...do you?"
"...I don't want to lose what we have," Victor says quietly, draping a heavy arm around my shoulders, "but I can't just forget last night."
"I don't suppose you could try?" I shift closer, letting my head rest against his shoulder.
"Believe me, I already have," he gives a soft breath of laughter, "we've got a lot to work out, Rachel."
"We?"
Victor snorts, "what, you think I was gonna let you go that easy?" He gives an avid shake of his head. "No, we're doing this. Together."
"Together..." I let my eyes slip close, a sudden, extremely comfortable weariness setting in. "I like that."
I like that a lot.
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A/N: BLEAGH shitastic ending, I know. But have pity, I squeezed it out in a bout of writer's block. Anyways, I hoped you enjoyed my horrible attempt at a first-person. Don't forget to tell me what you think in a review.