Training is grueling; hard in ways she didn't anticipate when she finally accepted Slade's offer. Every evening, she finds herself back at the tiny infirmary, battered and bruised, with Wintergreen cleaning her wounds and finishing with a pat to her shoulder.
She thinks she should be more embarrassed that most of her injuries are self-inflicted rather than Slade's doing, but her powers are explosive, untamable. But every piece of debris that cuts her is a step closer to control, a step closer to approval on Slade's part.
It's after another evening at the infirmary that she meets Robin. They cross paths in the hallway connecting the infirmary to the main room, both bleeding, bruised. He's worse for wear than she is by far, with his black and orange costume sliced, blood staining large patches, with a bruise growing from his cheekbone to the line of his jaw.
They regard each other silently, his mouth a thin line, her face open and curious. The Titans mentioned him in passing, almost as if mourning. It's hard to reconcile this Robin with the green and red version she's seen in the news.
He leaves before she gets a word in, dragging his feet, holding his bleeding side.
Slade works with her majority of the day. He wakes her up at five in the morning on the dot. In the early days of her apprenticeship, she used to complain about not eating right after waking up. Slade, his single eye crinkled in amusement, prepared her pancakes and eggs one morning and within an hour of concentrated rock slinging and fighting, she puked in the corner of the training room, hands on her knees, hair curtaining her face.
She still complains, but she's careful not to step on Slade's toes anymore lest he try to prove a point again.
Today is no different. Slade knocks on her door, five a.m. sharp, and tells her to report to the training in ten minutes. She drags herself out of bed, shivering at the cold air that always seems stale, somehow, dresses, and trudges to the training room.
She steps into the room, scratching at her head, but stops dead in her tracks at the sight of Robin leaning against the wall. He's staring down at the floor. Slade is staring her down from across the room. She lets her arm drop to her side.
"I assume you two have met," Slade says.
Robin says nothing. Terra nods.
"I think you've reached a point where you can fight without me there every step of the way." Slade nods towards Robin. He's still not looking up. "Fight him."
Robin sighs. "Do you really think this is a good idea?"
Slade tilts his head. Robin looks up and meets his stare.
"Well, it's just practice, right?" Terra takes a step forward and swings her arms forward. She links her fingers together and cracks them. "Even if you kick my ass, in the end you're just helping me out. Can't be any worse than when I practice with Slade." She grins at Slade. It doesn't ease the tension in the room. If anything, Robin seems to glower more. She has the faint impression that the expression isn't an unfamiliar one on his face.
"Fine," he mutters. He pushes himself off the wall. They meet in the middle of the fighting mat. Robin stands almost utterly still, every line of his body taut. Terra rolls her neck, working out the kinks from falling asleep in a weird position (head practically hanging off the edge of the bed, cheek pressed against her shoulder).
"Don't use your powers, Terra," Slade calls out. He stands far away enough from the mat to avoid any possible injury. It's a smart choice. Terra isn't the best at staying within the designated area. She's prone to evasive and defensive moves rather than offensive. It's easier. She's tiny enough for it to work for a couple of minutes.
She takes a deep breath and throws the first punch – or rather, tries to fake a punch toward his face while she really goes for his stomach. Robin quickly recognizes what she's planning and grabs her fist, using her momentum against her to pull her forward and then shove her towards the floor, the same arm now bent and held against her back. Robin's knee is pressed against the center of her spine. The pressure is enough to keep her on the floor, but not entirely painful.
Two seconds. She barely lasted two seconds.
She grunts.
Slade's sigh is loud enough to fill the entire room.
"Go again.
She's pretty sure there's a large bruise on her cheek from the amount of times Robin face planted her onto the ground. There had been some progress during the last three hours: She managed to land a few hits and kicks, enough that she thinks she might've bruised him up a little. She didn't win at any point, but she hadn't expected that. She doubts anyone did.
Rubbing at her cheek, she drags her feet down the hall towards the infirmary. Daily routine: Wake up, get ass kicked, crawl to Wintergreen for band aids and validation. It's not the worst routine, she's had worse, but it's been enough time that's she's restless. Bored.
Even with Robin's participation today, it hadn't been enough variation to change much.
Just as she's about to turn into the infirmary, a hand grips her shoulder. She tenses, but the hand isn't large enough to be Slade's. She shrugs Robin's hand off and turns to face him, still cradling her red cheek.
His scowl is a permanent fixture on his face, it seems. There hadn't been anything to suggest that it wouldn't be there when she turned around, but Terra still finds herself scowling back.
Robin clears his throat. "I just – wanted to say I'm sorry. For being so rough today."
"It's fine." She shrugs. Eyeing the split lip from her last kick, she says, "It helps that I hurt you a bit too. Makes us even, I guess."
He shrugs.
A beat of silence passes between them. Terra jabs her thumb in the direction of the infirmary behind her.
"Wanna come in with me? You might as well get that cleaned up."
Robin's gloved hand comes up. He presses the tips of his fingers against his lower lip and flinches at the pressure. She stays still, eyes lingering on his hand when he pulls it away. A touch of blood smudges the tips of the fingers of his gloves. It seems unnaturally real.
"I'll be fine."
"What?"
Robin shrugs. He's staring down at the floor again. "Get yourself checked out. I'll see you around."
"If – If you're sure." Her eyebrows draw together. Just as she's about to say something else, Robin nods and walks around her, continuing down the hall. She turns and watches as he turns the corner into the main room. Only once he's gone does she enter the infirmary.
Slade is sitting on her bed when she comes back from her shower. He sits on the edge, feet flat on the ground, elbows on his knees. One of her comic books is in his hands. He idly flips a page when she enters the room.
Slade is everywhere. In the training room, the infirmary, the kitchen, the study – everywhere she turns he seems to be there. She's used to it, almost. Back home – not home, not really, but Markovia, the castle – there had always been someone there when she turned a corner. It was rare to be alone.
It's rare to be alone again now, but enough time has passed between then and now that she's the slightest bit unsettled by the constant proximity.
Terra keeps her door open and lingers near her empty desk. The towel turban on her head is heavy now that she's in Slade's presence. He eyes it once he looks up from the comic.
"Long shower."
"I had to wash my hair." She pats the towel. "It was gross."
"That's actually bad for your hair," he says. She blinks owlishly at him. "It damages it."
She waves a hand. "I don't really care. It's just hair. And I don't want it all wet and stuff down my back."
"Hm." He sets the comic down on her nightstand and gestures for her to take a seat. Once she pulls out her desk chair and sits, he laces his fingers together and stares at her. "Do you remember when I first took you in?"
"You found me in the desert," she says. She frees her hair from the towel, pulls it over one shoulder, and starts brushing through it with her fingers. "You offered burgers and a free shower."
He smiles – or rather, his eye crinkles up from what she assumes is a smile.
"I told you that my training comes with a price, child."
She glances down at her lap. Her fingers snag on a knot in her hair and she carefully works through it.
"I know." She meets his gaze. "I just…figured you wouldn't tell me until I was, y'know, actually in control of my powers. And I'm not, by the way. Not at all." The stitches under her right shirtsleeve itch. She stops herself from scratching at it. Three days after a small crash, boulders exploding upon impact, and her wound doesn't seem any better.
"Dear girl, I'm aware of that. I'm not going to stop helping you."
"Then why bring it up?"
Slade sits up straight. Terra releases a breath, shoulders relaxing. Sometimes she doesn't even realize how tense she becomes under his attention, but there's always relief once he looks away.
"I'm going to need your help soon. With the Titans." Slade gauges her furrowed eyebrows, her small frown. "I want intel on them. They would react well to your return."
She stares at him.
"That's – That's not happening."
Slade stares at her
"I-I can't go back to them." Her gaze falls to her feet. The flip flops she's wearing are neon pink. Not something she'd pick if she had a choice but they were in her closet when she first moved in with Slade and she doesn't care enough to argue. "Not after – Beast Boy just…He betrayed my trust."
"Terra, I know this."
"Isn't there a different way for me to get intel on them? I could spy on them from a distance."
Slade sighs, an impatient noise. It's quiet, like everything else he does, and it raises goosebumps on Terra's arms. She's glad for the long sleeves of her pajama shirt, glad that Slade can't see the visceral reaction to his disappointment, but even then she knows that he's aware of her reaction, the same way he's aware of everything that she does. Sometimes she thinks he's capable of picking out her thoughts and reading them at his leisure.
She keeps her gaze on her feet, on her short toenails, the contrast of the neon pink sandals against her pale skin.
"Terra, you know better than that." The mattress creaks beneath his weight. She looks up at him, afraid that her face might betray the quickening pace of her heart, the way her stomach sinks, and meets his eye. He's standing now, far taller than her, especially when she's sitting.
"You owe me. It'll be a couple of more months till I send you off to the Titans and in those months I'll train you on the specifics you require to spy successfully." He claps his hands behind his back. Terra says nothing. "Unless you have another complaint."
"No."
"No what?"
She tucks a wet lock of hair behind her ear. "No, sir."
"Good girl."
The following weeks Robin joins her and Slade in the training room, probably per Slade's request. Terra isn't sure on the details of Robin's apprenticeship but she knows enough that Robin is rarely in headquarters – or if he is, he's probably usually in his room.
The Titans had told her that Robin disappeared. The media speculated wildly on his absence, especially in the wake of the new, younger Robin recently seen trailing Batman in Gotham, a clear contrast to the Titans' Robin's taller stature. There were no clues, only theories. Last she heard before working for Slade, the most popular one was that the Joker killed him.
Of course, given her current place of residence she knows that all rumors are false. Robin's working for Slade, albeit unhappily. She could speculate on the reasons or she could continue on her day, as uninterested in him as he is in her.
Robin, after apologizing for their first training incident, rarely speaks to her. Even with the mask, Terra knows his gaze slides over her in disinterest. Other than when they train together, he never acknowledges her existence. Terra tried, at first. The first few days after Slade forced them together she threw smiles his way. She asked him for advice. She tried small talk. She offered to walk with him in headquarters. All her efforts were met with a quiet grunt or a wave of the hand.
She knows when she's not wanted and she's okay with that. Mostly. Her punches and kicks have been a little stronger since they've met, but she excuses it as a product of their training.
It's not like she actually injures him anyways. The only one that seems to ever land a hit on Robin is Slade. The days Slade decides to train Robin with her in the room to observe end with split lips or deep cuts or bruises the size of her fist spreading across his cheek. Three weeks ago Slade hit Robin with his metal bo staff so hard against his side that Terra heard his ribs crack from her seat across the room. Wintergreen said they weren't broken or even bruised, but Robin's pained grunt still echoes in her ears.
Slade is gentler with her. His hits are never as rough and he misses when she knows he could've landed one on her. She doesn't know if it's because she's newer to this than Robin and she's still building up strength after years of malnutrition or if it's because she's a girl, but she never asks.
She still finds herself in the infirmary every evening. Wintergreen is always kind, always gentle, but she grows quieter every time, unsure how to talk about the bruises on her arms or the way Slade's gaze lingers on her during meals.
When she sees Slade without his mask for the first time, she says nothing and he smiles.
"That's a bad idea."
Terra curses and drops the tablet. It clatters to the floor with a loud crack that echoes through the study.
At the door, Robin raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mask lifting along with it. The all black outfit, his hair, the mask all blend into the dark room. Slade would be proud of him for sneaking up on her so well and disappointed in her for her lack of vigilance.
"Close the door!" She picks up the tablet as Robin closes the door. The light from the hall is gone, leaving the study utterly dark save for the lights from the computer screens. They cast a soft white glow, leaving Robin barely illuminated as he walks up to her, stopping close enough to check the tablet's screen for cracks.
"What are you doing?"
"I was trying to figure out the passcode." She glares at him. "But now the screen is all cracked. He's gonna know I was in here."
"He probably already knows that you're in here," he says. He reaches for the tablet and she hands it to him. "Wouldn't be surprised if he chipped you."
She blinks. "Did he chip you?"
"He doesn't need to." He sets the tablet down on a table. "But probably."
Robin doesn't try any passcodes, probably because any more attempts and it would lock itself. Terra stares at it perched innocently next to one of Slade's many desktops, aware that it probably contained nothing of interest to her, but the thought of trying to go onto any of the actual computers spreads pressure onto her chest that makes it hard to breathe.
"Why were you trying to figure out the passcode?"
Terra shrugs. "Slade's sending me on some mission eventually. I just….wanted to find out what it was."
"Well, you're not gonna find anything here."
"Yeah," she says. "Seems like it. Especially since I can't get into a stupid tablet without breaking the screen."
He stays quiet at that, frowning at her. The expression is not a new one. In the last few weeks it's come to be one of the few ones she's seen. The only other ones she's familiar with are: his mouth twisted in pain at a particularly rough kick or his glares towards the floor.
"We should get out of here," he says finally. "Before Slade comes in here and finds us."
She agrees, leaving the tablet on the table. No point returning it to its previous spot. The large crack on the screen is evidence enough of their presence in the room. Once they're out of the study, the door closed behind them, they start walking in the general direction of Terra's room – well, their rooms, she guesses. The hall her room is situated in has three other doors on the same side, though she's never opened any of them to see the contents.
"What were you doing in there anyways?" she asks once they're far away enough from the study. She looks over her shoulder – no signs of Slade or Wintergreen, only her and Robin and a long narrow hallway, illuminated by the orange glow of the lava outside the windows.
"I was walking back from the kitchen and I saw you sneaking around." He shrugs. "I was curious."
"Oh." She crosses her arms. Her hand presses against one of the bruises hidden by the long sleeves of her shirt. "Makes sense. I would've done the same thing."
Robin shrugs.
When they reach her room, Robin continues walking two doors down and enters what she assumes is his room. The door shuts behind him with a soft click. Terra lingers at her door, gaze on the silver knob of his, before she walks up to his room and knocks.
There's silence on the other end for a moment and then the door opens. The corner of Robin's mask is raised, just like before. He keeps his hand on the doorknob.
He stays silent, waiting for her to talk first. Terra clears her throat and looks down at her shoes.
"Can I talk to you?"
He steps aside, giving her enough room to enter, and once she's in his room he shuts the door behind him. Just as her room, Terra has the sense that Slade is here, watching. It's a feeling that never goes away, not after more than two months living with him, learning to anticipate his presence no matter what room she steps into.
The bed is immaculately made. The floor is bare, with no spare shoe in sight, no article of clothing covering the cold linoleum. The only thing indicating any source of life in the room is the desk, covered in files and maps and sheets of loose leaf paper. Terra glances at them for all of a second before she sits on Robin's bed.
Robin takes a seat at his desk's chair. The position of the desk against the wall perfectly mirrors hers, just as everything else in the room. It's unsettlingly militaristic.
"I, um," she starts, but takes a deep breath. Robin's stare on her is unusual, even if she started a conversation. "It's just that – you've been here longer than I have. I don't know by how much, but you clearly have been."
She stops and looks down at her lap. She wrings her hands.
"Slade's been – nice to me. Other than training. And even then he's nicer to me than you. And I was just wondering if it was like that for you too in the beginning."
"What do you mean?" Robin's voice is steady, but tense, bowstring taut right before releasing an arrow.
"Sometimes I think that he's just rougher with you because, well, I'm a girl." She looks up at him now. Stories about growing up in Markovia, about how differently she was treated from her brothers, are crawling up her throat, ready to come out at the gentlest tug. She swallows them down. "But maybe it's just because I'm newer? I don't know. I don't want him to hurt me as bad."
Robin's shoulders went stiff. The edge of a bruise is visible above the collar of his shirt, rising up to his pale neck. It's a healing yellow, ugly enough that it stands in contrast to his smooth skin.
"Can I ask you something?"
She nods.
"Why are you here?" He frowns at her, but it's different, she thinks. Concerned rather than his usual intolerableness.
Her cheeks burn red. "My powers…they're hard to control. I, uh, hurt people. In the past. By accident." She meets his gaze. "Accidents. They were always accidents. And Slade promised me that he could help me control my powers."
Robin stays silent.
"I just – it's hard, I knew it would be, but I didn't think it would be like this, you know? I can take getting beaten up, but he's so – rough with you. It's hard to watch."
He stares at her.
She stands up from her perch on his bed, brushing her hair from her face. "You know what? Never mind. Sorry about this. Sorry. I'm just…bothering you, I guess."
"No!" Terra starts, eyes wide. Robin clears his throat and looks down at the floor, his cheeks red. "No, it's okay. I didn't know what to say."
"Oh."
"Sorry. I – I haven't really spoken with a lot of people other than you. And Slade. And Wintergreen."
"Well, me either," she says.
"Right." He rubs the back of his neck. It takes a few seconds, but he collects himself; he clears his throat and lets his hands drop to his lap, looking anywhere but at Terra. "I appreciate your concern but you don't need to worry about me."
The bruises she sees peeking of his the collar of his shirt, marring his sharp cheeks say otherwise, but she says nothing. Just like she says nothing about the ones hiding under her shirt, the black and purple bruises on her legs, the black eye she's sported for the past week.
"That hurts!"
"If you stopped flinching it would hurt less," Robin says. The needle in his hand glints. Terra glares at it, at its sharp point, and the thread connecting it to the skin of her forearm. The cut is long and jagged, curving from the point below her elbow all the way to the middle of her forearm, just on the soft, pale inside. It's not deep enough that she'll bleed out, but it hurts, and Robin isn't exactly gentle as he stitches her up.
Wintergreen is gone. Slade hadn't said where, only that he'd be back in a week. The infirmary is wrong, somehow, without him. Quieter.
The fluorescent lights buzz over their heads, loud over the sound of their breathing. Terra looks off to the side, away from the long cut on her arm and Robin's slow, methodical stitching. The pull and tug of skin isn't unfamiliar, especially since she ran away from home, but she still flinches at the sting of it.
A loose piece of rock cut her after a lapse of control. The boulder Slade had her float in the air for an hour crashed into the wall, exploding on impact. No one had been seriously hurt other than minor scrapes and bruises, but this cut is long enough to warrant some worry.
Slade had offered to stitch her up, of course, and she had been about to say yes when Robin offered.
Part of her wishes she had said no. Slade has always been gentle when taking care of her injuries unlike Robin now.
"Fuck." She looks at him now, eyebrows raised. "Are you trying to kill me?"
Robin finishes stitching up her arm and snorts. "Clearly."
She holds her arm to her chest, careful not to touch the wound. "Sure felt like it."
"Yeah, well, that's not my fault. I did the best I could."
"Considering your best made me feel like dying, why did you offer?"
Robin pauses. His hands are still, gauze still in his grasp, first aid kit open on the counter in front of him. Terra opens her mouth to say something, but he shakes her head before she can.
"You seemed upset." He shrugs.
"A giant rock exploded and cut me open. I figure most people would be." She smiles, shrugs a thin shoulder. She'll have to get rid of this shirt. The long, gray sleeve is ruined. Robin had to cut it off mid-bicep to clean and tend to the wound. Understandable, but it leaves her with less clothing and although Slade filled up her closet with clothes when she moved in, it hurts to ruin a perfectly good shirt. Years on the run have left her with an appreciation for the comforts of a soft, cotton shirt.
"No, I mean – you just…" He continues putting everything away in the first aid kit except for what he used to clean her wound. That stays next to her on the exam table. "You looked like you were about to cry. I just figured you wouldn't want Slade to see that."
Slade's seen her cry. He's seen her laugh. He's seen her gasping for breath, hands pressed to her chest, trying to rub feeling back to the spot right above her heart. He's seen almost every facet of herself, regardless of what she's comfortable showing others.
It doesn't matter anymore.
She smiles at Robin. "It's fine. Thanks."
"You don't need to thank me," he says, his voice quiet.
Slade's quarters are bigger than hers and Robin's, but his is just as clean and sparse as the latter. The similarity always strikes Terra, just as the way they move fluidly, almost silent, regardless of whether they're fighting or walking or breathing.
She plays with a loose thread on her shirt as she waits by the door.
After dinner she had been told to report to his room at 1900. Why he used military time instead of standard is beyond her, but she didn't question him, just ate her dinner at her normal pace (quick and fasts, stuffing herself to the point her stomach bulged out, eating as she always has regardless of where she is: not knowing when her next meal would be).
Now that she's here, waiting for Slade to appear from one of his connecting rooms, she finds herself tugging at the loose thread of her shirt. The familiar, dull pressure on her chest is back, as if the numbness of her left arm, but she keeps her hands where they are. Slade doesn't need to see her panicking again, trying to bring back sensation to her chest. Not after the last time when she lost control and he knocked her out before she caused any real damage.
Robin's out on a mission. She's not sure where, but she hasn't seen him in over two days since he patched her up. Her arm still hurts, and she's careful not to move it too much so she doesn't tear at the stitches, but she's better as long as she doesn't look at it.
Slade enters, a file at hand. The usual black and orange mask is missing. The first time he removed it in her presence Terra stared at him, unable to reconcile the image of his gray hair, the lines around his mouth, that single eyepatch with the figure that first terrified and then rescued her, but it made sense. It still makes sense. Someone as intimidating with a mask as Slade is just as scary without one.
"You're on time," he says. He holds up the file. "I have something for you."
She stares at the file for a second before meeting his eye. "What is it?"
"An assignment." He meets her at the door. She stops herself from taking a step back. "Think of it as a test before your real mission."
"But…my powers." She accepts the manila folder, hands clasping the edges tight. Looking up at Slade, she frowns. "I'm not ready to fight anyone yet."
"It's not about your powers, child." He reaches forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His hand lingers, the tips of his fingers touching her cheek for a moment before drawing back. "It's about stealth and critical thinking. I've taught you enough about that to trust that you won't need to use your powers."
Cheeks pink, she stares at the file. The dull pressure on her chest spreads to her neck, right to the point she could feel her heartbeat if she pressed her fingers to it.
"Yes, sir."
"You'll be joining Robin." He walks away from her now, heading straight to his desk. A map of Jump City is tacked to the wall right above the desk, with red string connecting specific points of it. He sits at his desk, opening different files and leafing through loose sheets of paper. "His location is on the file, as well as the mission briefing. Robin has been instructed to explain more to you once you're there. I expect you to leave tomorrow at five a.m., understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." He turns to look at her still standing by the door, the line of her back straight and tense. She reminds herself to breathe, to take a breath in, hold it for three seconds, and let it out, then repeat. "You'll do fine, Terra. There's no need to be concerned. I have full faith in your abilities."
"Thank you," she whispers.
He smiles. It doesn't sit right on his face. "You're dismissed."
"Alright. Good night, sir."
"Good night, Terra."
Once the door is shut behind her, Terra takes a step out into the hall and holds the folder to her chest. The entirety of her left arm is numb. The pressure on her chest is heavier. She tells herself to breathe, just breathe, nothing bad will happen as long as she keeps breathing.
She opens the file to glance at the papers inside. The first thing she sees is Robin's location: Metropolis.