Author's Note: This is all because of Lou Buggins; she nicknamed me "The Writer of Sad Things". I love that nickname, but that doesn't mean I can't have a little revenge. And here it is!

-=oOo=-

It Is Time

Garfield never cared much for anniversaries.

In truth, when he thought about it, he supposed all the birthdays and Halloweens and Christmases and all those other days also fell into that category, but he never felt them as such. Real anniversaries? There were only two for him, and today was one of them.

He sat in the comfortable armchair in front of his work desk, staring with dull eyes at the swirling screensaver on his laptop without really seeing it, one hand resting limply on his thigh while the other played with the corner of a sheet of paper that was laying on the desk. Other papers, piled in neat, orderly stacks on the desk's surface or stuffed into properly labeled trays waited patiently for his attention.

The door hissed softly open.

"Where are you, Logan?" the visitor inquired impatiently, trying to keep his voice in the low registers but unable to hide the higher pitch of youth that still haunted it. "Training should've begun seven minutes ago!"

The newcomer stood in the doorframe and cocked his head impatiently while he waited for a few seconds without receiving any reply. His eyes swept across the scrupulously tidy room; the stacks of graphic novels and DVDs and video game cartridges all arranged and dusted and pristine, the bare walls without any paintings or posters hanging on them, the double bunk bed with blankets stretched over so tight you could bounce a dime off them and all creases folded in a sharp, precise, military-regulated pattern.

His gaze fell on a framed picture on the nightstand, one of the few visible personal items in the room. A flash of understanding shone in his eyes.

He cleared his throat. "Logan. We're all waiting for you."

"Take over the team for today," Garfield broke his silence, still staring at the laptop screen. "I've got… paperwork to take care of."

The visitor's frown deepened and he hesitated, but finally retreated into the hallway and was on his way. The door sighed closed.

-=oOo=-

Garfield did not know for how long he sat unmoving, his eyes still nailed to the computer display. The screensaver gave up eventually and the swirling colors extinguished, fading to a dull black of lifeless plastic.

He didn't notice or care. His mind was as blank as the sleeping screen, his heartbeat slow and serene, his breathing calm and unhurried. Except for the finger twisting the corner of the paper and the odd reflexive blink of his eyes, he was as still as a malachite statue.

A wince passed over his features suddenly. His head bent and his eyes squeezed shut; the muscles in his jaw stood out as his teeth ground against each other. His breath gasped quickly in and was released in an almost soundless whimper as his hands clenched into fists, crumpling the paper. He remained rigid in that position, his muscles cramped for a few seconds before he pulled himself back together and relaxed. He sighed deeply and straightened up, opening his eyes. His face cleared and he rose from the armchair in a quick, fluid, purposeful motion to walk out of the room, heading for the roof of the Tower.

Shrinking into the streamlined shape of a bird of prey, he quickly gained altitude with fast, powerful beats of barred wings. Once he judged he was high enough he headed for the shore, allowing himself to float on lazy thermals in the still-chilly early spring air while his eyes searched carefully the forest that now sprawled beneath him.

It took him a while to find what he was looking for. Even transformed into a falcon, his vision incredibly sharp, it wasn't easy. But by now he knew where to look, and while winter still kept an icy, frozen grasp on much of the dense woods below, there were places where the snow had melted and small, purple flowers could be seen pushing shyly into the sunlight.

Returning to Tower Island with his precious cargo, he landed beside a young tree. He knew it well; he planted the sapling himself five years ago, almost to the day, right above a simple slab of polished black granite. He deposited the small spray of violets gently on its smooth surface and crouched beside it, his fingers running lovingly over the five letters carved deep into the stone.

"Hey," he whispered. "Here I am. I brought you some violets. I know how much you love them."

The branches of the tree, almost bare of leaves, rustled dryly as a soft breeze moved them.

"It's the least I could do," the corners of his lips curled up and he waved a hand, as if he was brushing off someone's unnecessary gratitude. "You know I like to make you smile."

The breeze picked up and ruffled his hair. He closed his eyes, the sensation making him shiver. He could easily imagine her pale, delicate fingers combing through it, just like she loved to, knowing it would make him purr like a kitten. Unconsciously, his nostrils flared and he took a deep breath, seeking her scent, but there was nothing in the wind except the bitter saltiness of the ocean.

His smile faded and his hand rose to scratch the back of his head. "Uh… I'm sorry I couldn't visit you last week," he muttered in an apologetic tone. "You know how it is, caring for all these young'uns…"

He suddenly chuckled and his smile widened again. "God, to think we used to be just as unruly, undisciplined and impossible as they are now. Where'd all that go?"

The muted murmur of the surf reminded him of her soft, gentle laughter. He grinned.

"Yeah, yeah. I know, I was probably even worse. You don't have to rub it in!"

His face got serious and he cocked his head, listening to a voice only he could hear. "They'll be here soon," he said in a reassuring voice, as if he was answering an anxious question. "Don't worry. They haven't forgotten."

The tips of his fingers caressed the polished surface gently while his gaze lost itself in the misty horizon. He searched the distant juncture of sea and sky for a while, without knowing what he was looking for. His eyes finally returned to the shore and rose to focus on the towering T-shaped building.

"They're good kids, y'know," he spoke softly, as if to himself. "They've all been through Hell and back. But in spite of that, all they need is just someone to nudge them the right way and make sure they stay on the path." His smile reappeared. "I always thought Richard would be the one chosen to lead them. I never imagined…"

He was silent for a few moments. "Dick wouldn't have refused if they asked him. But they didn't, they asked me instead."

He nodded his head, agreeing with an invisible interlocutor. "I suppose he's entitled to his own life, especially now that he and Star…"

He shivered and ran his hand through his unkempt hair. "I just hope I'm doing it right, because the kids deserve it. God knows they've earned it." Again his eyes roamed over the horizon while his gaze focused inwards. "At least Dick says I'm doing a good job. I suppose that's high praise; you know how he is."

Silence fell around him. The breeze quieted and the dry branches ceased their rustling. Even the murmur of the surf was barely audible.

His hand clenched. "They don't get it!" he snarled suddenly. "They think I'm trying to drown myself in work, that I'm trying to forget!" A heavy, dark chuckle shook his shoulders. "As if I ever could."

His eyes shone with painful sorrow as he looked at the black stone slab. "I have to do it, you know. Not for Dick, not for the Justice League. Not even for the kids."

He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. Another shiver ran through him. His mouth opened, but no words could fight their way out of it. His fingers closed into a trembling fist.

"I have to do it," he repeated in a choked whisper. "I have to… to show myself I'm… I'm worthy of your love. That I… deserve the kindness and tenderness you gave me. That you can… that you can feel proud of me, wherever you are, and that you can look down at me and say…"

His throat tightened and cut off his words. Two tears ran from the corners of his eyes and over his cheeks. He wiped them off with an impatient, embarrassed gesture.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't…" he began, but his voice broke into a sob. "I just miss you so much!"

He dropped to the ground on his knees. His shoulders shook in silent, rending heaves until the gentle ocean wind picked up again and caressed his face. The hum of the waves kissing the shore slowly quieted his mind and soothed his pain. He sniffled, cleared his throat and pulled himself together. Folding one of his legs under him, he sat on the dry, cold grass beside the slab and leaned an elbow on it, making himself comfortable. He breathed deeply of the cleansing smell of the sea and allowed the wind to dry his eyes and cool his forehead.

Soon enough his ears perked up, detecting a trio of footsteps he knew well. "I told you they were coming," he whispered, smiled happily and rose to meet the visitors while trying to dust off his uniform with much self-consciousness and little success.

He was barely able to straighten up before he was enveloped in a bruising hug. The familiar scent of peaches, strawberries and exotic flowers tickled his nostrils and Starfire's vibrant enthusiasm flooded into him, impossible to ignore or shake off. Much of the dark oppressiveness that filled his soul was dispelled by the light of her joy and he returned her hug just as fiercely, trying to hold on to the sensation, knowing it won't last long.

Starfire finally released him and pulled back to study him carefully. "Are you well, friend Garfield?"

"I'm fine, Kory. It's always good to see you guys," he assured her with a wide, sincere smile. He turned to his other two friends and grasped a hand extended in greeting. "Good to see ya, too, Dick!"

"You look pretty good," his once-leader commented. As much as his posture and his words were matter-of-fact, the grip of his hand was just as intense and affectionate as Starfire's hug.

"Thanks for coming!" Garfield managed to say before a lump in his throat choked him. He forced himself to swallow it, but his gaze fell. "It means a lot to me. To… both of us."

"She was a friend," Richard replied simply. "She is a friend."

Gar's eyes itched. He passed his sleeve over them in a quick move and tried to hide the gesture by turning it into a fist-bump with the third visitor. "Hey, Chrome Dome!"

"Yo, Greenbean. Y'all been takin' care of yerself?"

"'Course I have," Gar grinned, then struck a bodybuilder's pose, flexing his muscles. "Check this out!"

There was a small, concerned frown on Cyborg's face. "I see y'all's still eatin' that tofu stuff. You're just as short and scrawny as you always were!" he lied.

The changeling smiled at Cyborg's tease, his eyes following Richard and Kory as they placed the flowers they brought on the polished black surface, careful not to disturb the violets he'd spread there before. "At least I'm not guilty of the murder of countless innocent creatures!"

"They ain't innocent, Evergreen!" Cyborg played along, but the frown on his face did not go away. "They're guilty of bein' tasty!"

The green shapeshifter chuckled and his grin widened. Any moment now, a dry, raspy voice would grumble at them to keep it quiet, to knock it off and let her read in peace. His grin vanished and his jaw set as he fought the sorrow that assaulted him again.

Cyborg didn't miss it. His hand went for Gar's shoulder, squeezing it in sympathy. Gar gave him a quick, grateful grin before his eyes went back to the dark, severe granite. His friends joined him in contemplation and they stood silent and motionless for a minute, their thoughts going to their missing friend.

Richard finally broke the silence. "I'd like to see the team, Gar," he said hoarsely, failing in his attempt to keep his voice neutral. He cleared his throat, swallowed and continued in a calmer, clearer voice. "You've been doing a good job with those kids."

Garfield scowled. "They're not kids," he growled. Only he could call them kids, because they were his kids. But he'd be damned if he'd let anyone, even Richard, disrespect his – he took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "Most of them are the same age we were when we started the Titans."

"I know that," Richard placed an appeasing hand on Gar's shoulder and smiled. "I'm just getting old, I guess." His face turned serious again. "But their age differences are a lot greater than what ours were. Damian is barely thirteen, and Rose… she's only a couple of years younger than you are, isn't she?"

For some reason Garfield felt his face flush. "Yeah. Yeah, that's… that's true. But they work well together."

"They sure do," Richard chuckled. "I have no idea how you managed to achieve it, but you did. To be honest with you, I'm not sure I'd be able to."

Garfield's surprised gaze shot up to meet Richard's piercing blue stare. There was just a hint of an affectionate curling up of his former leader's lips before he covered his face again with the mask. "Let's go," he said, placed a comforting arm around his moist-eyed girlfriend's shoulder and they set off towards the Tower's entrance.

He felt a metallic hand on his arm, stopping him. "We'll be there in five," Victor's voice came from behind him. Richard turned, glanced at Cyborg, nodded quickly and resumed leading Starfire to the Tower.

"Whassup, Bolt Bucket?" Gar gave his friend a sickly grin, knowing what was coming. He didn't want to hear it.

Cyborg's face was serious but his eye was full of concern and his voice was uncharacteristically soft. "No, Gar. No teasing and no nicknames."

Garfield looked down and a frown knitted his brows. "I've heard it already, Vic. I heard it last time we met. And the time before that. And the time before that." He lifted his gaze, a defiant green fire burning in his eyes. "I won't betray her."

Cyborg's teeth ground against each other. "You're not betraying her!" he managed not to shout. "You are carrying on with your life!"

"It's my life!" Garfield didn't bother keeping his voice down. "And if everything I knew, everything I've learned, everything I could do wasn't enough to save her, then the least I can do now is devote what's left of it to her! Why can't you understand that?"

"Because you are hurting us!" Cyborg shouted back. "Don't you get it? You're hurting me, you're hurting Kory, and God knows, as much as he hides it behind that stony face, you're hurting Richard!"

Rage and pain filled the changeling's eyes. "That one went under the belt, Vic," he choked out through tightly clamped jaws. "I didn't expect something so low from you."

"Gar…"

"Please leave me alone," he was dismissed icily as Garfield turned away and crouched beside the gravestone again. "I'll join you in a few minutes."

For a couple of seconds, Cyborg stood as still as a metallic statue. "I'm just gonna say one more thing and I won't bother you with it any more. Ever." His soft voice was intense enough to wrench Garfield's attention back and look at him.

"I'm not a religious man, Gar. I don't know if there's a place where we wait for our loved ones, though sometimes I hope there is," he sighed. "But I do know one thing. If there is such a place, if she's up there looking at you, seeing what you're doing to yourself, she'd be hurt, too. She'd want you to be happy. She'd want you to move on."

Cyborg turned abruptly around and strode towards the Tower's entrance. Garfield stared after him, barely blinking, his eyes remaining fixed on the large metallic door long after his friend disappeared inside.

A gentle scent pulled him away. It was sweet and fresh, and it made him think of her, even if it wasn't her scent. He looked up, searching for the source, and he quickly found it. A small, white bud had just unfolded into fragile white petals lined with violet, trembling on the soft breeze. Spring was coming; a time for renewal, for healing, for new beginnings. Garfield's eyes filled with tears.

"No," he whimpered. "No, please! I can't… Don't ask me to do that! I can't! I can't do that to you!"

The sweet essence of the flower filled his lungs, as much as he tried to ignore it. He felt dizzy; his head spun and his heart hammered furiously. He breathed in deeply, unable to resist the craving and hating himself for it. But the wind tangled his hair and touched his face, and the rhythmic drone of the surf eased his cramped muscles.

"You… really think so?" he muttered in a barely audible voice. There was no answer, but he slowly nodded his head, as if understanding. His fingers ran over the deeply etched letters. "Will you still… wait for me?"

The cold, stony surface felt warm under his touch. He felt tears itch and burn in the corners of his eyes yet again, but he kept them back. "I will always love you, Rae!" he whispered, closed his eyes and bent his head.

-=oOo=-

He had no idea how long he crouched there, before he was called back by yet another new scent, a heady amalgam of leather and steel and roses. He heard the almost inaudible creak of her armor and the silent scuff of her boots and the quiet cracking of the dry grass under her feet. She moved with the grace and stealth of a panther.

He got up and winced at the discomfort in his joints. He'd been crouching for too long. Still turned away from her, he allowed a smile to spread on his face and spoke.

"Did Nightwing send you to fetch me?"

"No," she stated flatly as she came to stand beside and a little behind him. "He never speaks to me. He hates me."

He frowned. "That's not true. He could never hate anyone just because of… of their parentage."

She shrugged. "I suppose so. He certainly doesn't hate Damian. But still…"

He shook his head. How little you still know, Rose. "You're being too sensitive and too defensive," he chided her gently. "You should try to be yourself for a change, not Deathstroke's daughter."

Her eyebrow went up. "I am Deathstroke's daughter."

He chuckled. "Don't try that with me. You're not stupid. You know very well what I mean."

She frowned and looked at the gravestone. "Was she…" she began, trying to change the subject, then bit her lip.

He shifted. "She was," he replied dryly.

She stood there, silent and unmoving. "Does it hurt still?"

He looked at the sky, then down at the stone. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes "You tell me."

"It's been more than two years since Eddie…" she began, then fell silent, swallowed and found her voice again. "Yeah. Yeah, it still does."

For a minute there was no movement except for the wind playing with their clothes and no sound except for the distant breaking of the surf. He finally turned to her, a large grin forming on his face, his fang poking through playfully. "Listen, how 'bout you join me for a coffee once our guests leave?"

Her lips curled in a sneer. His grin never faltered; he knew her well enough. The sneer soon turned into a smirk. "Maybe that's not such a bad idea."

"It's a date, then!" he chuckled and took her hand. She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. Her smirk widened. "Let's not keep Nightwing waiting. He can be such a dick sometimes."

He laughed loudly. He was feeling good, much better than… He hadn't felt like this in a long time. "You have no idea!" he guffawed and walked with her back to the Tower.