AN: First attempt at fic - not an excuse for bad writing, but more for if it doesn't seem to flow with the universe. Drabble written for a friend. More of an exploration of a relationship that doesn't get enough credit than a statement about romance, or pairing, or whatever. Ending a bit rushed. Don't read if you don't like the underlying themes. Don't flame - it's not polite. Constructive criticism greatly appreciated.
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Bridges
Starfire's skin does not just look like burnished copper. Her flesh has also the smooth likeness of the metal, malleable, yet harder than its human equivalent. Tamaranian physiology demands resilience, and Starfire has always found comfort in this strength when facing Earth's winter storms or the harshness of space. She has always been grateful for her physical gifts and what they mean for her well-being. She has never once worried that, away from her home world, they could be considered as something other.
It is only later, when she starts to touch the other Titans, that she becomes particularly aware of how these gifts set her apart. Beastboy and Raven, though so different from other humans (supernatural, she thinks, was the word), still possess the softness of their mostly human skin. And Robin, she knows, has much the same softness hidden under his uniform. Even Cyborg, whose visible flesh takes up only so much of his body, has the silken feel that she lacks, the give and quick response of nerve and muscle below. Compared to the rest of the Titans', Starfire's skin is like a carapace, hard and nearly impenetrable. She knows that it is only a small difference among the many between herself and her team, and yet when she glides her hand across Robin's face for the first time, it feels the most glaring.
Starfire questions this contrast in her mind, wondering if her skin marks some line between human and alien that cannot be crossed. Robin does not understand her unease, yet tries to comfort her by saying that her skin is not a barrier between them - that in consideration of the world and its ways, skin should be the least of all things to confound her. Yet Starfire shies away, unsatisfied with words that sound so much like platitudes - cyclical reassurances that seem only to highlight Robin's distance from any real knowledge of the matter. Raven and Beastboy are no more helpful; the three of them unified in the silky perfection of their skins. She grows wary of their forms, taking care not to brush against them and bring attention to her inhuman-ness.
It is Cyborg who finally manages to explain to her that there is nothing wrong with the physical disparity between humans and herself. Unlike the other Titans, he does not hedge around her fears - the feeling that others are taking note of her differences and finding her inferior; the suspicion that she is not meant to exist on this Earth - that she is an aberration. Instead, he pulls her aside and tells her plainly that her fears are grounded in truth - though only in part.
"You were meant to exist on Tamaran," he says, "to fly through space, to fight other elements - your body reflects that. On Earth, you are different - unnatural even, but that's only because you're alien to the environment. Different, but not less." He smiles at her. "Maybe more, actually.
"Humans are no more perfect than aliens - though some of them like to think so. The truth is no individual human, or Tamaranian, or anything, is better than another based simply on his or her physical form. The problem is that most of them don't like to admit it. What Val-Yor said to you back then, you remember? We humans have the same types of words for people we think we're better than. But with us, it's not just words for aliens, or other species. It's for other humans - ones that look, or think differently."
He goes on to explain parts of human history that Robin had only alluded to in Starfire's lessons about Earth. Darker things that she had known, and yet not expected - racism, slavery, subjugation, and genocide. Cyborg tells her tentatively about his own experiences as well; violence and slurs aimed at a child who hadn't understood, and then at a young adult who did, but had learned the opposites of fear and anger. He tells her of the difference between the words when he was just Victor, and how they had changed when he became Cyborg. And when Starfire's eyes fill with tears he presses her hand into the steel breastplate over his heart; he reminds her that it is the person inside that matters far more than the outer shell. She promises that she will never forget it again, and he makes her repeat it until they are both laughing with relief.
Afterwards, she dreams of Cyborg's metallic limbs and the fusion of elements that he represents. She thinks about the line where his flesh blends into metal - the feel of silk running into steel, the contrast between the darkness of his original skin and the pale expanse of the new. Starfire realizes that in more ways than one, his form is like a bridge between one world and another. She wonders if he has any real knowledge of this fact, and whether he could teach her to be the same. Starfire begins to rethink her decision to make Robin her guide on Earth. She wonders if it may be best to have someone else show her the gamut of human experience, to teach her about humanity. For though Robin has always been the one to instruct her in Earthling ways, and to show her how to adapt to a new world, it is Cyborg who has never once made her feel alien.
--end--