Stacked across the table in a number of desperately organized piles were a number of signed papers concerning the delegation of particular tasks related to Juvenile Services; in the occasional breeze, the piles' edges would flutter not unlike a trimmed shrub might before finally settling down. Of course, while these pale hedge-plants dominated the vast majority of the oaken desk, rogue horoscopes from various pulp magazines draped the ends of the counter like a canopy of inked leaves.

Full moon tonight. Magazines say increased crime. Experiences say that's a load of hogwash. Aries. Magazines also say I think everything is going well. Astrology. Hah. Yet another reason to doubt the stars. Night approaches. Go home. Sleep. Prepare for yet another day. At least I now have a nuclear option to deal with Jerry. Thanks 'Madam Agrippa'. Get up. Clock out. Leave. Get to car. Wait.

"Blood Samples," the Inspector groaned to himself, as he killed the ignition and massaged his forehead.

Stupid mistake. At least it's not life-threatening. Make sure lab got them. No telling what Jerry might do if everything isn't perfectly done. Walking on enough eggshells as is. Huh. That's a lot of people. Interrogation? Or just 'cooking' a Perp? Wait a second. Damn straight you've got work to do, Thompson. Stop looking at me with goldfish eyes. Don't you all have better things to do? What the hell is Greg doing here? Isn't he Arson? Focus.

"It's a police station, not a movie theater," Inspector Grant grunted at the few remaining plain-suits and beat-cops remaining, before glancing through the one way mirror, freezing momentarily as he recognized the green individual on the opposite side, and sardonically adding , "Or a zoo. Greg, what the hell do you think you're doing, grilling the adolescent? As for the rest of you, you've got jobs, don't you?"

Short visit. Long talk. Hadn't wanted to stay long. Obviously. Charges couldn't stick. Wouldn't stick. Grand jury didn't think prosecution was viable, either. Not one from here at least. Thankfully. Simple explanation. Don't do the Beast thing unless you want trouble. Seemed uneasy at idea. Did he ignore what I said? Unlikely. Loss of control? Blood samples. Shit. Casualties?

"I'm just following up on what I was told to," Greg replied, the weariness evident in his voice and eyes. "Normally O'Riley would be handling this nonsense, but his wife's pregnant, and, well, you know. A man's gotta have his priorities, and he's made his clear for weeks." Greg paused for a moment to glance at the Titan within the room, grunt, and add, "Besides, I've only been grilling him for a few hours; pretty sure Jerry's just got a wild hair up his ass."

Greg's too calm for this to be about the Werebeast. What else could cause this attention? Green looks bored out of his mind. Can't blame him. Seemed hyperactive when we talked. Everyone is too bored for this to make sense. Probably zero casualties. Why, then?

"A few hours? For what?" the Inspector ask after a moment. Pulsing irregularly above one of his eyes, a vein was becoming more and more prominent against his rapidly reddening face; a careful observer might've noticed how the Inspector's breathing had changed, had become deeper and more controlled. More repressed. More irate.

Too short to have been anything serious. Too long to not be a message. Or a hint. Reeks of politics. This isn't right. The nerve. How dare they? Calm down. Calm. No point in flipping your lid here. Complications are the last thing needed right now. Simmer down. Breathe.

"Just simple vandalism. Evidently burst through a wall as a gorilla to nab a bad guy; who am I to judge, though, right? Personally, I'd have just let it go, but Jerry insisted. So, well, six hours later, and here we are," Greg replied, oblivious to the Inspector's rising temper.

Six hours? Locked up in a room because someone wants to make a statement? Calm down. I might strangle Jerry. Pretty sure there's a law relating to damages in pursuits of super criminals. What possible reason could there be for this? Wait. Put shape-shifter with primal issues in cage. One noted for being hyperactive. One who just glanced at his communicator? The left him his super communicator? Focus. Then left him alone to simmer. What if he got a call? Going through the wall? Oh. Oh no. Instigation? Was this intentional? Calm down. Calm—

"You're working for a fucking savage, you realize that?" the Investigator said with cordiality discordant with his expression and body language. "Tell our majestic Constable that this charade has gone on long enough," he added, as he leaned against the door.

-go ahead and cut loose. Works out about the same.

"What do you want me to tell him if he bothers coming around?" Greg replied, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. "I mean, sure, it's pretty damned unlikely since it's him, but still. . ."

Calm down. Greg isn't to blame for this. Not entirely. Calm down. Focus. Hint at your hand, don't give it away freely. Need to be quoted. Oh. Recorder might work. Think carefully. Red button? Correct. Calm down. Good. Focus. Now finish with this garbage and go home.

"-and while I don't foresee many more potential issues, rest assured that if I even think there's a bit of trickery going on it will be the biggest mystic, sorry, 'mistake', of one's employed life if, uh, this rabbit hole is explored any further," the Inspector finally muttered into the recorder, before, almost reluctantly, stopping the recording and handing it to Greg. "Just give that to him if he has any questions; I'm pretty sure he'll understand."

Calling him 'Mr. Agrippa' in the beginning probably made it too obvious. Well. Nothing for it. Still felt good. Why's Greg smirking like that? Oh hells. How long has the door been open? The green kid probably heard everything. Wait. Vacant stare with bored expression. Perhaps he didn't listen? Could anyone be that oblivious? Wait. Yes. Well then.

"Come on, get outta there. It's getting dark, let's get you home already," Inspector Grant finally muttered. "Your friends are probably worried."

That's one hell of a vacuous stare. Stares right into your unsuspecting soul. Or maybe that's just kids in general. Too young to really lie. Well. Too young to lie and believe it. Why's he still following me? Can't he get home himself? Oh. Wait. I suppose I said I'd take him. Why does he look like his puppy just died? It's depressing to look at. And green. Mostly depressing though. Unlock the door. Smile or something. Key in the ignition. Turn it. Reverse. Leave. Seriously? I'm not driving back in silence. Say something. Do something. Jeez. Fine.

"So. . ." the Inspector finally said awkwardly, turning the already mute radio off, "You can turn into animals, huh?"

Tension worse than a teacher having The Talk with a random student. Don't look at me like that. Did I sprout a second head or something? Jeez.

"How badly did I mess up?"

Huh?

"I mean, uh . . . do the police no longer trust me? Is this going to happen again? I, I can't hold back my friends, you know? I mean, am even going to be able to stay a Titan if I keep ending up in the police station? I can't be a Titan anymore, can I? I mean, what if they got in trouble and needed me? I'd have to go through the wall, probably. Then I'd be a criminal. Man, what would the Doom Patrol say?" Beast Boy rambled, the words melting together in a maelstrom of worry, even as the Inspector's only reply was a bemused and somewhat worried silence.

Holy hell. It's a genuine angst spiral. With absolute obliviousness to everything I just said. Huh. I always figured kids were supposed to have these sorts of things because they started growing hair in funny places. Or because they started liking girls. Not because of genuine worries. Heroes, huh? Focus. Jeez. Well then. Only one thing for it.

"Well, uh," the Inspector finally said, cutting off the green Teen mid-ramble, "do you regret the, uh, whole incident?"

That's good. Let him off with a warning. Just like last time. Just make up something about everyone making mistakes when he says yes. That'll wo-

"Not really."

What.

"I mean," Beast Boy said, as he felt the Inspector's gaze from the rear-view mirror, "uh, if I hadn't, one of my friends might've, uh, you know . . ." He trailed off, clearly not wishing to go down that morbid trail of thought.

Small pause at the word 'friend'. Really a friend? Or Worry? Hmm. Go figure. This Beast thing is strange. Manifestation of primal state? Actualization of instinctual mind? Focus. Well then. Different tactic. Wait. What's another tactic?

"Huh," the Inspector grunted as they rounded a curb, stalling for time before he finally thought to add, "It's all going to be fine. Just, uh, come in for a weekly blood test for us to make sure you're alright, you know, not going feral or something. And, uh, if anybody tries to put you in a cell or a room again, just tell him that Inspector Grant is keeping an eye on this case . . . situation . . . thing."

Not smooth at all. Still. Got message across. Probably. It's too late for this nonsense. Coffee? Coffee.

"Sweet! But, uh, who's Inspector Grant?"

There's no way. Nobody can be that oblivious. Seriously? I took you in only a few days ago! You're kidding. Right? Kids. It's too late for this shit. Why would you even get in the car of someone you don't even . . . Coffee. Now. Please. Perhaps a bit too strong on the brakes. To hell with it. I need something to wake me up. Focus. God damn it.


A/N: Just wanted to thank everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed. Means a lot to me, you know? So . . . yeah. Thanks a bunch!