"Robin--"

"I don't want to hear it." Robin slid into the passenger's seat of the T-Car and pulled the door shut. The unnecessary amount of force he used gave his curt statement tone of finality, and Cyborg's loud revving of the T-Car's engine expressed his frustration. But he was undeterred.

"It doesn't matter if you don't wanna hear it, I think you NEED to hear it," he pressed as he navigated through the rows of warehouses (Raven muttered something about unoriginality under her breath). "We know next to nothing about this new kid, and all we DO know is that the terrible trio's pissing their pants over him for some reason. And you want to meet him one-on-one?"

"In a coffee shop!" Robin said loudly. "We're going to be sipping lattes in comfy armchairs, not trading blows in a boxing ring!"

"Also a viable method of establishing dialogue," Starfire added. The silent, quizzical stares from Raven and Robin (Cyborg was concentrating very hard on the road; Beast Boy was conspicuously quiet) prompted her to add, much softer, "On my planet, at any rate..."

Another few moments of confused silence passed, before Robin broke the stalemate. "Look, he did us a favor tonight. And he doesn't seem all that bad."

"He shot a guy," Cyborg said flatly, slowing to a stop at a red light.

"In the hand," Robin shot back. "Non-lethal."

"He still shot a guy!" Cyborg reiterated. "How can the goddamn Batman's apprentice not see the problem with shooting a guy, even if it wasn't to--damn, son!" He swerved suddenly as another car--a sporty red Cadillac--sped by, narrowly avoiding a collision. "He'd best thank his lucky stars that traffic problems are out of our jurisdiction, or else I swear..."

"We've all done some morally questionable things in the past," Robin replied quietly. The tone in the car immediately softened as the team realized just what he was referring to. "I don't think I need to remind you of my own," he said with a hollow laugh. "Even Batman has had his share. But the one line he never crossed--that none of us has ever crossed, will ever crossed--was the taking of another life."

The T-Car slowed to a stop again. Cyborg glanced over his shoulder as the car inched backward into a curbside parking space. "I'll bet that Gizmo kid's never killed someone before; doesn't mean he's not a little jackass..." he grumbled.

Robin glanced out the window, frowning at the still-thick layer of fog. He was surprised (as well as impressed) that Cyborg was able to drive so competently in such poor conditions. Still, he wasn't quite certain that his mechanical comrade had found his way home--last he'd checked, Titans' Tower didn't have curbside parking. "Why are we stopping?" he asked.

"9th Avenue, McMurtry's Coffee House," Cyborg said in a falsetto, mimicking a tour bus driver. "Unless you actually WANT to waste gas with two trips. That stuff ain't cheap."

And he's eco-friendly, Robin thought. Throw in an Easy-Bake Oven and every household in America would want one. He unfastened his seatbelt, pushed open his door (the car's internal lights failed to snap on; Cyborg began to mutter to himself), and stepped out of the car.

A thought occurred to him suddenly, and he looked back in. "Raven. You mind stepping out with me?"

He couldn't see Raven's reaction, but caught Starfire's surprised, slightly jealous expression thrown his way, and Robin made a note to explain himself to her later.

"I'd love to, Robin," Raven said flatly. "I'm a little pinned down at the moment, however."

Robin raised an eyebrow, confused, and looked a little closer. The fog obscured the pale orange street-light, but by what glow it gave off he could just make out the center seat's occupant--Beast Boy--slumped over to his right, with a billowing blue stretch of material draped over his--

He stifled a laugh. Beast Boy had fallen asleep on Raven's shoulder. And he was using her cloak as a blanket. He exchanged the same look with Starfire, who smiled sweetly, and with Cyborg, who looked to be repressing the uproarious laughter to end all uproarious laughter.

"If you're finished with the love-in," Raven drawled, "I'd like to get out of the car now." She snatched her cloak away from Beast Boy and quickly vacated her seat, opening and slamming the door behind her. Curiously, Beast Boy didn't heed any of this and simply fell over onto Raven's now-empty seat, yawning and cuddling into the warmth her body had left behind. She shot Robin a withering glare--a glare that very clearly, if non-verbally, said "Not one word"--and leaned impatiently against the nearby street-light.

"Call me when you're ready," Cyborg said, still smirking. "I'll be up." Robin nodded and stepped away from the car. The window rolled back up with a quiet buzz, and the T-car sped away.

Robin swore he could hear loud, boisterous laughter echoing from the car as the fog swallowed it up.

"--So obviously, the glare wasn't enough for you?" Raven asked icily as she stepped into the coffee shop. Robin, who held the door open with an outstretched arm, disguised another laugh as a cough, and she scowled at him. The boy wonder was seriously pushing his luck.

The shop itself was a smallish little nook with a retro-'50s tint to it--booths lined the long, rectangular windows, the padding on the seats having clearly seen better days. The center of the shop was furnished with a pair of wicker armchairs and another pair of worn, but functional, love seats. A wooden coffee table sat in the center, the four chairs arranged around it at the corners. Just behind this arrangement was the counter and cash register, behind which a strapping, balding man in his late-'40s stood, staring expectantly at the two heroes.

"I think what's more impressive," Robin said, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him, "is that he managed to stay asleep through Cyborg's driving. That's something."

"Not really," Raven replied as she navigated to the counter. Given his troubled sleep pattern as of late, Raven wouldn't have been surprised if Beast Boy managed to sleep through an earthquake. Or a tsunami. The end of the world wouldn't be such a stretch. To the cashier, she said "Do you have tea?"

"Earl Gray," he answered in a rich, deep, English-accented voice. "It's about all we have, sorry if you were hoping for variety."

"It's fine," she sighed, producing a handful of singles. "Smallest size you have."

The cashier accepted the money and handed her the change, then turned and called "Tea, earl gray, hot!" over his shoulder. He nodded at Raven and offered a "thank you, miss," but she'd already taken a seat in one of the wicker armchairs.

Robin ordered and paid for his coffee, then joined Raven at the table. "I figured you'd dragged me out here because of what I said earlier," she began, "but as long as we're on the subject...I'm worried about Beast Boy."

"He hasn't been sleeping," Robin said with a knowing smile.

There was an almost palpable screech as Raven's train of thought ground to a halt, and she stared, perplexed, at Robin. "Cyborg gets the security feed from the tower beamed into his head while he's recharging," he explained. "He showed me the footage from the last couple of nights. I was gonna talk to him about it, but you seem to have beaten me to the punch."

Raven nodded. "It might be better if you talked to him anyway," she said. The man from the counter interrupted their conversation briefly to deliver Raven her tea. She muttered her thanks and sipped tentatively. "I'm not so good in situations like that. People skills don't come easily to me."

"No," Robin said, smiling at a private joke. "I think you can handle it just fine." Raven's expression must have been particularly hilarious this time, because Robin chuckled to himself before he explained. "I guess you haven't noticed just how much he looks up to you, respects you. I don't think there's anyone more qualified to talk him through this thing than you." The cashier returned briefly to deliver his coffee; Robin thanked him and pressed it to his lips, lifting the cap and blowing lightly. "Might just bring you two crazy kids together," he added, taking a sip.

"I--" Blind sighted completely, Raven could only raise her hood and hope that the shadow concealed her blush. "Was there something you wanted?!"

Robin set the cup down, still smiling. He noticed, Raven thought darkly. She fought very hard against the urge to say the most cutting remark she could conjure...which, given her current state of befuddlement, was "Your face."

He spared her, thankfully. Robin's smile faded, and he sighed. "Yeah. I guess we should get down to it, shouldn't we? Still, you gotta admit--that was a fun two minutes, wasn't it?" He broke into another grin, which Raven dutifully ignored.

"Jinx communicated with me, telepathically," Raven said, all-business. All traces of mirth and playfulness were wiped off of Robin's face immediately, as he focused intently on what Raven was saying.

"I thought you couldn't read minds?" Robin asked.

"Only if they keep their minds closed to me," Raven corrected. "One has to knowingly and willfully open their minds to me in order for me to communicate telepathically with them." She sipped at her tea again, grimacing at the too-bitter flavor. She missed her herbal tea.

"How Jinx knew of that particular quirk, I can't say for sure," Raven continued. "But she opened her mind long enough to deliver a very short message. For you."

Robin set his coffee down and leaned forward, somewhat enraptured. "And that message was?"

"'We need to talk. Your life depends on it.'"

A moment of stunned silence passed, before Raven saw the front door open and heard the soft chime of the bell hung from its top. Stepping out of the soup-like fog was boy with longish, unkempt dark hair, draped in a too-big leather jacket stripped from the body of Johnny Rancid.

Raven sipped her tea and nonchalantly jerked her head in his direction. "I know," Robin said quietly.

"I can fly home," Raven said. "You'll want to be alone." Still gripping her coffee, she stood up from her chair and made her way to the door, passing Carson as she went.

By the time she reached the exit, she had to grip the door tightly to still her trembling hands. The sheer malevolent force emanating from that small, pubescent form would haunt her for some time to come.

"I hope you'll excuse me for postponing this conversation," Carson said affably as he took Raven's now-vacant seat. "But this seemed like a better venue for our talk. Warmer too." He pulled off the leather jacket and set it on his lap, leaving him in a charcoal-gray long-sleeved T-shirt and frayed, worn-out Levi's.

"No problem," Robin replied. "Seeing as we were never properly introduced--"

"Carson Elam," the boy sitting across from him interrupted with a tight smile. "And you're Robin. Leader of the Teen Titans. Prodigal bat-child. You need no introduction."

Robin seethed inwardly, annoyed at being cut off. "I'm from Gotham," Carson explained, "and you're somewhat famous there, believe it or not. Prodigal bat-child and all."

"I actually go by 'Robin' now," Robin replied sharply, stung by the upstart punk's condescension. "Are we going to talk, or aren't we?"

"In a moment," Carson replied coolly. Robin frowned as he worked, very hard, to scrutinize him. He radiated a sort of steely calm, a complete mastery of his own expression and body language that confounded even Robin. His features, young and boyish, seemed locked in that same quiet smile.

"I expect you have some questions," said Carson. "And I'd be more than happy to answer them."

"Very astute of you," replied Robin. "I'll start off slow: How is it that you got entrance into a sealed-up warehouse long enough to set up a nest, when the only way the H.I.V.E. could get in was by tearing the door off its hinges?"

Carson smiled to himself, apparently amused by a private memory. "Ah, that. There's more than one way to do anything; I'll leave it at that. The set-up was already there when I moved in. Squatters."

"You'd call yourself something else?" Robin asked pointedly, taking another sip. Carson's smile shrank; Robin counted it as a small victory. He wasn't completely unflappable.

"Touché. But as for the door, Gizmo was hard at work on it for twenty minutes before he cracked that nut. It HAD opened, Robin, but Mammoth got impatient. Or such is my understanding." That smile, that private smile, returned. "I wouldn't be surprised. He was never a terribly prudent person."

The cashier suddenly approached and handed Carson a cup of coffee; he offered a few dollar bills in return. "Keep the change, Pat." At Robin's curious expression, he clarified. "I'm something of a regular here. Pat knows what I like." He lifted the lid and blew gingerly on the beverage inside. "What were we talking about?"

"You," replied Robin, leaning forward in his seat. "You sound awfully familiar with the H.I.V.E."

Carson sipped, winced as he burnt his tongue, and removed the lid from his coffee, setting it onto the table between himself and Robin. Steam curled in a thin wisp between them, in mimicry of the fog that permeated the outside world. "I was enrolled once," he said. "For a couple of months. A week or two ago, I parted ways with their syndicate."

"So they were familiar with you in turn," Robin supplied. "They seemed completely petrified of you."

At this, Carson's heretofore casual, almost charming smile took on a terribly menacing quality. His eyes quite literally flashed; a spark of golden light seemed to play across his deep green irises. The entire package unnerved Robin, but he was able to steel himself.

"I...left an impression on them." Carson reached for his coffee again and sipped, smiling. "That's the good stuff, right there. But anyway. There's been some internal conflict within the H.I.V.E. Politics, squabbling--simply put, the entire hierarchy is in chaos. There was some upheaval. A coup, if you will. Lines were drawn between the then-headmaster, and a challenger who goes by 'Brother Blood.' I was with the latter. Jinx and her boys were with the former. You can imagine how well that went over."

An internal struggle in the H.I.V.E.? Robin thought. Explains why they've been so quiet lately. "So who won?" Robin asked.

Carson shook his head. "I can't say. Left before there was any real resolution. As for Jinx and hers, they should be in a maximum-security juvenile detention facility by now." He mimicked Robin, leaning forward and crossing his arms over his thighs. "Enough about that. You want to ask what it is that I want. What kind of proposition I have for you."

He doesn't play around. "Right again." Robin settled back against his chair, back fully upright. "You should know that the gun gives something of a bad first impression."

"Stereotyping, are you Robin? A bit low for an equal-opportunity good guy like yourself." Carson leaned back in his own seat and crossed his legs. He resembled a chess master watching the game unfold before him. "I try to avoid lethality as a rule. By and large, I use non-lethal ammunition. Rubber bullets, that sort of thing."

"Rubber bullets don't blow holes in people," Robin pointed out, grimly noting the irony in his adoption of Cyborg's position.

Carson was unperturbed by Robin's disdain. "Live ammunition and lethality don't always go hand-in-hand." He winked, and Robin groaned quietly at the terrible pun. "As for my background, it's irrelevant at the moment. Simply know that I'm a hired gun, a paid specialist--"

"A hitman," Robin supplied.

"--I prefer 'mercenary.' It sounds cooler." Carson inverted the position in which his legs were crossed. "Semantics, Robin, are irrelevant. I'm here on a job; the H.I.V.E. wasn't good for me and now I have to get back home. Nabbing a certain bad guy in this town should be my meal ticket out of here."

"'A certain bad guy?'" Robin echoed, intrigued despite himself.

Carson nodded, reached for his cup again, and took a long drink. "He goes by 'Slade.' Sound familiar?"

Robin's lungs voided themselves at the mention of Slade's name, and he sucked in a deep breath to compensate, balling his hands into tight fists. "You've been hired...to kill Slade?" he asked, floored.

"Heavens, no," Carson laughed. He drained the cup completely, crushed it in his hand and set it on his right armrest. "I've not been hired. And I'm not going to kill him. He's wanted by the United States military. The MPs have had an outstanding warrant for his arrest for more than a decade now."

Robin's stomach churned with suspicion. He hadn't heard any of this...

"I can get him," Carson continued, "and claim the reward, get back where I belong. But my resources are limited, and my lodgings...well, you've seen where I live. What I propose--"

"I'm not letting you on the team," Robin said flatly.

Though he smiled, Carson's annoyance showed plainly in his eyes. "Do stop interrupting," he said calmly. "I don't want a spot on the team, Robin. Rather, I want a place to stay, and access to your resources. I'll conduct my own investigation and operation, completely independent of you and yours. I'll stay out of your way, keep to myself, and be a model house-guest."

Head cocked to one side, Robin tried to process this request. Carson admittedly wasn't asking for much. Titans' Tower's primary processor was the most powerful on the west coast. Measures could be taken to protect sensitive files and information--Cyborg would be the one to talk to about that. And he was offering to take Slade down, free of charge. Much as it bothered Robin, there were no leads on that front--indeed; Slade had stayed underground since the incident involving Terra some weeks before. A new pair of eyes, a fresh mind, might catch something he and the others had missed.

Still...Carson was off. Disturbingly casual and unusually eloquent for his age, not to mention inscrutable. The potential security risk was staggering. But five Titans, one of him--the odds were stacked against him in the event of a showdown. And they could keep him on a short leash.

"We need to talk. Your life depends on it." Jinx knew something, and he had to figure out what. But until then…perhaps it would be best if the Titans kept an eye on him themselves.

"If I let you in," Robin said, at length. "If I agree to your terms, then you have to follow a few conditions."

"Name them," Carson replied pleasantly, uncrossing his legs and folding his hands on his lap. Like a good little boy.

"You're in our home," Robin said. "You follow our rules. You obey the restrictions we put on you. Your access to our facilities is limited. You treat the others with respect."

"Agreed," Carson said without skipping a beat. "Honestly, I thought those things were givens."

"Yeah, well..." Robin rose from his seat, stretching. "Can't be too careful." He extended his hand to Carson, who rose, met his gaze, and gripped Robin's outstretched hand with his own.

Carson smiled, once again, a wide and friendly smile. And as he did, Robin swore he saw another flash of light play across his eyes...

I'm rather pleased with how this one turned out, though the ending...troubles me a bit. Honestly, this was the chapter I was most worried about, since I was writing it basically from scratch, without any reference at all. Overall, I think it's fine.

Like I said, this chapter has no analogue in the original story. It was necessary to give a better introduction to Carson's character, and to establish his dynamic with Robin early on--as opposed to the original story, where he just sort of...stumbled onto the Titans and they let him in without question. Here, Robin is anxious about letting Carson into the Tower, but wants to keep an eye on him, which explains his motivation a little better.

I also wanted to establish his friendship with Raven, since the other Titans were rather periphery in the original stories and seldom interacted with one another on a personal level. Also, the question of Raven's feelings for Beast Boy is raised, giving me room to explore a hypothetical crush, whereas in the original it was simply assumed that it was there and left at that.

I'm not sure how I'll use Starfire, since I always found her difficult to write. And the character doesn't interest me that much. But I'll do my best to keep her in the mix. I don't want her to fall off the face of the earth, so to speak.

As always, reviews are welcome, appreciated and demanded with unnecessary vigor.

We're three chapters in and it's already half as long as the original. What does that say about me...?