A/N

FRIENDS! FRIENDS, ARE YOU STILL THERE?

'Tis I! Stardust! Alive and well!

I hope ya'll are still around and that you're all are still interested in what I've got to offer on this journey. I wanna thank ya'll so much for your patience. I'm back in the States and it's been rough trying to catch up — you know how it is, but finally! Finally! I am over this lump and I've got the next chapter here for you, and now we are back to monthly updates!

I'm not letting this go. I have so many fun scenes I want to share with you all!

I hope ya'll enjoy, review, and have a lovely day.

O4. Secret Plans

"The very essence of romance is uncertainty."

Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest and Other Plays

He wished she could see his face, because right at that moment, he was scrunching his nose and curling his lips.

"I think you need a bath."

"Excuse me?"

Red wasn't too sure how bad the smell was, as his mask provided a decent enough barrier, but the very fact that he was able to sniff it out had to be a testament to the sweat and dirt and stink that clung to her body. An image of her in the contents of two trashcans that first night came back to him, and he remembered that, after she had attacked him, he hadn't tried to clean up the rest of her infections or even pat her down with a wipe.

He dropped from standing to balancing on his toes in a squatting position, eye level to the ghost version of the Titan. She was on the ground beside the bed, as she usually was, her legs crossed and her hands held out in her signature meditating posture that he had seen so much of in those past several days.

"Sorry to say it, babe," he snickered, "but your ass fucking reeks."

Her upper lip curved into a snarl. "Why do I not believe you?"

"Can you not smell yourself?"

"No," she said irritably.

Ah, right, the Curse of Casper.

"Well, take my word for it, sweet cheeks," Red said. "If I take off this mask, swear to god, my eyes are gonna implode from the toxic aroma."

Raven was silent, but her glare had faltered at his words. He wondered if he would have been able to see a color change on her face if she was in her real body.

"When was the last time you showered?" he asked.

"The day of the fight," she answered, and then, as if his question had been an implication of something deeper, she added, "I shower every day."

He chuckled. In a coma or not, it had to be embarrassing to find out that your body smelled like fresh onions that had been shitted by a group of giraffes (giraffes because they had the smelliest section in the zoo).

"Good for you, toots, but your streak's been broken for about ten days."

"Stop with the pet names, X."

"Stop changing the subject, sunshine. You need a bath."

"I will end you," she seethed, "if you even so much as touch one piece of thread on my body."

Red leaned against his palm, propped up against his thigh. They stared at each other, both unmoving — well, in her case, she was glowering at him with all the effort of hell's fires behind her gaze. Being that she couldn't see his face, he accepted for lazily staring back, eyes roaming her tense face and set jaw before flickering to the bare legs on the bed, the current evil of his life.

He tsked. "I'm gonna have to change your nickname to piece of shit soon, 'cause that's what you fucking smell like."

"I don't give a fuck."

"This is my fucking apartment."

"I don't give a flying fuck."

He felt his eye twitch, and without the usual ease of filtering his mouth, his thought slipped out — "This goddamn smelly-ass bitch…"

Her leg immediately shot at him with a deadly accuracy and speed that he was more than familiar with; it brought a rush of memory and adrenaline. He recalled the times blocking her swipes at his head, the times he had to roll to the side to avoid her giant slabs of cement, the aim of her quick wit. But despite the rush of excitement, Red did not budge from his position. It would've been too embarrassing, considering the situation, and though the hair on the back of his neck raised in alarm against the stillness of his body, he was unmoved.

He tsked again. She had aimed for his crotch.

"There has to be some kind of compromise," he said, reigning in the annoyance. "What if I drop you in a pool?"

"I'll die."

"You can have a life vest."

"No."

Red groaned, burying his face in one hand. "Babe, you're killing me. Literally. A piece of me dies with every poisoned breath."

"Tough," she snorted.

In the back of his throat, he combined a growl with another groan; distorted by the machine, it sounded like a yowl of static, but the strangeness of the noise was the least of his worries. He needed to find some sort of solution before he resorted to drastic measures, which he was sure would result in her stuffing his head with his body and then piercing it on a pike once her powers returned.

Well — maybe it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Besides, what if the smell forced management to come up to his apartment to investigate? Her foul scent was definitely only the tip of the iceberg, and he wasn't too keen on watching the ship sink.

He wondered if he could rub her down with hand sanitizer — and then he winced, thinking that, "rub her down," probably wasn't the best way to phrase it.

…Or was it?

No, no, mind out of gutter.

He sighed.

"Well?" she said abruptly.

Red tried not to groan aloud. "What?"

"Are you just going to sit there?"

"Jesus Christ," he grumbled. He pushed himself to his feet and glared at a wall he so desperately wanted to punch and left the room to collapse onto the couch. There were folded clothes on the floor beneath the coffee table, reminding him of the chores he had to do, but he instead pulled the laptop from the table and set it on his stomach, turning it on with the hopes of doing a little research about his next heist.

It was a lot harder to concentrate than he had thought as his mind, still buzzing about the encounter with Casper, refused to focus on the task at hand.

Maybe I can set off the sprinklers and just happen to have a bar of soap in hand… Ah, wait, that was the last apartment; this one was a little cheaper: no sprinklers.

He growled under his breath.

Drastic measures, Red thought to himself. She wasn't going to like this. She would likely shoot him out the window the moment her powers returned, but that was a problem for another day; he couldn't ignore the current, smelly predicament. (He tried not to think about the fact that he lived on the eight floor.)

Well, whatever the consequences, the ends justified the means, and once he decided on that, his mind had calmed and he returned to investigation.

Red turned on the TV for background noise, resuming the planning process of the heist, even if he actually didn't know if he was going to take up the job offer. There was still a weird nagging feeling, but… But, god, 8.4 billion? Who was this person? What exactly did he do to have this much money? And why? This was just a little trinket… What would he need this for? If there was ever a time he'd break his motto to dig up some info on the client, it would definitely be now, except that he had never involved himself with motives before. Why start now? It honestly sounded like an extra headache. However it sounded and however he felt, money was money.

Red closed the laptop and folded his arms behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. He'd find Golem later that night and give him his answer. That would be about four hours away, and right now, he had another problem: that smelly bitch in his room.

Red cleared his throat. If he was going to be honest, he could, basically, do whatever he wanted to her. Not that he wanted to (he sort of did), but in terms of giving her a bath, he could fill up the tub and then dump her body in there; he didn't even have to take off her clothes — well, he probably should. Could demons catch colds? Did he want to find out?

It was too bad he didn't live in a house; he could've hosed her down by now and it would've been too easy.

He sighed again. The thought struck him that, ever since she had stepped into his life (and soul, weirdly enough), he had been sighing a lot more.

Sitting up, Red swung his feet over the edge of the couch, deciding that he would need to prepare for this suicide mission (a new first aid kit, some interesting trinkets and knickknacks to keep her occupied, offerings for when she tried to drag his soul to hell, maybe a sandwich because he was feeling a bit peckish). He was also thinking that a book about demons would be helpful; he doubted that there was a dummy's guide to half-demons, but with all the people in the world and all the time they had existed, there had to be a book that got half of it right. An expert demonologist would probably be better than a quick google search; he doubted the Titan would give him any information.

Ooh, maybe he'd find information for blackmail. Then she'd have to take a bath.

Red grinned under his mask, feeling the plan fall into place.

"Where are you going?" Raven was half in the hallway and half in the room, her arms folded and eyebrow raised suspiciously. He hadn't expected to see her for at least three hours, considering their rather harshly exchanged words. The boredom must've been really eating at her.

"Out," Red said, stretching his arms behind his back. "Do you wanna come with? Oh, wait."

She narrowed her eyes.

"What, not funny?" he asked, but she didn't reply. "Be back in a flash, toots."

And before she could say anything, he teleported out of the room.

Contrary to popular belief (and common sense), there was, indeed, an underground villain supermarket. It was a well-kept secret, surprisingly enough. Red did not steal from the black supermarket; not because he was scared of the repercussions but because he had suspicions that Wal-Mart definitely owned at least 50% of it.

Red slung the dark green backpack over his shoulder, pleased with the new purchase. He had spent too much time in the market, having been emotionally manipulated by all the new backpacks and gadgets (and sales on cheese). It was nothing short of five miracles that he only walked out with a new backpack and a new surveillance set (minus the knickknacks, some books, that new pen he wanted because it also recorded voice messages…).

He stepped into the elevator and it took him up to the ground level of the warehouse where he teleported away, his new treasures snug on his shoulders.

The sun was setting, evidence to the two hours he killed wandering through the aisles, two backpacks in his hands as he tried to decide which color he wanted more.

Teleporting his way back to his apartment, he thought about the plan; it was a rather simple plan, but with great consequences. Hopefully, his two hours in the supermarket would be worth it.

Oh, the book of demons, right.

That was the only thing he hadn't bought.

There was a little bookstore coming up in a few streets, a small one that was hidden in a corner; it was popular with the occultists, as the old woman only owned weird books from old times and ancient cultures he couldn't pronounce. He knew he could roll in quickly, grab a book or two, and drop a some bills on the counter before leaving. Hey, he wasn't heartless; Red liked supporting local businesses, as long as they weren't assholes.

Red was in and out of the bookstore faster than he had expected. It was closed for whatever reason; there was a sign on the door that he didn't read, but he picked the lock and poked around, thankful that she believed more in curses than security systems. When he had found what he needed, he dropped a twenty on the counter, locked the door, and teleported out onto a rooftop some buildings away.

He held his new book under a nearby light.

"Demonolatry," he read aloud.

The book was a deep navy; nothing was written on the cover, save for the title etched onto the spine. The pages were thick and yellowed, as if they had been passed down from cult leader to cult leader until finding their way into a corner of a dark bookstore. It looked creepy enough; surely it meant that it had answers. That, coupled with the fact that there, surprisingly, wasn't a lot of books about demons in the store (at least books that could be taken seriously).

"Whatever, it's good enough," he muttered.

Red only needed to familiarize himself with the topic, check to see if this book was as ridiculous as he feared. From there, he could figure out where to go, if he should buy another one. Maybe by then she'd be out of his hair and he wouldn't have to worry about it. Maybe she wouldn't threaten to send him to another dimension and he wouldn't have to search for blackmailing material.

Just as he was about to set his backpack down and put away his newfound toy, a metal pole sliced its way through the air behind him, hitting his legs and knocking the ground from beneath him. Red fell with a loud clatter; the book flew from his hands, dropping feet away.

"What the hell?" Red groaned, sitting up. The items in his backpack had jabbed into his back when he had landed awkwardly; he was grateful there was nothing in it made of glass.

A gloved hand picked up the book from the corner of his eye.

"Finished another heist, I see, Red-X."

Sometimes he wondered if he was on life's shit-list.

Red got to his feet, dusting off imaginary dirt off his shoulders.

"Heya, kid," Red said, eyeing the book in the hero's hands. "It's been a while, eh?"

"I must be pretty lucky," Robin said. "Kicking your ass would definitely make my day a lot better."

"Now is that something a respectable hero should be saying?"

"You stealing books now, X?"

Red's fingers twitched; he hoped Robin didn't notice. The Boy Blunder was nonchalantly holding onto the book, but he had yet to really look at it; if Red was lucky, an opportunity would open up where he could snatch it and teleport away. As much as he loved beating Robin at his own game, in his very own suit, this was definitely not the time.

"— X."

"Yes, sweetie pie? Daddy wasn't listening."

Robin frowned. Well, he frowned deeper, if that was possible as he was always scowling. He looked down at the book, turning it in his hands — shit, shit, don't look at it, just leave it alone, kid.

"Didn't know you could read." Robin smirked then, as if he had said something extremely clever, but Red only rolled his eyes in response. "Now, what would a jewel thief want with a — "

Fuck.

Slowly, Robin looked up from the carefully etched words on the spine. "Demonolatry?"

Red couldn't see his eyes behind his eye mask, but he could feel the hardening of his gaze, the gears clicking into place.

Fuck.

"Alright, Chuckles, I paid for that book fair and square — "

"Where is she?" Robin's grip on the the item tightened; he raised the book in the air as to emphasize its existence, quite possibly the only clue they had.

There was a split-second pause where Red thought about how fucked up of a situation he was in and how it was going to end. If he wasn't at the top of Robin's shit list already, after this one stupid book, he was definitely bumped up to number one priority now.

"Where is she!" Robin pulled out his staff; there was a subtle trembling in his movements.

"Kid, it's my day off," Red snorted, putting his hands up in the sign of peace. "I just came out to do a little shopping, get a breath of fresh air, and now I'd like to go home and do a little light reading."

"Light reading?" Robin sneered, not taking the lie. "You read about demons in your free time?"

"Why don't you buy me dinner first before asking all of these personal questions?"

Instead of a verbal answer, Red had received a swing of the staff toward his face; if he had moved his head a second later, it would've been knocked clean off his neck. The backpack suddenly felt heavier on his shoulders and back now that he was in the midst of a battle instead of a leisurely stroll. He was very much regretting those four books he impulsed-bought in the black supermarket.

Robin smirked at the movement and slowness, his staff pointing toward him. "We could do this the easy way, X," he said, "or the hard way."

Red shook his head. "It's like you heroes share the same script or something."

Red glanced at where the hero-boy had dropped the book to make the powerful swing. He needed to get his hands on it, and then he could disappear right off the building and be on his way — but how?

Robin rushed toward him, an impulsive, signature move that Red had been counting on. Red leapt in the air at the last second and used Robin as a trampoline to propel him forward toward the book, his hand outstretched. Just as his fingers were millimeters away, he felt a strong grip on his ankle yank him backward. He was sent him over the edge of the building with a forceful grunt, but his body instinctually righted itself and he was able to grab a hold of the ledge, feet scraping the brick wall.

"Where the hell is she!"

Red grunted, pushing himself up; Robin was definitely more aggressive than he normally was. His body was buzzing with the familiarity of the battle, but also at the subtle, underlying strangeness. Yes, his teammate was gone, but this was definitely more personal than what it was. Was Red overthinking it? He did have any concrete proof to believe this way; Boy Blunder didn't say anything out of the ordinary, but there was a taste, a tension in the air that hinted at an intimacy that others were not aware of.

Red tilted his head. "Were you fucking her?"

He must've hit some kind of sore spot, because Robin's face scrunched up into the most awful snarl he had ever seen; it was an expression definitely fit for a villain, yet it seemed natural on his face.

Robin rushed toward him, bringing his staff up. Red tensed and narrowed his eyes, timing the encounter to bring up his hands. He caught the staff mid-swing, startled by how much power was put behind it. With a firm grip, he pulled at the staff, forcing Robin to stumble forward; Red brought up a fierce kick to his chest. The combination of movements allowed him to steal the staff, and hopefully the upper hand with it.

"So, wait," Red started, "you weren't fucking — you just wanted to."

"Shut the hell up!"

Robin brought his leg down and Red defended with the staff; it was times like these that he wished people could see his smug smirk. He had fought Robin enough to know how the movements of the staff were supposed to look, and despite never having used one seriously in his life, he was holding his own against the Boy Blunder, meeting him blow for blow. With every jab and swing, Red was corralling him away from the book, and it wasn't until Robin was where he wanted him to be that Boy Blunder realized what the goal had been.

Too excited that he was right on top of the book, Red had taken a too long glance and the staff had been snatched back by the owner, but he didn't let it kill the morale. Without taking his eyes off the angry hero, Red picked up the book.

They circled each other slowly, but now that Red had what he needed, there was no reason to stay and drag this on; however, whenever he tried to touch his belt where the teleportation device was located, Robin would bolt toward him with his staff, and Red would be forced to leap back or defend or jab back to put distance between them. They were too close; the stalling time of the device was fast, but the distance between them wasn't long enough.

"Why do you want the book so badly?" Robin asked accusingly.

"I take care of my things," Red said. "And I don't like people touching what's not theirs." He dusted his book off, though despite the nonchalance in his words, he did feel an irritation at seeing the rips on his new book.

"That's funny, seeing as how you steal."

"I told you, kid, I bought this with good money."

Red glanced around, keeping sure that Robin was always on the other side and in sight. Plan B was to run, jump into a darkened alleyway and/or get as much distance as possible between them and then teleport away, but Robin had to know that, so what was his countermove? What was the trick up his sleeve?

"I didn't think you dabbled in kidnappings, X," Robin said. "But it makes sense. Stealing goods isn't enough anymore, so now you're kidnapping people. You selling them on the black market?"

He was stalling. Shit.

Red reached for the device and there was the forward rush of the boy and the swing of the staff; they ended up switching sides as a result, and Red cursed inwardly. He'd just have to take his chances and run, hope that he was fast enough to put a good amount of distance between them.

"I swear to God, X, if I've found out that you sold Raven on the black market — "

"You know, maybe I'm fucking her."

Red saw a flash of red anger on Robin's face, another expression that seemed right at home on him. He prepared for another attack, for an opportunity to run. The adrenaline was pumping strong through his blood, and it wasn't that everything slowed down but that he seemed to speed up: his feet stepping backward, ready to jump off, one arm coming up to protect his face, the other holding fast onto the book — and then a green blast exploded in front of him and another knocked him in the chest.

"Starfire, no!"

The shock wave and the force sent him off the building; he thought he had lost consciousness or sight as everything went black, but on an instinct he honed and trained, his fingers reached for the belt the moment his feet disconnected from ground. As he fell, his sight came back to him; he saw Robin swing himself over the edge, frustrated and growling, but Red's body was already crackling through reality. He disappeared before either reached the ground.

A/N

What, what! And that's it!

Please drop a review, share some love, critiques (ahh, these action scenes are hard!), funny jokes, the likes — I'd greatly appreciate it.

Have a lovely week, friends, and I'll see ya'll around soon!