i'll fall when you leave

He calls a team meeting, sits them down on the couch in the Common Room, stands before them straight and tall. They watch him, expectant and trusting, completely unprepared for the bomb he's about to drop.

"We need a new team," he begins, guilt churning with nerves. "Up north, near Long City." He takes a deep breath, determined not to look at Raven. "I've sent out a call for any volunteers, and once five have come forward, I'll be leaving for awhile; get them sorted out."

There. That was actually rational.

"For how long?" Cyborg asks.

"Six months," he replies.

. . . . .

As a general rule, Robin can fit five uniforms in his knapsack, plus any other essentials. It usually only takes him fifteen minutes to pack, and then he's ready.

But Raven is distracting him, draining his focus.

You shouldn't have to leave; it shouldn't be you; do you really think this will work; what am I supposed to do without you?

"Shut up," he mutters, not sure who he's speaking to. Their minds are so melded together he can't distinguish their respective voices. For all he knows, he's talking to himself.

"There's no other choice," he emphasizes. Because there isn't.

. . . . .

All the preparations are made; the new team is waiting. It's just a matter of saying goodbye.

Cyborg is first, giving him a strong handshake and a pat on the shoulder. Beast Boy receives a hair ruffle and a promise to call at least three times a week. Starfire nearly crushes his bones and tears slightly even as she fakes a smile.

Raven merely looks at him, observes the readiness of his face. She nods to him, too afraid to touch him. "Good luck."

She can feel his disappointment. "You too," he says simply.

And then he's gone, leaving them.

. . . . .

Month one is filled with meetings, training, construction, fighting, refereeing, and observing the new team's interactions. This leaves him absolutely no time to even think about himself. Kid Flash lives to torment Gnarrk; Hot Spot and Jinx are always shouting at each other; and Kole is so busy gawking at civilization that he spends half of his time keeping her safe.

Then there's building the Tower, which is impossible because Gnarrk scared off the construction company, so Robin spends his days trying to fix things; and a thousand other problems arise every day.

He doesn't have time to miss them.

. . . . .

The second month challenges their creativity. She joins them for breakfast, insults Beast Boy's tenacious refusal to try real food. Cyborg takes it upon himself to teach her and Starfire how to cook, with a green squirrel chattering angrily from Starfire's shoulder. Beast Boy asks for her help in organizing a city-wide boycott of the zoo (she manages to talk him out of it). Starfire teaches them a Tamaranian dance, which is the worst idea she's ever had. Raven tells stories before they retire and the others always argue over the ending.

It's their way of coping with his absence.

. . . . .

Things aren't much better by the third month. They just aren't the same.

They all respect him (hell, Kid Flash and Hot Spot even like him), but they are not his friends. Gnarrk can't cook, Kid Flash's jokes are actually funny, Kole doesn't hug anyone but Gnarrk, Hot Spot sucks at video games, and Jinx doesn't have the patience for chess. It makes him very lonely and he spends a lot of time alone, watching the others find their own team equilibrium.

He supposes that this is a good thing, but it only serves to make him long for home.

. . . . .

"…Then Cyborg was like, GA-ZAAP!"

Raven's eavesdropping from the kitchen counter, praying no one will notice her.

"Was anybody hurt?" Robin asks. Raven smiles behind her book. She has missed his voice, and it's good to know that he hasn't changed.

"No!" Beast Boy scoffs. "Don't be such a drag, Rob!"

"Sorry," he apologizes, amusement filling his voice.

"Hey, Raven's here!" Beast Boy says, and her head snaps up. "Did you want to talk to her?"

She looks over at Robin's face on the screen.

"Atually, I've got to go; maybe next time." And Robin's visual flickers out of existence.

. . . . .

"Hey, boss!"

Robin drops the pizza slice into the box, feeling slightly ashamed of his laziness. "Hey, Flash."

Kid Flash's head appears over his right shoulder. "Did you want to join us for the movie?"

Robin shakes his head slowly. "No, thanks."

There's a two-second pause, equivalent to a minute Flash-time. "Why so glum, chum?" Kid Flash asks, zipping over to sit before him.

"Nothing," he answers. He's not quite sure how to put it into words.

Kid Flash is peering. "Are you homesick?"

He thinks of home, of Raven. "Yeah," he whispers, dropping his gaze. "You could say that."

. . . . .

She's sitting, watching Cyborg tinker with the T-Car. She has long since abandoned her meditation, content to just watch him.

"Only nine more days 'till Rob's home," he says suddenly, wiping his hands on a cloth.

She nods, already knowing this. She's been counting the days down for weeks.

"Uh…" He looks very uncertain, shifting slightly. "Are, uh… are you and Robin okay?"

She wonders what, exactly, he means by this. She still loves Robin, knows that he loves her, but that they can't ever be together. And yet, they can never leave the other's side.

She shrugs. "Who knows?"

. . . . .

She's aware of him the moment he enters the Tower's garage. It's not accompanied with a bubbling joy or deep-set relief, but a simple awareness that strikes her sharper than the others do. There is distance between them, and with that, rationality.

When he appears in the doorway, she doesn't reach out to touch him. She sits and waits. He doesn't reach out either, which is a relief. This is what they need. They have to learn how to stand on their own, without needing the other, but always ready to help if called.

This, this idea seems much healthier.

- To Be Concluded -