Author's Note: LOL, we now have a one 'mellow down' the torture count. LOLOL. So funny. Hm… I think it'll mellow out after chapter eighteen. ^^;

So, the senior moment. No, it's not nagging. No, it's not memory lose… I wonder what it'll be… *smirks* This has got to be my favorite Wintergreen moment up to this point.

*Robin glares at Anthy and says bitterly,* "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

*Anthy shrugs with a mischievous smile* "Maaaaybeee… Yeah, yeah I am."

*Robin glares at everyone* "I think the lot of you all – Anthy, you too – need to go to Torturers Anonymous."

"Well, this isn't torture, per se…"

"Says you!"

"Hehehe… You're blushin`…"

"Shudup!"

On with the story!

Chapter Eleven

A Senior Moment

September 19th, 2008. Friday, 6:30 am.

Robin was in a bad mood – a terrible mood. He smashed the snooze button on his alarm clock irritably; shutting off the annoying, blaring noise that was drilling into his ears. After a quiet moment, he groaned as he rolled out of bed; his aching body protesting heavily. It was one of those mornings where he really, really hated training. He never wanted to spar ever again – his body was far too sore. He grumbled and groaned like an aged old man as he stumbled into the bathroom; slamming the door behind him.

Slade was wrong: sleep did nothing to help his bad attitude.

Shedding his clothing – leaving his mask on, of course – he stepped into the shower and ran the water as hot as he could stand it. He moaned pleasantly as the water eased some of his aches and pains. He rested his forehead against the cool tiled wall, letting the hot water rain down on his back.

His body had plenty of bruises. A lot caused in normal training while others caused by blows that were provoked by what Slade liked to call 'bad behavior'. Like last night, for instance. Slade was certainly not gentle with him. The man definitely was an expert trainer, though – minus the beatings – but it was nonetheless torturous. Robin hadn't ever pushed himself like this in his entire life. It was like he was training to be a professional athlete. He knew the effects would be beneficial – especially if he ever managed to get out of this terror of a place – but he was dying; completely dying.

It was interesting how quickly he settled into the routine. The fear of getting beaten up was a good motivator, of course. But he was beginning to get irritated. He was tired. All that crap talk about being freed from a burden – being a vigilante leader – was just that: talk. He didn't feel free. He didn't feel any less burdened by life.

Far from it – it was worse.

He finished his shower, drying himself with a fresh towel. Thankfully, the shower helped his achy muscles a bit and cleared his mind. He wrapped the towel around his waist and accomplished his morning routine of brushing his teeth and hair. And the final effect: a healthy glop of styling gel to spike back his black hair.

With a fleeting cocky lift of his eyebrows, he left the bathroom and pulled out a set of sweats from his dresser – the usual for another day of vigorous training.

Dressed, Robin left his room and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. He found Wintergreen at his usual spot in front of the stove preparing breakfast. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of bacon. Robin took a deep breath, basking in the mouthwatering smell as he came to stand next to Wintergreen.

"Morning," said Robin, peeking into the frying pan. Wintergreen glanced at him, before looking back to his work.

"Good morning, child. How did you sleep?"

Robin grumbled lightly and shrugged. "Best as I could, I guess."

"Still having sore muscles?" asked Wintergreen, sounding concerned.

"Course," griped Robin. "The masked slave driver won't give me a moment's rest."

"You know Slade is only doing what he thinks is best for you," chided Wintergreen kindly.

"Oh, yeah," drawled Robin. "Every bruise on my body is 'best' for me."

"You know what I mean," said Wintergreen with a shake of his head. "You have to admit that you are a bit rebellious and defiant. And quite disrespectful as well, I might add."

"Oh, yes!" cried Robin dramatically. "Let me be perfectly pleasant to my captor." Robin rolled his eyes and shot the old man a dry look. "Not."

Wintergreen chuckled, turning the bacon over in the pan. He shook the contents a few times; the grease crackling loudly.

"You're a bit grumpy this morning, aren't you?"

"How could you tell?" drawled Robin again. Wintergreen sighed and turned off the fire to the stove; turning to face Robin.

"You could be a little more agreeable, you know."

"Why should I?" demanded Robin, the irritation rising in his chest. "Eight days I've been here now. I want to go home. I miss my friends – I bet they're worried sick. I don't want to be Slade's apprentice. Let me go already."

"I'm afraid not. I don't have that authority."

Robin turned his head to the side angrily, his chest heaving once in frustration. He knew the old man meant well, but he was so infuriating sometimes. Keeping someone against their will was against the law, not to mention downright annoying.

"Look, you can't just keep me here."

"I think the past eight days attest otherwise," replied Wintergreen in a dry tone.

Robin growled.

"Look, old man; you seriously can't expect me to be happy over this!" cried Robin.

"Dear child," started Wintergreen, an unknown, unusual glint entering his eyes. "Call me 'old man' again and I'll have a senior moment all over your backside."

"So, you can call me 'child', but I can't call you 'old man'?" retorted Robin with a lift of his eyebrow.

"You are a child."

"Well," started Robin, folding his arms obstinately, "you are an old man."

Wintergreen only gave Robin an old, knowing smile, his hazel green eyes flashing, before reaching out towards his face. Robin wasn't wary of the old man, but he should've been.

Wintergreen got a good hold on Robin's left earlobe, pinching it tightly. Robin couldn't hold back the slight wince from the pinch. His eyes widened in surprise as he was forced to turn to the side; the old man pulling him by his ear. He jumped as a very hard hand cracked over his backside, a biting sharp sting following afterward.

Wintergreen let his ear go and Robin whirled back to stare at the old man, shock evident throughout his face as he did so.

"Wha—what—you—" stammered Robin.

"I did warn you. Oh, please, child; Slade isn't the only one around here who can keep you line," said Wintergreen, looking extremely amused by his reaction. Robin's face flushed deeply. "I just prefer to use old fashioned means to do so. Now enough with this petulance; sit down and behave yourself already."

Robin shut his gapping mouth and obeyed the man without question; dropping into a chair. The sting was slowly fading from his seat, but the mortification wasn't leaving anytime soon. He sat, wide eyed; staring at the tablecloth in total shock.

The old man had smacked him like a five year old!

The humiliation was complete – Robin was absolutely and totally mortified. He couldn't believe that the man had resorted to smacking him like that. There was no recovering from this. Nope. Not at all. A slap across the face would've been way better. At least that was border lining on abuse. But this…

Oh, gosh…

Robin squirmed in his chair, feeling his face grow unbelievably warm. The warmth spread upward to his ears. He ducked his head slightly; the embarrassment threatening to overwhelm him. The humiliation was flooding through him, washing over him like a terrible tsunami. It threatened to drown him and for a brief moment the thought of getting his arm broken would've been preferred to the glowing humiliation he was feeling at that very moment.

Wintergreen glanced at Robin every now and then; his face showing his complete amusement. Robin never spoke or looked up as the old man made breakfast. He just couldn't handle hearing what the old man might say. Silence was the best path to pursue at that moment.

Robin wasn't sure if his heart could handle any more humiliation.

He couldn't hold still, though. He felt far too uncomfortable. It wasn't that the smack had any major lasting pain, he just couldn't sit still; the warmth in his face was enough to make him wiggle constantly. He just wanted to bury his face into a pillow and ignore humans altogether.

What was more surprising was that he felt ashamed that he had driven the old man to such a reprimand. He had back talked Wintergreen and the old man had warned him, too. Unlike his dealings with Slade, he felt he deserved this one. Robin always felt that Slade dealt with him unjustly, not to mention the man bounced back and forth faster than a pinball machine.

Gosh, he hated being treated like a child – even though he still was one. Now that was a bitter pill to swallow.

Robin heard the footsteps before Slade walked into the kitchen. He didn't bother to look up in fear that his face was still lit up red like a Christmas tree.

"Good morning, Robin," said Slade, taking a seat next to him.

"Morning… sir," mumbled Robin, his head still lowered. He wasn't sure why he added the honorific 'sir', but somehow it seemed the best thing to do at the moment. He was sure it would've pleased Wintergreen and right now that seemed like the best thing to do to avoid any more 'senior moments'.

Slade had been taking a newspaper from the middle of the table when Robin spoke. He stopped momentarily, seeming to be surprised by Robin's politeness. Robin wiggled in his chair again, staring at his empty plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Well, it's seems that your attitude has improved since last night," said Slade in an approving tone. Robin nodded; trying very hard to stop the warmth in his face, but that just wasn't happening.

"Yes… sir," murmured Robin, wiggling in his chair again.

Slade stared at Robin for a moment longer before tearing his glance away to look at Wintergreen. He nodded his head once towards Robin.

"What's up with him? Why's he so fidgety?" asked Slade, sounding perplexed.

Oh gosh.

Oh crap, no.

Wintergreen was going to tell Slade what had happened. Robin ducked his head even lower – if that was possible. His face burned even hotter – if that was even possible. He was never going to live it down. The last thing he needed was for Slade to sneer at him and poke fun at him over this. Robin was going to die – death by burning humiliation.

Now that was an obituary to read.

Wintergreen glanced over at Robin; his lips pursed slightly as the edges of his mouth tried extremely hard not to break out into a broad smile. He was failing at it.

"Oh… Nothing at all," said Wintergreen, his voice slightly sing-song like. He began to dish out breakfast onto the plates. "Isn't that right, Robin?"

Robin nodded vigorously, still not looking up.

"See? A wonderful start to a new day," said Wintergreen cheerfully, the smile spreading throughout his features.

Robin dug into his breakfast without another word; wishing to become invisible once again – anything to hide his blushing face. Slade merely shrugged off the oddity and began to eat his own breakfast through an open compartment in his mask. Robin didn't even sneak glances up at the man like he usually did when the man ate. The only facial feature he had been able to figure out during meals was the white goatee that surrounded his mouth.

It was odd. The hair was completely pure white – not a grey hair in the midst of them. Yet Wintergreen's white hair was littered with them. There was no way Slade was older than Wintergreen. Slade's voice didn't have that aged sound that Wintergreen's did, not to mention the fact that Slade was in perfect shape.

Very strange indeed.

Robin knew that Slade would never remove his mask – not for a very long time, at least. It was tempting to try to rip that mask right off the man's face, but Robin would never cross that line. He didn't want the man to do the same to him. Slade could've removed Robin's mask off at any moment – Robin knew and understood that all too well. If the man wanted it off, it would've been off. There was just no way to defy an order from Slade no matter hard he tried. When Slade wanted something done, he had to do it – or else.

Which made Robin terribly curious and nervous.

Why didn't Slade demand that Robin take off his mask? It would be just like the man to degrade him in such a way – taking away his identity as Robin and forcing the one he wanted on him as his 'apprentice'. Was it because he already knew Robin's true identity? He couldn't suppress the shiver that went down his back at the thought.

If he didn't know, then why not just rip it away?

But no matter how often Robin tried to figure out Slade, he just couldn't. The man was too much of an enigma. There was just no understanding his thinking or his logic. He knew the man was highly intelligent – all the studying Robin was being forced through proved that much. Slade knew a lot about electronics and computers, far more than Robin knew was possible.

No wonder the man sent out so many robots to do his dirty work – he could easily build them all. Why go out and do it on his own when his evil little robot army could do it just as well?

ooOOOOOoo

Next Time: Chapter Twelve: The Exposing Catalyst – Robin learns that continual disobedience will cost him at a terrible price.

Author's Notes: *Robin folds his arms and looks to the side with a deep flush on his face* "Anthy isn't available at this time. She's too busy laughing her head off like a nut. —Anthy, stop laughing!"

Next week we've got some action and angst with a heaping helping of drama with a side of Titans.

Thanks for reading! Next update will be on Monday! See ya next time! Reviews = love and ideas! ^.^