Raven's control over her emotions is the key to her power. But then her power starts to wane…because she's falling in love. Now she has to choose between her magic and her heart. Robin/Raven. REGULARLY UPDATED

Chapter One

It was not often that Raven got to do any detective work. Indeed, most of the Teen Titans didn't know the first thing about investigation. Most of the sleuthing was Robin's job, since he was the only one with any training in the field. But when given—forced—to do some, Raven found the task surprisingly…invigorating.

Someone was going on a rampage, systematically hitting every major corporation in the city and robbing it blind. The others had immediately assumed it was Slade; there were a number of things left behind at the scene of each crime pointing to him. But Robin insisted it was someone else. He wouldn't explain how he knew. He just sent Starfire, Beast Boy, and Cyborg on a circuited, detailed patrol.

And he asked Raven to stay behind at the Tower, to help him in his work. "Why?" she asked plain and simply when he gave the orders. His answer took her by surprise: "Because you're the smartest and the most mature of the others." She hadn't expected him to be so…blunt. She certainly hadn't expected him to actually think of his fellow Titans as children.

"Look," Robin had said, "We might be dealing with a very skilled and intelligent opponent. So we have to figure out what he—or she—is up to, what the motive is, what the goal is. We have to learn our enemy. I can't do it alone, and if I rely on someone who's not taking this as seriously as it should be, then there will be problems. I'd be a sorry leader if I jeopardized your lives by not dealing with this new enemy to all of my ability. And that means I need help from someone who takes this job as seriously as I do."

"Which is where I come in," Raven finished. She had to admit, she felt her pride swell when he selected her. It felt…good. So she threw herself into her work. That surprised her; Raven played second-fiddle to no one. But here she was, trying to meet up to her leader's expectations. It's only because he said I was more mature than the others, she rationalized. It's…good…to be appreciated.

By mid-afternoon, Robin—with Raven's help—figured out that the criminal was an escapee from the state asylum for the deranged. The criminal, a seemingly average Joe Schmoe, had developed an unhealthy obsession with Slade, adopting the villain's mannerisms to an exaggerated degree. By nightfall, the madman had started using bombs. Raven saw the stress bend Robin's shoulders. "People are dying out there," he murmured, as if cursing himself for some failing. "News broadcasts have the body count at fourteen now. We have to work harder." And so they worked harder.

By midnight, Robin and Raven had found his hideout and sent the coordinates to the city's police department; the cops were already surrounding an abandoned building on the corner of Smith and Harley when Robin gave the word for the Titans to converge.

When the Titans arrived, Raven saw that five cops lay dead and another three groaned from the pain of their wounds. The madman had a small locker of weapons, enough to outfit a sturdy militia. Robin surveyed the field. Raven noted how his jaw hardened at the sight of the dead. "We should have gotten here sooner," he growled quietly, but loudly enough that Raven heard the venom and self-reproach in his voice. The Boy Wonder's eyes hardened and he gave his commands, every inch the leader. "Listen up, team. The cops are authorized to use lethal force. We have to get in that building and apprehend the criminal before they can kill him. No one else dies tonight. Understand?"

He spoke with such conviction, such raw determination, that Raven was taken aback. She'd never seen him this…intense…before. Suddenly, he was another person. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but she swore that when he walked past the shadow of a street lamp, his silhouette looked like a bat. Raven admonished herself for her flights of fancy; she was the most mature of the Titans—Robin said so—so she had to act like it. She and the other Titans went into the building.

Five minutes later, they came out with the madman and turned him over to the authorities.

Titan Tower had everything the young heroes needed: entertainment, high-tech gear, the best equipment in the world. An infirmary. The madman had managed to get a loose shot off. Robin took the hit, square in the back. Fortunately, it was in his trapezius and not anywhere life-threatening. Still, it was serious enough to warrant immediate attention.

The other Titans had gone off doing whatever it was they did for relaxation; video games, channel-surfing, whatever. Raven tried to read, but her mind couldn't get around the sound of a gun firing. She sighed and went to pay Robin a visit. She found him sitting on an operating table in the infirmary, his hands behind him. Her eyes widened in astonishment. Robin was removing the bullet himself.

It must have hurt, since he was working without anesthetics, and it must have been an excessively difficult task. He only had a pair of mirrors to see what his hands were doing. But Raven watched, fascinated by the Boy Wonder's truly wondrous manual dexterity. The bullet came free, heralding a gout of fresh blood from the wound.

Without a word, Raven went to the sink, washed her hands with antiseptic and water, filled a bowl with hot water, and dampened a wash cloth. She went to Robin and started cleaning the wound. "You could have just asked one of us to help," she said dryly. "After tonight's caper, you didn't have to prove your toughness."

Robin ignored her sarcasm. "None of you have any training in surgery."

"Then you should have called a doctor."

"Then my identity would be compromised."

Raven set the bowl down with a hard clang. "Your attitude is compromising," she retorted with vitriol. "The bad guy's been brought to justice already. We won. But you've been high-strung ever since we got back. What's your problem?"

"People died," he growled, as if that were all the explanation needed. "We…I…should have solved the case sooner. Should have gotten into the warehouse before the cops arrived."

"You sound like it's your fault." Raven saw that he was going to speak, but she pressed on. "You do think it's your fault! Robin, I'm probably not the best person to be saying this, but it isn't your fault. You did everything you could, more than anyone expects of you. We all did. Tonight, we did some good out there. Nineteen people died, yes, but the death count could have been a lot higher."

He didn't say anything. He just sat there, his jaw set and hard. Raven sighed; she suspected that he would berate himself for his "failings" for the rest of the night. She couldn't do anything for his spiritual pain—she, above anyone else in the Teen Titans, knew that kind of pain was something that could only be dealt with personally—but she could at least take away his physical pain.

She started to apply a patch over his wound. She grimaced when she regarded his back. "My God," she murmured.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I didn't…expect to see so many scars."

"It's a drawback of being human," he said matter-of-factly. "I don't have superpowers, Raven. I don't have your magic or Cyborg's armor to protect me, I can't turn into a thick-skinned animal like Beast Boy can, and I don't have Starfire's durability." He shrugged. "You get used to pain when you're a human."

Raven shook her head. "You sound so…resigned about it." She traced over other bullet holes—as many entrance wounds as there were exits. "Some of these are as big as a bottle cap," she said quietly.

"I grew."

Her head snapped to him in surprise. "You're kidding." Seeing that he was not, she looked back at the wounds. There were bullet holes…and more. Slashes, jagged cuts, claw marks. His back was a network of years of violence. But then again, she reminded herself, he's been doing this all his life.

She absently traced some of the bigger scars. Caught up in her scrutiny of his injuries, Raven didn't see how Robin shivered under her cool touch. "This one here must have hurt a lot," she said, running her fingernail along his ribcage.

"The Joker put a rusty knife in me that time," Robin said quietly, haunted by the memory. "Luckily, it wasn't long enough to hit my heart, but I was afraid that I'd get tetanus from it. Obviously, I didn't."

"And this one?"

"Two-Face. Shot me three times, hit me once in the lower back. Almost paralyzed me."

"And this?"

Robin abruptly hopped off the table, hastily throwing on his shirt. "Thanks for cleaning the wound, Raven," he said stiffly, walking out the door.

Raven looked at the table. He forgot to take his cape with him.

That…was awkward, Robin thought once he was back in the sanctuary of his room. He shut the door and leaned against it. He didn't share too many moments like that with any of his friends. Moments that made him so uncomfortable, so…well…awkward. Now that he thought about it, the only one who had ever touched his back was Alfred, back at Wayne Manor, and only to pluck out bullet slugs or to stitch a wound. And his hands had certainly never felt that….

 Robin thought once he was back in the sanctuary of his room. He shut the door and leaned against it. He didn't share too many moments like that with any of his friends. Moments that made him so uncomfortable, so…well…awkward. Now that he thought about it, the only one who had ever touched his back was Alfred, back at Wayne Manor, and only to pluck out bullet slugs or to stitch a wound. And hands had certainly never felt that….

Don't say it felt good, Robin admonished himself sternly, don't even think it.

Raven was already an enigma to him. Mysterious, withdrawn, and generally unfriendly, she was a ghost at the edges of the Titan's camaraderie. Yet she held herself with more maturity and grace than any of the others. Robin didn't initially trust her, but he had come to respect her. She was smart and resourceful, and her magic certainly gave her an edge.

Actually, she reminded him a lot of Batman. Mysterious, withdrawn, and generally unfriendly, he mused with a touch of amusement. His smile vanished when he thought about her fingers. They felt good. He admitted it. That alone made him feel awkward. Why did she do that? the detective part of his mind asked. The other part of his mind—the part that was a hot-blooded seventeen-year-old—asked: Why didn't you stay for more?

Robin ignored that part.

It didn't help that she knocked on his door no less than five minutes after he left her.

"Um, come in," he said.

The door opened. Raven was standing at the threshold with his cape in hand. "You forgot this," she said coolly. She tossed the garment to him. He caught it.

"Thanks," he said. She left without another word. Somehow, he thought that awkward silence would have been more appropriate.

The next day was a quiet day. Robin had already gotten over his brief moment of discomfiture around Raven and started to act more like his normal self. The next day was quiet, too. And so were the day after and the one after that. Robin, who thrived on the thrill of a fight and the challenge of a mystery, grew restless and bored.

Raven, he noted with envy, took the unusually halcyon days in stride. Her distant, cold serenity never faltered, except in those times when Beast Boy or Cyborg interrupted her meditations with their inanities and horseplay.

Curious about how she maintained such a degree of passivity in the face of monotony's ugly visage, Robin decided to ask her. He found her on the roof of the Tower, sitting in a half-lotus position. Her small hands were in her small lap, her small chin tilted into her chest. Robin hadn't realized until now how small she was. "Hey," he greeted.

Raven opened her eyes, but didn't turn to face him. "Is there something you wanted, Robin?" she asked.

"Sorry if I disturbed you," he said, "but I wanted to ask you something."

"Then ask." She was brusque.

"Well…I was wondering how you manage to stave off boredom all the time."

The question took her aback. Robin could sympathize. It was not a question he would normally ask. This time, she did look at him, with something of akin to amusement in her violet eyes. "It's quite simple really. I just think about something else. You know how I write poetry?"

"Yes."

"I just think about a new poem I want to write. The mental exercise is enough to keep me occupied."

"You're kidding. That's all?"

"Yes." She turned away from him again, seemingly to resume her trance. "Boredom only demonstrates a mind that doesn't have any imagination."

"I can't tell if that's supposed to be an insult or not."

"It wasn't intended to be."

She didn't say anything more. Robin, feeling awkward in the ensuring silence, spoke up. "Um…do you mind if I sit with you? Batman tried to teach me meditations a while ago, but it never really worked out. Could I join you? Maybe I'll find something to think about in the meantime."

Raven was quiet for a long moment. Then, as if after careful consideration, she said, "Yes." Robin sat down next to her, folding his legs. He thought he caught a slight reddening of her pale cheeks, but immediately set the thought aside; Raven was as composed as ever.

The minutes crawled by as they sat there in the fading afternoon light. Raven felt strangely at peace, more so than she had ever been in her solitary meditations. Perhaps this is what I've been missing, she thought. Companionship. Real companionship. The thought awakened a mixture of contentment and dread. She didn't want to rely on anyone for anything, especially not her own happiness.

Relying on people meant leaving yourself vulnerable in the worst possible way: because you let it happen. But Raven was a girl of introspection, who valued self-knowledge and discipline. She was all too aware that she wanted real friends. Not just partners like the Teen Titans. She wanted someone who actually understood her.

Robin may not be that person, but he certainly made her feel better. He didn't judge her. Never once did he think her "creepy" or "strange." Sometimes she thought he didn't fully trust her, but that was only to be expected; she wasn't the most open and amicable person to be around. But he never walked circles around her, either. He was always so bold, always so tolerant. Her quirks, her coldness, her withdrawn attitude never seemed to bother him. And when she wanted to be left alone, he left her alone. He respected the one thing she cherished most: privacy.

So it made her feel better to have someone like that keeping her company on her meditations, even if the company was silent. If it bothered Robin any, he had the sense to keep it to himself. Raven appreciated his discretion.

Raven broke her meditations to look at him. His eyes were closed, though it was hard to tell behind the mask he always wore. He always seemed to wear it. She couldn't think of ever seeing his face without it. Raven had always cloaked herself in mystery, and, in his own way, so did Robin. That was another thing that made her feel less like a stranger around him. His closed eyes, his steady breathing were indications of a deep meditative trance. She wondered what he was thinking about. She closed her eyes to resume her own trance.

"Beautiful," he murmured suddenly. Raven looked at him sharply, thinking that he was referring to her. Despite herself and all her discipline, she felt the heat of a blush burn across her cheeks.

But Robin wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the sunset. The expression on his face was one of someone who was seeing it for the first time. "It's a beautiful sunset, isn't it?" This time, he did look at her. An eyebrow raised in puzzlement. "Raven? You're face is red."

Raven hastily stood and drew her hood over her face to hide the telltale color. She felt betrayed. Her discipline had betrayed her. So why did she feel so…alive? "Nothing. I'm fine," she said tersely. "It's getting cold. Let's go back inside."

She left for the stairs at a hustle, pretending not to care if he followed. But in her heart of hearts, though she didn't want to admit it, she was glad that he was.