Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, etc. However, this storyline is mine, so no stealing!!!
CHAPTER FIVE
Patrick awoke to a late fall's night at around twelve in the morning to see his own breath in front of his face. The heater of Titan Tower had failed.
It had been raining hard as the seasons began to change. The sleet pounded heavily on his window, amplified with each powerful gust of wind. It was probably the worst storm of that fall, and Patrick had awoken right in the middle of it.
He rose from bed in his pair of pajama pants which were nothing more than glorified pair of loose heavily worn jeans. Neglecting a shirt, he walked out into the hall to the living room deciding that he wasn't getting back to sleep any time soon.
It had been a relatively loud storm. The thunder was a constant rumble. Oddly enough however, there was no lightning, at least, none that Patrick could see.
When he entered the living room, he turned on the large television and switched to a random channel. He muted it quickly after. It was for light, not entertainment, hence the infomercial about "unbeatably sharp knives".
He sat on the chair nearest the window and relaxed into it, looking out the window at the dimly lit cityscape. He sat and shivered as he felt the cold leather on his warm back.
He had been there for what seemed like an hour when he heard a sound in the hallway. This brought him out of his peaceful daze to look to see who had caused the offending noise. As his eyes reached the hallways he saw a familiar silhouette. It was Raven.
By this time, Patrick had become fast friends with all the members of the house, but Raven seemed oddly alienated. And in the few weeks that he had been there, there had been no large crimes to respond to, mostly because of the constant bouts of poor weather. That meant that he had little contact with the others outside the house.
She was shivering, noticeably, her choice or wardrobe being the issue. Apparently she slept in something similar to her uniform, but of what looked like a smoother silky material. The first place she went was the stove where she filled a kettle with the sink next to her while turning the gas range on maximum. This flame light up her whole upper body in a brilliant shade of blue, the fire grabbing Patrick's attention quickly.
As soon as she put the kettle on the stove, Patrick spoke.
"You cold Raven?" he asked from his little nook where he had been watching the storm from.
Raven jumped from the surprise and whirled around to face him, with a battle ready expression until she realized it was Patrick and not some intruder. Then subsequently blushing at his shirtless form. Apparently this queen of darkness still had a high degree of modesty.
"Patrick, what are you doing up?" she asked with a somewhat raspy voice, answering his question with another question.
"Couldn't sleep," Patrick said shortly, "You?"
"The storm woke me up," she said somewhat defensively.
"I see," he said getting up, raising one hand and forming a pocket of warm air around Raven.
"That's how you're keeping warm?"
"No, I don't get cold."
At this time, the kettle, which Patrick had not taken his glance off of even when looking at Raven, began to whistle to signify that it was boiling.
"You're boiling," he said to Raven who seemed to be in a warmth induced stupor. She was tired indeed; the cold was all that was keeping her up.
The sound of Patrick's voice seemed to snap Raven out of her trance of semi-sleep. She turned around and turned off the heat, extinguishing the flame from the gas burner. Patrick blinked when she did so and shook his head, his connection to the flame gone.
"What are you making?" he asked walking towards the refrigerator for a soda.
"Herbal tea," she replied shortly as she poured some boiling hot water into a mug and put a tea bag in, submerging it completely.
"Smells good," he said, opening the refrigerator door, blessing the room with a short burst of bright light before the door shut once more.
Synchronized with when he closed the door was a particularly large clap of thunder that shook the entire house. Off in the distance you could hear Starfire shriek sharply. It was hardly anything, just a rude awakening from Mother Nature. No doubt she had fallen back asleep right after.
"Quite the storm," Patrick said, opening his soda with a resonating hiss.
"Yes," Raven replied. She seemed preoccupied when she spoke, it had been part of her tone since the beginning of their wonderfully diverse dialogue, but it seemed to have grown worse as they spoke to one another.
"Raven, is something wrong?" Patrick asked with a slight tone of concern.
She looked up from her mug to him. "Actually, something is bothering me," she said, "It was your behavior on the obstacle course a few weeks ago."
"Oh?" Patrick asked pulling up a stool and sitting down.
"Yes," she continued, "You seemed to actually enjoy slaughtering those robots."
"And if I did…?"
"It's troublesome to see someone enjoy killing, even a robotic stand-in."
"But that's all they were. Robots. Right?"
"Yes, but it's what they were there to represent that bothered me."
"How so?"
"They were there to act as people, Patrick. And the way you disposed of them was very disturbing. Not only for me, but for the rest of the team. But they got over it. I'm still concerned."
"About what?"
"That you may not be entirely in control of your violent temper."
"So what if I'm not?"
"Then I consider you a danger to the all of us."
Patrick perked up at this. Raven was right to a degree. Patrick did enjoy slaughtering those robots. He enjoyed slicing the vital pump lines and watching them fall. But that didn't mean he enjoyed killing people.
"You don't trust me, do you Raven?"
Raven looked up again from her mug.
"To be honest, I don't. Not yet at least."
"I see…"
Within moments, there was nothing but silence, Patrick got up and moved back to his comfortable arm chair to watch the storm, pondering what Raven had said.
It had been hours before he got up to find Raven asleep at the table, her half finished tea still in front of her, not very cold.
Patrick smiled at her. And picked her up softly as to not wake her. Unknowingly, he had kept the pocket of warm air around her the whole time she was there so she felt quite warm. He slowly maneuvered down the hall to her room where he opened the unlocked door and walked in.
She certainly had a unique room. The whole vibe Patrick got out of it was "keep out or die". It was definitely not meant for others to be in. Each wall covered with multiple one-of-a-kind artifacts, each no doubt with its own story. There were several mirrors on some walls, all gloriously silver or black steal with intricate patterns around them. Near her bed were stacks upon stacks of black, leather bound books, ancient by the looks of them. It was also cold, much worse than Patrick's room, almost to the point that he was shivering. His breath crystallized before him, as did Raven's.
Finally, at her bed, he set her down and warmed the entire room with a wave of his hand. It was now a comfortable temperature versus the frigid death trap it was before.
Patrick turned to the door and walked silently out. Stopping at her deep mahogany desk near the entrance where he grabbed a piece of paper and wrote something before taping it to her door. As he shut the door, the words reflected clearly in the dim light, the ink still wet enough to look somewhat metallic.
"Sleep well. Sorry for being in your room."