"Grayson! Hey Grayson!"

Dick jumped at the sound of his name and spun completely around. He landed nimbly in time to see Garfield Logan round the corner of building and call out to him again.

"Hi Gar," he said dryly, amused at his friend's enthusiasm.

"Hey man," Gar said when he'd caught up with Dick at last. "I just wanted to let you know that I got an eighty seven on that math test."

Dick smiled genuinely at his young algebra protégé. "That's great Gar."

"Pffft, I'll bet you got a ninety eight or something."

Dick smirked. "Not quite."

"Ha! Well, whatever man. Look, I just wanted to say that I'm, you know, all grateful for your takin' the time to, ah…"

Dick forced himself not to laugh. He and Gar had been doing their math homework together for the past two weeks and still the little green guy gets flustered in casual conversation.

"You're welcome," Dick interrupted mercifully.

Garfield grinned a broad and plastic grin. "Well anyway," he continued. "To show my appreciation tonight I'm buying us pizza at Omega's!"

Dick's look of surprise and delight was short lived, however.

"Uh, I already have plans for tonight, Gar," he said, watching in regret as the smile melted from Garfield's face. "Raven and I were going to work on the Literature Project tonight."

"Oh."

Dick hated the look on Garfield's face right now. It made him feel as though he'd just kicked a puppy. "But we're going to have to stop and eat sometime," he added quickly. "Why don't the three of us go? Oh, you won't have to pay for her or anything." Dick waited expectantly for the smile to return to Garfield's face, and it did… sort of.

"That's okay man," Gar said with quiet dejection. "I don't think she likes me."

Dick snorted a laugh. "I wouldn't worry," he said. "I'm not sure she likes me either."


Dick was skimming through The Gotham Post online. There was a large write-up on the front page about Wayne Enterprises and their philanthropic activities as of late and how that was bolstering their stock this quarter. Dick Grayson, shareholder, couldn't help but smile at that.

Then on the next page an editorial comparing the urban legend of Batman to a real superhero, Superman. From the photo of the Man of Steel, Dick could have sworn that Clark actually enjoys wearing those tights…

His musings were cut short by a knock on his door. Dick opened the window to his security program and saw that it was Raven. He sighed, closed the window and shut the laptop. There was work to be done.

"I brought Poe," she said tonelessly when he opened the door. He smirked and let her in. She went immediately to the small table he had against the wall and dropped a large, antiquated leather tome with a shuddering thud.

"I made handouts for Byron," Dick added, handing her a folder. She took it from him and casually flipped through it.

"You've have a talent for PowerPoint," she droned, more like stating a fact than offering a compliment.

"And you're supposed to have a talent for poetry," he added. Then, pointing at the book on the table: "Are there bookmarks in there?"

"There's a sheet of notebook paper folded in the front of the book," she said almost condescendingly if her voice wasn't so flat. "I've written down the pages and titles you should look at."

"Thanks," Dick responded, matching her tone in a way that didn't exactly convey the meaning of the word. He then looked at her expectantly. Finally she spoke.

"Let's get this over with," she said on heels of a tired yet exasperated sigh. She sad down heavily in a chair at the table and flipped the folder open to more closely examine the handouts Dick had printed for her. "You weren't very… thorough," she said at length.

"If you put too much on the handout then the audience will spend more time reading than listening to you," Dick explained. "Your copy is in the back."

Raven flipped to the end and… smirked? "I… stand corrected," she admitted as she studied the three page outline Dick provided for her benefit.

"I can only hope you were so generous with the Poe."

"Look for yourself."

The two spent the next half hour silently studying the material at hand. The assignment was to prepare a presentation for the class to go along with an obnoxiously long paper on the life and works of a famous poet. Of course they didn't get to choose their subject matter on their own and it an amusing bit of irony Dick was assigned to research Edgar Allen Poe while Raven was given Gordon, Lord Byron. The two then struck a deal, Raven would give Dick her best materials on Poe provided that he would take her notes on Byron and create the presentation handouts for her. They were now making sure that nothing was amiss in this sharing of tasks.

Just then another knock.

Dick smiled. "Dinner time."

"Huh?"

"Come on in Gar!"

The door burst open. "How'd you know it was me? Oh, hi Raven!"

"You said you wanted pizza," Dick reminded him. "Nothing stops you when you're hungry."

Garfield grinned bashfully. "So… you coming? My treat."

Dick looked expectantly to Raven only to see that she hadn't looked up from the handouts.

"I'm not hungry," she replied disinterestedly as thought she sensed their thoughts.

"How can you not be hungry for pizza?"

Raven glared half-heartedly at him. "I don't have the metabolism of a hobbit…"

"I'm not a hobbit!" Garfield insisted with amused indignation. "I'm a growing boy."

"Whatever." She may have spat the line if there were any oomph behind it. "Just don't eat any more vegetables. You don't need the chlorophyll."

Garfield's face went from forest green to a sickly shade of aquamarine. "What would you know about it?" he hissed. "You melodramatic anorexic goth of a Sylvia Plath wannabe!"

Raven's mouth contorted into a thin line and her eyes narrowed slightly. "Sylvia Plat stuck her head in an oven," she droned, her voice betraying nothing. I'd much rather go the route of Erzebet Bathory."

"Enough!"

Both Garfield and Raven turned surprised eyes at Dick. He was standing by his computer chair, fists clenched. From the way he was standing it seemed as though he was staring down at them; his ice blue eyes were frozen.

Garfield's color seemed to fade even further as his face became a neutral mask. His eyes were pained as he tore his gaze from Dick and focused on Raven. "I'll be going now."

He didn't flee the room; his pace was measured and even. He didn't even slam the door behind him but pulled it gently though deliberately until it latched. Raven stared after him with something akin to bemusement in her eyes.

"Did you have to be so heartless?" Dick asked, sounding disappointed. "Who are you to talk anyway? You're 'different' too."

Raven's eyes narrowed. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know more than you think, Raven Roth," Dick countered. "Like how your mother can pay for your existence while being legally dead."

A cold wind seemed to blow through the dorm room.

"At least my mother's being productive while dead," said Raven. "Unlike some."

The cold wind stilled. Dick's eyes were no longer frozen; now they burned a black flame that very few have ever seen.

"My mother fell from the sky." His voice was dark. "At least she didn't fall from grace."

FLASH!

A circus tent…

A scream…

Blood pooling in sawdust…

FLASH!

It took all of Raven's resolve to bite back the gasp. It wasn't emotion, as she had expected it to be. It was memory, bright and clear, photographic moments in time. It was… agony. She felt it. Not emotionally, but she felt it. It hurt beyond words.

Dick took advantage of her momentary silence.

"Get out."

FLASH!

Darkness…

A sudden crash of lightning…

A rush of bats…

Laughter. Sick, maniacal laughter…

FLASH!

Raven's eyes widened as the rush of the vision dissipated and left her reeling. Ordinary human beings get emotional when provoked, as Garfield Logan did. His mind had exploded in a raging whirlwind of thought and emotion, all resounding the same truth: human beings don't like being hurt. Confronting them with pain produces one of two standard reactions, fight or flight. With each scenario, imaginary walls and barriers are erected to protect the individual from the outside aggressor. Raven was used to this—she'd seen it every time she'd so easily looked passed those walls. She'd come to expect it. It was normal human behavior.

Then what in Azarath…?

"Now."

Time resumed with the harsh intrusion of Dick's voice. His tone was commanding—just as commanding as his presence, which had somehow grown to fill the entire room. It would suffer no argument.

Raven blinked slowly and sighed, clutching the folder to her chest almost protectively. Apparently she had forgotten that Dick was not an ordinary human being.

Hands that usually floated with a pianist's grace had clenched into painful fists. A voice that often favored disaffected tones had cracked like a whip without the aid of increased volume. Ice blue eyes that normally shown with dry humor had darkened with an emotion Raven could not place, and that's when it hit her. Dick's words and actions lent evidence to the existence of emotion, yet she hadn't actually seen it. What she had seen instead… were memories.

That's when Raven realized that Dick possessed a level of mental shielding ordinary human beings only adopt at need—that was the blackness that she had been seeing all this time. He was like her, and the realization came suddenly as a slap in the face. Dick had a vice grip on his emotions to keep some inner darkness from escaping; and just like her, when provoked that darkness threatened to rip through the cage that holds it.

Raven felt like she should say something but couldn't bring herself to do so. Wherever Dick was with his emotions… she wasn't sure if she wanted to be there. Not to mention where she was in dealing with her own. Her face returned to the neutral mask and she felt her feet resettle on the floor. She inclined her head just slightly in his direction in acknowledgement and then turned to leave.

Dick watched her go and found himself staring—seething—at the closed door and the poster of Haly's Circus as it swung haphazardly into view. He blinked, hard, seeing with waking eyes what usually lives only in haunting nightmares. He spun on his heels and jammed the play button on the entertainment center.

Hey God, why are you doing this to me? Am I not living up to what I'm supposed to be? Why am I seething with this animosity? Hey God, I think you owe me a great big apology! Terrible lie! Terrible lie! Terrible lie! Terrible lie!

Feeding off nine years of age-old anger, Dick Grayson launched into a kata. That kata quickly turned into an all-out training session, invisible foes buckling beneath iron fists. Dick spared nothing and no one, his own furniture even became fair ground. As Reznor's voice screamed on, Dick was flipping off the bed and coming within inches of walls and windows.

My head is filled with disease. My skin is begging you please. I'm on my hands and knees. I want so much to believe!

And the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door shattered beneath an unfeeling fist. It was the jarring sound of breaking glass that seemed to snap Dick out of his rage. He stared at the spider's web of destruction he had caused to his own property in confusion and wonder.

Then reality set in.

"Way to go, Boy Blunder," he said to no one. Then slowly, deliberately, he unclenched his fists as the aftermath of the emotion washed through him. He panted for a moment, considering his options. Staying in his room like this was not one of them.

He needed air. He needed release. He needed—

Dick closed his eyes and sighed. He needed to go for a run.

He changed into jogging shorts and a hooded sweatshirt, grabbed his keys and shoved those into the front hand-warmer pocket of the sweatshirt, and left his room. He turned the knob to be sure that the door was locked and then he headed for the elevator.


Garfield Logan sat on the floor in his room angrily flipping channels. There weren't any good cartoons on and nothing else was mindless enough to take his mind off of things. Finally he clicked the power button with a bit more force than necessary and chucked the remote onto his bed. Gar needed to do something to unwind, and he had just the solution.

He opened his window and stared off at the horizon. North… North to the ocean sounded very appealing. A nice sea breeze, the soft kiss of clouds as he soared through them… Yes, the skies above the ocean…

Well, the Long Island Sound would have to suffice.

Gar took a step back and leapt at his open window. He transformed into a dragonfly before any part of his body had left the building. The green dragonfly ascended alongside the building to the roof. Once on the roof he made for the shadows, dipping down and out of site and reappearing before the world as a peregrine falcon. The falcon spread its wings and lofted high, screeching off into the clouds.

Garfield loved falcons. More specifically, he loved the peregrine. Something about soaring through clouds and around mountains—or buildings, at 55 miles per hour… Then there was that lovely dive bomb at 270 that was great for paying back the bullies.


Raven sat in a lotus position on the roof of the dormitory. She needed to meditate. Badly. That… conversation… with Dick had done more than just unbalance her. She was so used to his mind being closed to her that when those flashes slammed into her third eye they hit like a fist. Those pictures of memory, crystal clear, devoid of emotion, carried a physical pain shook her to the core. Those moments resonated an agony that transcended emotion. Raven hadn't experienced such pain since her first waking moments on Earth, which brought with them the realization of her banishment from Azarath.

She hadn't expected it. That was the worst part. Humans and their emotions are as a general rule easily predictable. When you push the right buttons—pick at the right scars and find what hurts, humans will flail and then they'll flee… or fight. This choice, this fifty-fifty shot has always been easy to predict in individuals. Raven knew Garfield Logan would run; that's why she hurt him. She wanted him gone, and then he left. Emotional manipulation has always been an easy way for her to achieve her goals.

What she hadn't counted on was Dick Grayson. His mind was always calm, serenely blank. Oh he was intelligent, sure. His sharp mind was something that she admired. Yet that intellect had covered all emotions, it seemed. His wit was sarcastic and sometimes biting, and there were the vaguest hints of pessimism thinly veiled behind an almost casual apathy that Raven found familiarly comfortable.

She had thought that Dick Grayson might have been a bit like her. She wasn't prepared for how right she was.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Raven had vacated his room, as requested, but she had stood outside his door for a few moments. She had been trying to quickly center herself; his comments revealing that he had looked into her past set off alarm bells. Then he didn't heed the warning in her voice but instead reacted with one of his own. The exponentially increasing stakes had threatened to bring out her anger—she was almost certain they were moments away from something exploding inside his dorm room; but then the anger was deflated quickly—replaced by the sudden intensity of hurt that she gleaned from Dick. She wasn't used to feeling emotions change that quickly. It sent her precarious inner balance tumbling off in all directions and she desperately needed to meditate in order to regain that control.

She was just about to enter her own dorm room when the music started. It's harshness was grating—almost as badly as the lyrics were resonant. For a reason that right now she is still at a loss to explain, Raven extended her third eye and sought out Dick's mind.

The kaleidoscope of images nearly made her double over in pain.

FLASH!

A circus tent…

Stunning reds of the big top. Striking golds in the sawdust and hay…

FLASH!

Crying.

Ear piercing screams falling short of the moment.

FLASH!

Red bleeding into gold.

Mangled bodies lying at odd angles…

Lonely lengths of frayed rope.

FLASH!

Eyes.

Ice blue, opened, forever frozen in shock and horror…

FLASH!

Raven gasped. Dick has his mother's eyes

The visions swirled and pulled back, fading into each other and then out to a cold and haunting gray that made Raven shiver, and then the calm and solid black that she was familiar with that made her feel nothing at all.

Blackness, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

Raven then disappeared into her room.

Now she sat on the roof of the dorm.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Focusing her energies and restructuring her emotional controls from the ground up.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Regaining her sense of peace and understanding in the world around her.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Dick Grayson was a young man with demons. Oh, they may not be demons in the literal sense but there were demons nonetheless.

Just like her.

Azarath…

Dick fights to keep those demons under control, and this is accomplished by keeping his emotions under control.

Just like her.

Metrion…

To maintain that level of control—and so effectively that until now she wasn't even sure that it was indeed what he was doing, Dick meditates. He does this through physical activity, as evidenced by the kata she heard him go through to music—and by going for runs as she had just seen him do not a moment ago, but still… meditation.

Just. Like. Her.

Xinthos…

Admittedly she had run a web search on 'Dick Grayson' as soon as her internet access was up and running to try and see if anything overt would shed some light on his rather unique ability to shield his surface thoughts. The most useful links went to old newspaper articles detailing how an accident at Haly's Circus left their star trapeze artists dead and a young son orphaned. Follow-ups to the story proclaimed the 'accident' a homicide with an ongoing investigation that was never listed as having been solved. Now more than ever she was certain that Dick was the son-turned-orphan in question. Those… images… that she was subjected to… that had leeched out from the vice that holds his thoughts and emotions within… so clear, too real for memory and yet too vivid for fantasy…

Memory seen so often that it is burned into the brain. Memory seen and studied to fill in all the missing details. Memory relived both willingly and not; pain embraced and yet pain shoved into closets in the mind, locked away from even her levels of perception.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Who studies such memories? What type of person deliberately pokes at such wounds—deliberately feels the pain to see with such stunning clarity? What would such a person hope to gain?

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos

Who was Dick Grayson?

And what just flew off the roof?


Dick Grayson had been running for longer than he remembered ever running in his entire life. Of course, since he took his watch off a while ago because his wrist was sweating he had no way of knowing whether or not that assessment was accurate or if it was merely his tired and pessimistic mind telling him so.

When he left the dorms three hours ago he didn't really have a specific destination in mind. Dick ran through the streets near the University until he found himself on Northern Boulevard. On a whim he followed this road west until it crossed the highway. He contemplated turning around then… he really didn't want to push the limits of his endurance too much since he was uncertain of his abilities after his injury. But he didn't feel tired… Or rather, he didn't feel tired enough to want to go back just yet. So he decided to follow the highway north. North seemed like a good a direction as any.

The farther north Dick ran the more invigorated he felt. The sea breeze was wonderfully cooling, and with the runner's high kicking in Dick saw no reason why he should stop.

Perhaps the endorphin rush clouded his judgment.

Before he knew it, he'd reached the Throgs Neck Bridge. At this point Dick figured that really he should turn back… it had to be approaching midnight at the least… But why stop before crossing a bridge? Dick kept going…and damn it was cold up there! He had to practically sprint across the bridge to stay warm enough to negate the wind chill, which was significant even in summer.

By the time he got to Locus Point he was dead on his feet. It took a significant amount of energy to scale down one of the support structures onto dry ground before reaching the toll booths and the prying eyes of the Transit Authority who would be rather displeased with a the concept of a midnight jogger on their bridge.

Dick walked tiredly over to the beach at Locus Point. He removed the sweatshirt and kicked off his sneakers. He peeled the socks off his feet and waded out into the water, splashing himself all the while to cool down and attempting to ignore the fact that it was Eastchester Bay. Once he was sufficiently cooled he walked back to dry sand and plopped down heavily. It was a good night to just stare at the moonlight reflecting off the waves…

That good night rapidly progressed into a good morning. All too soon Dick caught the slight lightening of the eastern horizon and a pre-dawn fog began rolling in off the water. If Locus Point sunrises were anything like Gotham then it was just after four thirty. Dick hung his head and sighed; he would need to head back soon. Writing class starts at ten thirty.

Dick pulled on his socks and shoes and zipped his sweatshirt more fully. He checked his watch—four forty-five. With any luck he'd be back by nine, giving him plenty of time to shower and grab breakfast before class. If he could only stay awake long enough to get through French he could then sleep for the rest of the day.

Dick scaled the bridge without any trouble and had begun his jog before the bridge became packed with commuters.

Unfortunately, he didn't get much farther than the bridge before the cramps set in. It started out as a stitch in his side. Then his hamstrings made themselves known in a less-than-polite fashion. However, when he slowed down to accommodate these hindrances the chest pains set in: a burning that began in his left shoulder that seemed to creep out from the bullet scar. Then breathing hurt; slowly at first, forcing Dick to take shallower and shallower breaths to avoid the pain.

Dick had just run down the exit ramp from the Cross Island Parkway onto Northern Boulevard when the dizziness started coming in overwhelming waves. He had to stop for a time to catch his breath, which was a much more painful affair than it should have been. The morning commute was in full swing now and so Dick veered off the road and into Alley Pond Park. He knew that he needed to get back to campus, but at the same time he was aware that pushing himself was not the way to go about it. So he began walking, following Northern Boulevard as it traversed the park.

Slowly Dick made his way out of the park and into suburbia. He didn't feel any worse for having walked. On the contrary, he was starting to feel a bit better. Dick thought that he could finish off his run if he took it nice and slow, and for a while it seemed to be working.

A very brief while.

The dizziness returned with a vengeance. Suddenly the road was teetering dangerously back and forth. Dick slowed to a halt and bent over, bracing himself with his hands on his knees. The pavement beneath his feet began to sway and stretch and was soon running laps around him.

Dick didn't realize when his body joined in with the ground's rhythm until pavement came up to smack him in the nose. Fortunately he braced a hand out at the last second and saved the concussion. From this awkward position he quickly flopped down the rest of the way to curl into the fetal position. His chest was burning and the headache that had suddenly slammed him was threatening to eject his eyes from their sockets. He knew the headache was from the dehydration, too, and he could just hear Alfred's admonishment of his gross stupidity.

Alfred's rather soothing accent was suddenly overpowered by the blare of a car horn. Dick blinked and the world suddenly snapped back into place—as did the pain. The horn sounded again and Dick turned his head to see an oversized SUV pull off the road near him. That's when Dick noticed (in the act of head-turning) that he was on his back, which meant that he had rolled over at some point, which therefore meant that he had blacked out.

"Brilliant, Dick," he groaned, as he forced himself into a sitting position. "Fucking brilliant."

"Are you alright there?" The SUV had magically coughed up a person. An older man with thinning salt and pepper hair—

Dick groaned again and rolled his eyes shut.

"Do you need help?"

Dick opened his eyes to see the man standing several feet away. "Just taking a breather, Dr. Cabrini," he said, trying to sound casual to the man he recognized as the head of Hudson University's psychology department.

The doctor was taken aback for having been addressed by name. He then deduced that the young man sitting on the sidewalk must be a student at the university. This was verified when Dick shakily stood up.

"I know you?" he said. "From the university?"

Dick nodded weakly as he made sure his feet were securely beneath him. "Yeah," he said, his voice a bit stronger. "Richard Grayson. I'm part of the summer program."

Dr. Cabrini nodded. He remembered seeing Dick around campus; not many forget those eyes.

"Ah yes," he said. "You'll be taking a class with me this fall."

Dick nodded. "Monday mornings, eight to eleven."

The doctor smirked. "I hope you're not a commuter."

Dick had the good graces to blush slightly. "No, I live on campus. I was just out for a jog this morning."

The smirk left the doctor's face. "We're over five miles from campus…"

"Wow, that close?"

Dr. Cabrini got the distinct impression that this revelation came as pleasant surprise. "Yes," he answered. "Why? Where did you think you were?"

Dick opened his mouth to answer but suddenly wobbled on his feet. Dr. Cabrini reached a hand out to steady him.

"Richard?"

Dick regained his equilibrium and nodded again to say that he was fine. "I might have overdone it a bit this morning."

The doctor eyed him critically for a moment. Then: "Let me give you a ride back to campus."

"You don't have to," Dick insisted.

"Richard, you can barely stand. I don't think you can walk much either, let alone run. I could call an ambulance to report a jogger in distress, or you can get in the car."

Dick sighed and admitted defeat. He allowed himself to be led over to the silver Escalade. The heated leather seat and refreshing blast of air conditioning felt wonderful. The headache, joint pains, and breathing difficulties marred the experience though. That and the physical exertion in lieu of sleep was beginning to catch up to him, yet another sign that he still wasn't back to the condition he felt he should be in by now. It reminded him of his early training days, and that wasn't a good thing.

Dr. Cabrini pulled his SUV up in front of the dormitory that houses the summer session students. The clock in the dashboard read 8:15.

"Thanks for the ride," Dick said as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

"You're welcome, Richard," the doctor replied. "Now if I were you I'd drink some water and head over to the University clinic."

"I'm alright, Dr. Cabrini," Dick deflected. "Really."

"Then why are you wheezing?"

"I've been sick," Dick answered. "I guess I'm not as better as I thought." Dick opened the passenger door. "But I don't need to go to the clinic. I will drink some water though." He climbed out of the car. "Thanks again," and before the doctor could say anything the door swung shut and Dick was jogging up the front stairs of the dorm.

A shower, change of clothes, a full gallon of water to drink followed by a large coffee from the café and it was time for class. Of course, he couldn't tell if the trembling was from exhaustion or the sudden caffeine intake, and the horrific pains as his kidneys decided to switch back on and say 'hello' after the water began to cycle through were about an even trade for the lessening of the headache.

Yet despite it all, Dick was still five minutes early for class.


Raven sat in her usual seat in the back of the classroom. The din of thoughts this morning was rather subdued; most people were lamenting the end of the weekend or dreading the paper that's due tomorrow. If the levels stayed like this then maybe she could make it through class without the luxury of Dick Grayson's dark and quiet mind to focus on. He was usually here by now…

Maybe it was masochism, or maybe just morbid curiosity, but Raven chose to focus in on the mind of Garfield Logan. The swirling cacophony melted away into a single personality. A single voice rose above the rest, and it was asking questions.

Where is he, anyway? He wasn't in his room this morning…

Raven's interest piqued. Who? That's when she remembered that Dick Grayson hadn't arrived yet. She focused on Garfield again.

What was that last night? Was he standing up for me? Against her? They're friends.

Raven blinked. Friends?

I'm not his friend. Why'd he do that? He's Dick Grayson. I'm nobody. Why?

Just then the balance shifted; the background noise rose in crescendo and then fell again.

Dick just walked in the door. Raven quickly blocked out Garfield's mind; the thoughts were becoming too frantic to tolerate.

Dick grabbed an empty seat, near the door as always. He pulled his notebook from his backpack and dropped it onto his desk, then rested his head on his arms on the notebook.

Raven instantly noticed that Dick wasn't acting like himself. For starters, he's usually more awake for class than most. Then there were the bags under his eyes, pale complexion, and slight limp that made it look as though he was hit by a truck. She focused her third eye in on his mind and silently gasped. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck! Raven seriously regretted her ability to sense the physical pain of others in that instant. That truck drove through Dick's chest and parked on his kidneys, and the trailer door hit him in the head on the way down.

What in Azarath happened to him last night?

That's when she remembered that she saw him leave to go jogging last night. She stayed on the roof meditating until after midnight. She hadn't seen him return.


Somehow Dick managed to stay awake through his morning writing class without too much difficulty. Of course, the relentless pain in his sides and lower back, courtesy of his irate kidneys, might have aided that. Thankfully the professor used the entire class period to answer questions concerning the upcoming paper, and therefore it didn't look bad that Dick kept his head on his closed notebook the whole time. At least his eyes stayed open and fixed on the professor, no matter where his mind went.

When class ended Dick stood up and silently promised his kidneys that he would never be that stupid again so that maybe they would forgive him sometime in the near future. In tandem to this promise, Dick added on the peace offering of a trip to the café.

Subconsciously he was aware of a small green shadow following him from class all the way across campus to the café. This 'shadow' stayed back and mostly out of sight and then followed him into the café, got in line two people behind and kept his capped head down. On his way into the café proper Dick called out:

"I'm headed for the table in the corner, Gar."

Garfield Logan chuckled nervously and trotted up beside Dick. "Are you okay man? You look like hell."

"I will be," Dick grunted as he dropped his bag off at the chosen table, and Garfield followed suit. Dick sensed that Gar was nervous about something as they gathered their chosen breakfast foods in an irritatingly tense silence. However, Dick was in no mood for guessing games. He watched Garfield push a slice of pancake around in his imitation maple syrup for all of twenty seconds before losing his patience.

"Are you going to make pancake sculptures all morning or are you going to tell me what's on your mind?"

If it were possible, green Garfield Logan blushed. He slid a bit lower in his chair and forced a smile. "Uh... I tried to talk to you earlier—this morning I mean. You weren't around."

"Ran late this morning," Dick responded with a touch of annoyance in his voice. Gar cowered a bit more and Dick softened his expression. "Why?"

"I, uh… Well, you see, I wanted to ask you…"

Dick did his best to not allow his impatience to rattle the poor boy further. "Yes?" He didn't do a very good job.

Gar swallowed nervously. "Well, a—about last night…"

Dick's face remained impassive but his eyes flashed briefly with that darkness Garfield had seen right before he took his leave of Dick's room.

"What about it?" Dick asked, his voice betraying no emotion and therefore reassuring Gar that whatever he saw briefly in Dick's ice blue eyes was probably just his paranoid and over-active imagination playing tricks on him. But then again…

"I'm sorry," he said quietly to his pancakes.

"For what?" Dick sounded genuinely surprised.

Garfield looked up then with wide, uncertain eyes. "F—for making you fight with Raven."

Dick's eyes flashed again, and his jaw clenched. It seemed as though the temperature of the café dropped suddenly. "You didn't make me fight with Raven," he reassured, his voice hard and authoritative. "Raven made me fight with Raven."

"But, you two are friends," Gar protested. "You only fought cuz of me." He looked down and away again and slumped in his chair.

"No," Dick insisted, "we fought because she chose to be a heartless bitch. You had nothing to do with that and I'm sorry you got in the way."

Garfield grinned broadly—for a fraction of a second. His demeanor quickly changed back to insecure whipped puppy. "Oh, the chlorophyll comment," he said, once again to his pancakes. "S'okay. I got that sort of thing all the time in high school. I'm used to it." Had he been looking up he would have seen Dick smirk.

"That remark is why I called her 'heartless' after you left,"

Garfield looked up at that and saw Dick's smirk run cold.

"She's a bitch because of what she said in return."

"Really? What'd she say?" The eager curiosity fell from Gar's face just as quickly as it came. He looked away again. "Sorry. None of my business."

"You don't want to know, anyway," said Dick with finality and Gar knew not to ask again, so he just nodded.

"Thank you," he said at length, breaking the thick silence that had descended.

"For what?"

"For sticking up for me. And for, you know… not asking?"

Dick blinked. "Asking…?"

Gar went back to pushing pancake mush around his plate again. "You never asked me why," he said quietly. "Even people who try to be nice to me, they always ask me why I'm… I'm—but you never did! You never… drew attention to—my condition." Then, almost inaudibly: "No one's ever been nice to me before without asking."

Thankfully Dick wasn't so out of it that he thought Gar was speaking to his plate of syrup-soaked pancakes. "I didn't have to," Dick confessed, smirking when Garfield looked up. "You're in the IMDb."

Garfield blinked in surprise and then blushed as much as a green human is capable. "The Internet Movie Database! Awwww man! I'd hoped they'd forgotten about me!"

Dick laughed—lightly to ensure that Gar wouldn't think it was directed at him. "Apparently not," he said. Then, in an attempt at delicacy: "there aren't many… people like you… in the world." Well, it's the thought that counts. "I watched Space Trek growing up and when I saw you in class I googled your name."

Garfield sighed melodramatically. "I hoped that the students here would have been too young to have stayed up late to watch it," he confessed. "And that the professors wouldn't have bothered with it on principle."

Dick chuckled. "Well as much as I'd love to stay and chat," he stood up—with a grimace of pain that was quickly masked, "I have to get ready for French."

Garfield groaned. "Dude, I am sooooooo not ready for this quiz thing."

This in turn caused Dick to groan; he'd forgotten about the quiz. "Hopefully it won't be too bad," he said as he grabbed his things.

"Well normally I wouldn't worry—I speak a little French, throwback to my early childhood," he explained at Dick's questioning glance. "'Cept I didn't study last night."

Dick arched an eyebrow.

"Well I meant to," Gar defended. "I just… got caught up doing something else."

"Video games?"

"No, I—" Garfield caught himself, realizing he had no idea what to tell Dick—if anything, of his nocturnal activities. After all, he couldn't just say 'I flew a few laps of Long Island as a peregrine falcon'.

"I went for a walk."

Dick nodded, mentally making note of the substitution but deciding not to press.

They walked over to the dormitory in comfortable silence. However, Dick's longer legs made his natural gate a bit wider than Garfield's and so he seemed to maintain a good half-step's distance ahead of his slight green companion. Normally Garfield would just walk faster to compensate for this, but he was preoccupied with studying the slight limp in Dick's stride.

"So what'd you do last night?" he asked Dick when they had made it to the privacy if the elevator.

Dick gave him a sideways glance.

"You're limping a bit," Gar pointed out. "And you look like shit."

"Went for a run," Dick said dismissively.

"Where? Back to Gotham?"

Dick glared and Garfield seemed to shrink. He studied his shoelaces.

"You've been to Gotham; would you want to run there at night?"

Gar couldn't help but laugh. "Dude, I wouldn't want to run there during the day!" The humor suddenly slipped into seriousness. "Gothamites have a bit of a bias against people like me."

"Yeah," Dick casually agreed. "The paparazzi are murder on celebrities."

Garfield's sudden look of bewilderment soon melted into a grin. Then the elevator doors opened and Dick went off in search of his room. Garfield followed without realizing where Dick was headed and then slunk back, embarrassed, when Dick stopped at the door.

"Sorry," Gar said quietly.

"I'll just be a minute," Dick said dismissively. He unlocked the door and slipped inside—making sure to shut Garfield out. He reemerged momentarily, however, having grabbed another notebook and taken a few extra strength painkillers. "Ready for a test?" he asked, pulling the door shut and checking the knob to be sure it was locked.

"Is anyone ever ready for a test?" Garfield groaned in reply as they began walking towards the elevator.

"No, but does anyone have a choice, either?"

"Well you could always fake sick. With how you look I'm sure Monsieur La Brun would believe you."

Dick snorted. "Funny. I would just have to make it up anyway."

"Well, yeah. But by then you might be ready."

"I thought you said that no one was ever ready for a test?"

When Garfield didn't reply, Dick followed his gaze and saw Raven standing patiently waiting for the elevator.

"Uh, you go ahead," Gar said quietly. "I'll… take the stairs." He then turned without further word and headed for the stairwell. Dick's kidneys gave a preemptive signal of their displeasure and he bit back a grimace.

"Wait up," he called out, purposely loud enough for Raven to hear. "It's a good day for the stairs."


Raven had heard them coming long before they entered earshot. That is to say, she heard Garfield's almost frantic mind coming from a mile away. His disjointed thoughts were hard to sort through at first, but soon she picked out his friendly banter with Dick concerning their upcoming French test. Satisfied that they weren't discussing her and the… incidents… of last night, she shifted her focus and tuned the both of them out.

Of course, not being tuned in didn't stop her from sensing loud and clear when Garfield noticed her presence. A caged tiger snarled at the same time a kitten cowered in a corner. She'd expected this reaction, the mixture of anger and hurt. After all, she made him angry by hurting him. It made sense that he would want to avoid her. It's what she wanted, wasn't it?

"Wait up. It's a good day for the stairs."

That was deliberate, Raven knew. It was said with the intentions of her overhearing it. A slight breeze blew through the hallway. So Dick was still angry. Well, in truth she'd expected that, too. She didn't expect him to voluntarily take the stairs to avoid her though, especially when his entire body was screaming at him not to be so foolish.

That in and of itself was a deliberate move, done for her benefit. Dick purposely chose Garfield over her. Was it meant to hurt her? To make her angry or rub salt in fresh wounds? Or was it just a simple, pointed statement about his current feelings? Raven hadn't a clue, as Dick's mind was hidden from her.

Her musings ended as the elevator light dinged to life and the doors opened.


"Dude, you gonna make it?"

Garfield and Dick had made their way from the eighth floor to the third. For the first two floors Dick was fine, then somewhere between five and six he began using the handrail, and on the landing of the third floor he had to lean up against the side of the wall to catch his breath.

Dick waved Gar off even as he panted. "Maybe it isn't such a good day for the stairs…"

"Yeah I'll say," Garfield readily agreed. His green eyes blinked in concern.

Dick pushed off the wall and stood under his own power again. Then he took a look over the side of the stairwell at the center railing and how it bent itself around corners…

"Screw this," he muttered as he slipped off his sneakers. "Take these and meet me at the bottom."

"W-what?"

Dick grabbed the railing and vaulted into a crouch position. "Stairs suck." He waved casually and pushed himself off the flat part of the railing at the landing and onto the slope, balancing effortlessly on the two-inch wide hard plastic.

"DUUUUUUDE!"

Garfield ran down the stairs two at a time to try and catch up to Dick, who was using his arms and shifting his weight to steer around corners. He had made it to the landing halfway between the first and second floors just in time to see Dick jump at the last second as he ran out of rail. His momentum carried him nearly six feet into the hallway before he landed on steady feet in a slightly sideways crouch.

"Dude! How'd you do that?" Garfield ran down the last of the stairs and over to Dick's side as he stood.

"Practice," Dick groaned as his body reprimanded him.

"That was just totally awesome, man!" Gar exclaimed. "You shouldn't worry about the French test. If college doesn't work out you could always run away with the circus."

"We're going to be late," Dick said as he reached over and grabbed his sneakers from where Gar had dropped them. He had them laced quickly and when he stood only a practiced eye would have been able to spot the hesitation and the grimace of pain. "Let's go."


Raven was waiting for them beside the elevator. She had seen Dick's acrobatic display and, unlike Garfield, knew exactly where he learned to do that. She was ready make her presence known when she felt the kick to the stomach that was Dick's reaction to Garfield's circus comment and decided that letting him know she'd seen and heard everything might not have been the smartest choice. Thus she chose to make it look like she had been waiting by the main door instead.

Both Dick and Gar stopped short when they saw her standing there.

"I'm in all of your classes. Trying to avoid me is rather pointless."

FLASH!

A cat hissing and growling…

FLASH!

"Are you really that bored?" Gar asked, causing Raven to blink and return to the here and now. "Have nothing better to do than pick another fight?"

"I wanted to make sure you made it down the stairs without breaking your neck," Raven droned to Dick, unperturbed.

"Well now you know," Garfield dismissed. "So go away."

Raven's eyes narrowed just slightly. "Wasn't talking to you," she dismissed, her gaze focused on Dick. Then, with her voice uncharacteristically soft: "Are you sure you're alright? I saw you go running last night but I didn't see you come back."

"What? Are you stalking him now?"

"Are you his designated voice?" Raven shot back.

The two glared each other down. Raven's eyes were hard and challenging, and she saw in Garfield's the ghost of something primal. His thoughts gave her a headache.

"Say something Dick," Garfield called out in defiance of Raven's comment.

There was no reply.

Slowly and as one the two of them turned to where Dick was standing.

He wasn't there.

Garfield looked at his watch. "Awwww man!" he whined. "We're late!"

The two exchanged angry glares before dashing down the hall and out the door towards class.


The pain meds were starting to kick in, and Dick wanted nothing more in the world than to curl up in a ball and sleep for a week. Unfortunately he didn't have that option. He had a test to take, and his quasi-friends' bickering was starting to give him a headache. So taking a cue from his mentor, Dick vanished without either of them noticing. He was already seated in his desk in French class, pen held at the ready, when Raven and Garfield stumbled in, breathless and late for class.

The test passed in a blur for Dick. He wasn't quite sure if he read the questions correctly, and then he wasn't quite sure if he answered them correctly. Well, he felt confident about the true/false and multiple-choice sections. It was the fill-in-the-blanks that worried him, though as he left the classroom he was suddenly unsure as to why he was unsure in the first place.

A nap sounded good. A very. long. nap.

Dick finally arrived back in his room. He didn't have any other responsibilities for the rest of the day. As he made sure his lock was secure, his eyes settled on the poster of Haly's Circus that hung on the back of his door. It was an older publicity poster, cheaply framed for dorm purposes (unlike the larger, more ornate one that hung in his room back at the manor). His parents' faces stared out at him in faded colors from the top left corner. After all, the Flying Graysons were headliners, the stars of the show…

Dick sighed tiredly as his gaze lingered there. He missed them terribly; the ache their death left him with hadn't dulled or faded with time. Rather, he'd simply gotten used to its constant presence. Except for these past few days of course, when the very thought of being 'used to it' was enough to make his stomach turn. He never wanted to be used to that feeling, Dick decided. Getting used to it was just another step closer to the type of acceptance he was striving to avoid. Worse than 'getting used to it,' 'finding acceptance' might actually make him think of hanging up the Robin suit.

"Not on your life," he promised aloud. He wasn't sure if he was speaking to Batman, The Joker, Harvey Dent, Boss Zucco, or even Richard John Grayson, but he promised nonetheless.

Dick didn't even bother to take his shoes off. He shut off the lights and fell on top of his bed, content to merely pass into temporary oblivion.


Raven stood outside Dick's door. She hasn't seen him since he left French, and she needed to talk to him. She had expected to see him at dinner, but he didn't show. She endured nearly two hours of the closest approximation to Hell on Earth (or to her, Hell within Hell) in order to wait for him and he didn't come down.

Raven was still new to the spectacle of human interaction. She didn't quite know how to behave around people. Oh, she knew what they felt and what they thought and this made it easier to predict them, but that didn't make them easier to endure. People like Garfield Logan were harmless irritations that she was now slowly developing a callous towards. Their frantic and disjointed—and quite frankly volatile thoughts that bred their emotions were very far removed from her norms of militantly pursued restraint and emotional detachment. So unused to normal human interaction, Raven had been overwhelmed when she first arrived at Hudson University. Now, as time wore on, she found herself less and less suffocated by the encroaching thoughts and emotions of others. Simply tuning out the constant cacophony has grown easier with each passing scenario of forced interaction.

Raven was discovering that she could be around people and still remain isolated from their thoughts and emotions—something that she feared she would never be able to manage. And tuning out the din was making some scenarios of forced interaction almost bearable, almost… pleasant, and while eating in the café certainly wasn't one of them, class time was shaping up to be just the type of scenario she could enjoy.

This was a comforting realization.

The startling realization was that she found herself sometimes actually wanting the company of ordinary human beings. Well, not 'ordinary' human beings, precisely. More like, Raven found herself wanting the company of one 'extra ordinary' human being; the company of the only human being she has found capable of blocking her completely out of his mind.

Well, until she royally pissed him off the other day.

Raven found herself wanting to be in the company of Dick Grayson. There were no expectations, no pretenses, no intruding thoughts. Being in his presence was easy, almost… comfortable. It almost reminded her of Azarath and the powerful minds there, where one could be surrounded and yet all alone with their own mind and yet be completely fine and at peace with this concept.

As Raven got used to a world without friends or family and only the random, frantic and disjointed volatile thoughts of strangers to keep her company when she chose! … Being in the sole company of Dick Grayson felt a bit like home.

And Raven knew that she needed to apologize to him and soon if she was ever going to have that feeling again.

With these thoughts in mind Raven knocked on Dick's door. A few moments later and a bleary-eyed Dick Grayson opened his door.

"What?" he demanded bluntly. It was obvious to Raven that he'd been sleeping. His mind was as blank as ever.

"We need to talk."

"Can it wait?"

"No."

Dick sighed groggily and stepped back from the door in wordless invitation. Raven only hesitated a moment before crossing the threshold. When she made sure to shut the door behind her she noticed the poster of Haly's Circus hanging on the door. She inwardly cringed, remembering their earlier argument.

"What's up?" Dick asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he sat on the edge of his futon.

Raven steeled her resolve; it was now or never. "Uh… About earlier… Last night."

"What about last night?" His tone was flat. Raven couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"I said some things. You said some things… We both… said things."

On any other evening, Dick might have found her newfound inability to speak her mind amusing.

"Yeah… and?"

"And… Uh… I'm—" Raven's apology was cut off by the sudden explosion of Dick's light fixture. It was momentarily enveloped in obsidian energy only to shatter completely. Fine shards of glass rained down on the room as Dick barely had the chance to shield his eyes before the futon, the floor, and just about everything else were covered in glass. When the glass shower ceased, Dick's first instincts were to check the windows and doors. He didn't see any bullet holes or anything of that nature, so that greatly narrowed the possibilities.

"First the heater, now the light fixture!" he grumbled as he dusted glass off of his jeans. He noticed Raven's slight blush even though she didn't think he did.

Raven closed her eyes and took a few deep, calming breaths. Then, in a meek, barely audible voice she managed: "I'm sorry."

Dick blinked tiredly. His long-overdue rest was disturbed, and now he needed to change his sheets because of all the glass.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't like hurting people."

"It didn't seem that way."

That flat, almost bland voice. Raven hung her head. "I don't like... I never meant…" Her voice was softer than before, and she seemed to shrink further into herself.

Dick found himself hoping that she would finish that statement. Finally she did.

"To hurt you."

Dick's expression remained carefully neutral. "What did you mean then?"

That emotionless voice again… Raven was almost wishing that he would scream at her or say something that would give her a clue as to his thoughts or emotions.

"You said I was different," she said, sounding more like her normal self again. "What do you know about me?" Just a question, nothing behind it save curiosity.

"I ran a web search on your name."

"Why?"

"Probably for the same reasons you looked up mine."

Raven's stoic nature didn't betray any of her thoughts in that moment. She had looked up Dick Grayson because she sensed he was unique. What exactly does he know?

Regardless, she knew that pressing him wasn't going to gain her anything.

"Garfield… irritates me. I didn't feel like dealing with him, so I took a cheap shot to get him to go away. I didn't think you'd… I didn't think there would be an issue."

Dick seemed to let the weight of this revelation sink in for a moment. "So what about me exactly made you think that I wouldn't care when you insult my friends in my presence?"

"Look… I came here to apologize. I've done that. You can take it or leave it as you will." Satisfied with herself, and knowing not to push her luck by staying and dragging this out, Raven turned to go.

Dick called after her. "I was never the one you needed to apologize to."

Raven paused only momentarily. Then she opened the door—

—And came face to face with Garfield Logan, who had a fist raised and ready to knock. They both stood there staring at each other, lost for words.

Dick resisted the urge to laugh at the both of them. "Come on in Gar," he called out, definite amusement in his tired voice. "Raven and I weren't doing anything important."

Garfield blushed and looked down at the floor. Raven glowered and shut her eyes momentarily.

"Raven, why don't you get out of the way and let him in?"

Her face was a neutral mask despite her inner conflict when she stepped aside.

"Uh… Hi Dick," Gar stammered as he entered the room. "I saw that you didn't come down to dinner, so, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to do that pizza thing now?"

Dick sighed tiredly. "I'd love to, but right now I can barely keep my eyes open. Why don't you take Raven? I know there's a few things she'd like to say to you." Then before either Raven or Garfield knew what was happening, they'd both been ushered outside the room with the door shut and locked in their faces.

Raven and Garfield stood outside Dick's door, staring blankly at each other.

"So you have something to say to me, eh? Care to do it over pizza, or is it not something you can say to me in polite company?"

Raven fumed, mentally counting to ten. "Look, you irritate me. I really have no desire to associate with you outside of class."

"It's only pizza, for Pete's sake!" Garfield interrupted. "It's not like I asked you on a date or anything." Pause. "Not like I would."

Raven held up a hand for silence. "But… just because I think you're beneath me in every sense of the word—"

"Every?" Garfield interrupted again, deliberately teasing.

Raven grit her teeth and mentally forced herself to calm down. "I'm trying to apologize to you. Don't make it harder than it already is."

Garfield blinked. "A-apologize?"

Had Raven not been concentrating so intently she would have enjoyed blindsiding him. "My general opinions of you don't give me the right to insult you for no reason. I'm sorry."

"Uh… I… Ah, well… Uh…" Garfield honestly had no idea what to say or do to that.

"I've said what I needed," Raven droned. "Goodbye." She turned away from him with intents of going back to her room.

"Wait!" Garfield called after her.

Raven paused.

"Did Dick make you apologize to me?"

Raven stood with her back to him for a moment, then walked over to her room and let herself in. Garfield was left alone in the hallway, his question unanswered.

Of course, Raven wasn't the only one he could ask.

He heard a vacuum roar to life inside Dick's room—he wasn't sleeping yet. Gar knocked, loudly, on the door. The vacuum ceased and a highly annoyed Dick Grayson stuck his head out the door.

"What? No pizza?"

Garfield pushed the door open the rest of the way and marched inside. Dick tracked his movements with a bemused look.

"Dude, did you force her to apologize to me?" Garfield looked indignant, which, to an overtired crime fighter used to dealing with irate metahumans, looked uncannily amusing on the petit green teenager.

"Do you really think anyone can force Raven to do anything she doesn't want to do?" Dick asked.

Gar had nothing to say to that.

"Look, I don't need you sticking up for me. I mean, it's cool that you went medieval on her ass yesterday, but don't have her apologize to me just cuz you feel sorry for me. I don't want your pity."

Dick, tired as he was, managed a laugh. "What part of my previous statement didn't you understand?" he asked. "Or was it the whole thing? I didn't force Raven to do anything. She came to apologize to me and mentioned that she wanted to apologize to you, too, but hadn't worked up the nerve yet."

Garfield blinked a few times, jaw hanging open. "I… she… really?"

Dick used his impatience to prevent him from smirking. "Yes. Now I have to finish vacuuming before I can finally get some sleep!"

Garfield just stood there, staring.

Dick was losing patience. "Hint, hint."

"Ah, dude, what the heck happened in here?" Gar ran a boot over the rug in front of him and glass dust jumped about.

"My light fixture exploded," Dick grumbled, reaching for the vacuum.

"Uh, did it, like, hit your mirror on the way down?"

Dick angrily switched on the vacuum. He was desperately trying not to physically pick Gar up and chuck him from the room.

"Ah, right…" Gar stammered after a moment. "You probably want to get this done so that you can, you know, go back to sleep."

"How astute of you," Dick said as passively as he could manage over the hum and crackle of the vacuum sucking up glass.

"Right. So, I'll just, I dunno, leave you to it, I guess. G'night Dick!"

"Night."

Gar left the room, not sure of what to think or feel based on his evening thus far. A nice, long flight seemed in order.


Garfield spent the rest of night soaring through the clouds. He really only felt truly free when he was flying. It helped him to put life's crap far, far below him. When he landed back on the roof of the dormitory a little after midnight he felt much better: refreshed and in a better mental state than he was before he left.

And hungry.

He had just made it back to his floor when he saw Dick's door open. Dick looked worlds better for the additional sleep. Gar wondered if he was feeling social.

"Yo! Grayson!"

Dick saw Gar practically skipping down the hallway towards him. "Hey Gar," he greeted in return. "What's up?"

"Not much," Gar replied as he slowed to a stop next to Dick. "Just got back from a walk."

"Do you always go for walks this late by yourself?"

"I dunno. Do you always go for all night runs by yourself?"

"Not usually," Dick replied casually. "Only when I'm in the mood for pizza. Hungry?"

"Dude! I'm always hungry!"

Dick snorted a laugh. "I should introduce you to my friend Wally…"

"Um, do you think we should invite Raven along?"

As if on cue, a light turned on in Raven's room and shone through the crack in the door.

"Well, she's awake," Dick observed.

Just then the door opened. "I heard you mention pizza," a very calm and collected Raven said to Dick.

"I did," he verified. "Gar and I were on our way out."

"You wanna come with?" Garfield asked cheerfully.

Raven sighed. She really was hungry. Four hours of meditation will do that to a person. And if she wanted to pursue Dick's friendship…

"I'll just grab my coat…"


Song credits: Nine Inch Nails-Terrible Lie; Pretty Hate Machine