TEEN TITANS is not mine. Blast it.

Since so many voted in favor of it—and thank you, your words mean a lot to me—here is an epilogue.

Remember: it's another life.

To/For/dedication/etc.: The Writer you Fools, castle in the air, alena-chan, and Cherry Jade

Now then, on with the show.

For Nothing, For Everything...For the Birds

Epilogue: inches

When he entered the bar he didn't expect anyone else to be there at the ungodly hour in the middle of the work week. Who got depressed on a Tuesday? A list came to mind but he shoved it away because it rationalized his being there too much and too easily. Sliding onto a stool, he took note of the attractive woman one seat away from him on his right. And they sat like that, one pretending not to really acknowledge the other for some time while in fact, the only thing they noticed was each other.

And if I move a little closer

It's the inches

Making it count that much

It was nearly four now and he'd been watching her for some time now; she was certain...well, as certain as she could be. One couldn't tell with the way those lazy black lashes veiled the crystal blue beneath them. It was enough to throw anyone off of his true intentions and actions.

But she wasn't anyone and now, she turned to him.

"Stranger," she greeted, foregoing the 'hello' in light of her dislike of clichés and the overall cheeriness of the word itself, and took seat one stool away from him.

"Stranger," he replied and lessened the gap between them, shifting from his stool to the one directly left of her. "You probably have a story about why you're in a bar by yourself at four in the morning on a Tuesday," he suggested, eyeing her thoughtfully.

"Probably," she said, glad he hadn't called her beautiful, and leaned her head on her hand, elbow propped on the bar counter. He read her gaze as curious and maybe a little calculating. That was right before he fell into it.

And if I look a little longer

It's the inches, cruel inches

Holding me to you stronger

Those eyes pierced through him, glistening like the amethyst tones they reflected and held him, spellbound. It felt like they were reaching out to him, however silly that thought might have been. With some difficulty, he tore his eyes from hers, focusing on other parts of her seeming perfection.

Her skin, the man noticed, was a pale hue, like moonlight without the patches of gray, and when she turned to the bartender to tell him what she wanted the man also noticed that her hair was the most inconceivable shade of violet he'd ever seen; and it was beautiful. She picked up her glass, tapered fingers clasping the neck of the drink with unerring lightness as she swirled the contents before taking a sip. Her lips parted just slightly to let the cool red slip between them, and when a drop escaped to stay on her lower lip, she let her tongue flick out to get it.

And that was beautiful too, more sensual, carnal even...but beautiful.

It was almost devastating, and he knew he was staring, but he didn't care.

Odd though, he got the feeling she didn't care either. In fact...he almost thought she was staring too. No, he was sure of it on closer inspection, his blue eyes reaching through the air to clasp irises with hers as they made marks in the silence.

She reached a hand up and traced a finger along his jaw; his breath hitched and he knew it was mere flirtation, but some part of him thought maybe there was more than that in her softness, as well as in his own intensifying attraction.

And if I breathe a little faster

It's the inches, seductive inches

Reminding me of last year

"I could give you a picture," she said wryly, retracting her hand, and he laughed, taking a sip of his own drink, covering up his dismay at the lack of warmth where her hand was seconds before.

"I'd rather have the real thing," he said finally, but she didn't seem appalled or surprised.

Some might have said she looked nearly interested.

"I'm not a call-girl you know," she said, voice somehow managing to be mystifyingly appealing in its toneless nature. Mystery. That suited her, he felt. He imagined she read books too, lots of thick literature he himself would never crave, but he would have to wait to find out for sure.

This was just a hunch after all and she was just a stranger in a bar at four a.m. on Tuesday.

Just a stranger...

"I know. You're too smart for that," he nodded. "I still want you though."

"I'm flattered," she said in a tone that half-suggested she wasn't. The other half could be left up to interpretation.

"So about that story," he prompted.

"You're too ambitious," she curtailed him and he arched a brow.

"Oh?" he asked.

"You could start with asking me my name," she said and took his glass from him, sipping on it. "Not my kind of thing, but it's good and strong," she noted. "Some say the drink befits the drinker, but that would mean you are not my kind of thing either..."

The suggestion lay between them like a veil.

"Am I?" He parted the barrier, interested.

"Well, you're no Superman but I can see some potential..." she trailed off, smiling a smile that didn't seem to fit in the bar scene but worked for her anyway.

"Thanks a lot," he pretended to be injured and then added, "Would I be your kind of thing if I was Superman?"

"Not in the least," she said without hesitation and the smile was still there. So she was sexy, funny, smart...he wondered why he didn't come to bars more often. "Flying away I see," she intoned, flicking a piece of hair out of her face.

"What?" he shook his head; he'd wandered off in his mind, but somehow managed to remain very much right there—his mind had been wrapped up in the intriguing person beside him after all.

"You flew away," she remarked.

"A poet?" he inquired. She shook her head.

"Literati," she said without any sense of arrogance, just a sense of fact and he couldn't help feeling a little satisfied with himself. His earlier speculation had been correct; she did read a lot after all. And it was, of course, nothing but a lucky guess, but still...

…maybe this confirmation of his earlier thoughts was a sign?

He wondered.

Minutes passed.

She sighed and eyed him caustically now. "Are you going to get smarter any time soon? I have to go." At first he didn't understand—a testament to her somewhat biting comment—and then as quickly as he didn't get her meaning, he did.

"What's your name?" he asked, picking up on her reason for the insult, which he quickly shelved. It didn't seem to be the kind of thing he was supposed to take seriously, just respond to.

"What's yours, stranger?" she quipped, feeling he hadn't earned hers quite yet, and slid his glass back over to him at last. He took a long drink and then, licking his lips, he paused before answering.

"Richard," he offered.

"Raven," she exchanged after a considerate pause.

And if I hold you nearer

It's the inches, beautiful inches

Keeping me here

"You're not really leaving, are you?" he questioned even though he felt he already knew the answer.

"No, I just got tired of waiting for you," she responded dryly and he gave her a sheepish grin. They were alone; the bartender had disappeared into the back, seeing his only two customers well engrossed with each other. And when Raven turned her head, dark locks framing her face in a subtle swing, Richard felt himself reach out and run his fingers through it. She turned back to him, not alarmed, not insulted...just interested still.

"Sorry to make you wait," he said and his voice seemed deeper, more emotional, but for what reason, neither could tell.

"I didn't mind that much," she relented with that same gentleness he had a feeling she didn't often show and she leaned into his touch as he framed her face with his hand.

"This is strange," Richard said as he traced the bridge of the beautiful girl's nose with his thumb, the curve of her lips with his index finger, and so on.

"Many things in life are strange, Richard. Stranger than this even, and I find it's better when things do become just so strange to just...go with it," she pointed out and closed her eyes.

Silently he agreed. Silently he went with it. Silently.

He traced the lids with extra care, marveling at the grace of the way her lashes laid in ebony curves against the flesh of her cheek and he broke the quiet to tear himself from the perfection he was incredulous of.

"Your story?" he asked again and her eyes opened.

"The story of Raven?" she clarified, a smallish smile working its way into her face, her perfect, almost statuary face.

"The story of Raven," he repeated and, not able to resist any longer, angled his face down toward her, bringing his lips in a soft crush against hers.

And if I chance it twice

It's the inches, heartbreaking inches

Telling me I'm right...telling me I'm right

And for all that it should not have been possible, she moved a little closer, feeling some part of her soul intertwine with his as Richard drew her frame against his, not caring that they were in public...there was no one there to see them anyway.

Well, almost no one.

The bartender peered out for just a moment and muttered something to himself before backing away.

It sounded like "...love birds."

Of course, one couldn't be certain.

And if I dare to tell the truth

Oh it's the inches, a lifetime of inches

Bringing me closer to you..closer to you.

So that's your cryptic 'in another lifetime we will just be two people' epilogue.

Told you it'd be Robin x Raven. And no I didn't forget about Slade—in fact, I even know what happened to him and how he ended up being reincarnated and where he worked/works into Raven's life in that lifetime, but that seemed irrelevant to the point which was that the two birds would meet again. No he didn't betray her and so on.

But another life is another life...same with another love is another love, you know?

Thank you for the fantastic support. Your reviews mean the world to me in all seriousness, if not literalness.

-Rei