Disclaimer: I do not own the Teen Titans. Darn it.

AN: Yes, this does take place before The End. And yes, it's about darn time I got it up.

Chapter 2 – More Time

I sit down on that rock shelf, my back against the rock wall, my feet dangling in space below me. The stone under me is cold, and I think to myself "I shouldn't be here." Much the way I sat here months ago.

After the first visit where I saw Beast Boy crying at the foot of her statue, he had begun to act more like himself. He was playing video games with Cyborg again. Arguing about how much better tofu was than meat. And yet he still was not going out of his way to annoy me. Instead of resuming all of his prankster ways there had still been a melancholy surrounding him. It was eerie in a way, watching Beast Boy reflect parts of me. The parts that pretend I don't feel.

We could all tell he wasn't alright – I could tell he wasn't alright. If someone mentioned her name, he would quietly get up and leave the room. And Robin would stop any of us who tried to follow him, simply saying, "He just needs some time."

"More time," seemed to be the magical cure in Robin's opinion. I wonder how much more time he'll need to come to terms with their death… I've seen through Robin's eyes, and I do not know if there will ever be "more time" enough for him.

I hate to admit to it, but as the second month since her death approached I was beginning to miss our team prankster's ways. Two months without having cause to yell at Beast Boy is a long time. And as the date grew closer, Beast Boy had become increasingly more reserved. The day that marked the second month since she died, he didn't even argue with Cyborg about the evils of meat for breakfast. I sat in my chair and I watched him over the edge of my tea cup, and he just said, "Whatever," while walking away.

At four-thirty that afternoon, I was sitting on the shelf of rock high above the statue of our betrayer. At four-thirty, Beast Boy came down the cave. Beast Boy who was never on time for anything so long as I had known him had managed to arrive at the exact time of her sacrifice two months in a row. It… irked me.

In his left hand, he carried a small bunch of daffodils. They had been her favorite flower in life. He stood before the statue fall to his knees as though his strength had left him. He placed the flowers at her feet, crossed his arms and rested his head on them. And then he had started crying. It began slowly at first, but increased in intensity until he was sobbing.

Again I felt the white hot heat of anger. I was angry that she could have betrayed us like she did. Angry that she had hurt Beast Boy this badly. And I was angry that I had trusted her. And that I hadn't stopped her. That I trusted her. Once again my rage rose. And once again I had fled the cave, my emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

Spent and drained, I vowed that I would never again set foot in that cave. It was too dangerous for me. Too tempting to let my father loose and destroy the statue of that … girl … And the world that let her exist.

On the cold rock shelf, I pull my legs up to my chest, and rest my arms on them.

After that second time watching Beast Boy collapse and grieve her passing, I began watching Beast Boy carefully. I had told myself I was concerned for him because of what it meant to the team. I told myself that I would want anyone who had gone through what he had to feel better. I told myself that my watching was not because I cared.

I lied to myself.

After the second visit, Beast Boy was more nearly himself than any of us had seen since her betrayal. Mornings were spent arguing with Cyborg about food, or trying to amuse me with his childish jokes. His afternoons were spent playing against something on the GameStation against Cyborg or Robin. And when Starfire accidentally mentioned her, Beast Boy didn't leave the room. He merely grew quiet for a moment before the GameStation blissfully distracted him.

If only I hadn't seen his eyes in that moment. They were filled with a pain that I know all too well. The pain of wanting to feel something but refusing too. The insidious denial of self that leads to self loathing.

On the day that marked the third month since her death, I had planned to be busy at four-thirty in the afternoon. It was dangerous for me to go there. I had spent a week locked in my room meditating the last time I'd gone. A week trying to repair the defenses I used to kept my emotions in check. And while I liked my alone time, I didn't like it that much. And yet, as four thirty approached, I found that my plans were cancelled, delayed or altered, allowing me to slip off to the cave.

Again, Beast Boy was on time. And again he carried flowers. This time was different though. This time I had watched as he laid the flowers down, knelt by her feet, laid his head down and began talking quietly.

I wanted to hear what he said to her, but I could not risk moving from where I was perched. As I sat there I could see that his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

As I watched, it had not occurred to me to wonder where my anger was. Instead, I had been amazed at the power she still seemed to hold over him. For three months he had arrived on time. Beast Boy, the Titan "Most Likely to Sleep Through the Apocalypse", had managed to arrive at the precise moment of her death three times now.

Quietly I sat and watched as he spoke to her statue for nearly a half hour. When he was done, I watched as he slowly stood, stretched his legs and winced. I could not help the smirk that crept to my lips as I watched him stomp his right foot and then stumble around as he had tried to walk on it. Apparently he had allowed his leg to fall asleep. I remember watching as he waved to the statue, and limped slowly out of the cave. Once I was certain he was I had slipped off the rock shelf and levitated down to stand in front of her.

Face to face with my nemesis, I merely asked that motionless effigy, "What did he say to you?"