This chapter is especially for YamiTai, as it is, I understand, her birthday on 10th December! And so it is that you all wished me a happy birthday – I'm seventeen, BTW – I am now dedicating this chapter especially to YamiTai in honour of her "eighteenth day of birth", as Starfire would say. YamiTai, this isn't the best present you will get – obviously – but it is the very best I can offer you, so I very much hope that you like it. Happy 18th birthday!
And to all others…
AutumnDynasty; you SO stole that muffin! I'm on to you! Gonna bust your ass, just you wait…
Quinn; you're a witch-hunter. And I have now unofficially adopted "the Boy-love Wonder" onto the end of my pen-name. Might change it officially; haven't decided…
Rocky Wolf; thankyou very much for laughing so at poor Robin's predicament, but somehow I don't think this would ever get animated…
Alexnandru; yes, why indeed would a burglar shower at a superheroes' team's HQ? Makes you wonder…
(Robin, flanked by the other Titans, pulls back shower curtain with a flourish to reveal-)
Robin: Mumbo, why are you in our shower?
Mumbo: Oh, bugger…
Narroch06; glad you're still reading, since we do have, uh… other matters to contend with…
Phoenix Skyborne; I left you a review for Changes: Nine Months More! It's REALLY great so far! UPDATE!
Kitty; seems you have a Batman addiction, then. Come join the rest of us and be merry!
Seductive Angel; love your name of "Borgie" for Cyborg! I love Cyborg, and I think(?) you do too? Yay! And of course you love Robin – we all do…
Yes, send your letters to stupid-Cartoon-stupid-Network and give them a piece of your mind! Cancelling Teen Titans indeed…
SAVE TEEN TITANS!
Tears of Tamaran
"Gotta… have something…"
Robin grasped hold of another box from the very back of his deep wardrobe and hauled it out, letting it crash heavily onto the floor. He frantically tore off the masking tape that kept it shut and pulled it open, desperately sifting through it. That freaking tuxedo he had worn to that horrible Kitty's prom. Or was it Kitten? Yeah, Kitten…
He angrily shoved it to one side where it joined several other cardboard packing boxes, most with their contents spewed all over the floor around the wardrobe. He sat in the middle of the mess dressed just in his boxer shorts, plain white – no robins; he was done with robins – and still without his mask. Around him lay the contents of those dusty boxes, stuff from his room at Wayne Manor that Bruce had had delivered to the tower a few days after the "Joker Incident". All stuff that was his, some of it dating back to even before he had met Bruce; before he had become Robin. Around him lay a mish-mash of different eras in his life; he had torn his countless Robin uniforms from their hangers where they were usually neatly arranged and now the grey metal floor was adorned with splashes of red, yellow and green, littered with spare birdarangs and explosive discs and grappling hooks. On top of these were circus costumes, far too small for him now but with a certain sentimental value, glittering lycra outfits of red, green, blue, some with the legends "The Flying Graysons" or "Haley's Circus" adorning them in showcard scripts, others boasting amazing intricate designs. There were a few faded circus posters advertising different acts, a few flyers for the circus when it was in town. There were a few batarangs, blunt and a little scratched up but in one piece. There was a truly terrible blue v-neck jumper Alfred had made him wear the day Bruce had been awarded official custody of him, again far too small for him now, and a gross t-shirt with a fluorescent vampire on it he had persuaded Bruce to buy him simply because he knew Alfred would despise it. There were old comic books, some of them dating 10 years ago, books he had vague memories of his mother reading to him in the sun outside their circus trailer, a handsome leather-bound omnibus of Sherlock Holmes stories given to him by Bruce. Now the tuxedo had joined the collection.
None of it was what he was looking for.
He found one last box, gripped it and dragged it out. He pushed his flat damp hair out of his eyes and tore open the box.
Bingo…
Normal clothes Bruce had sent up for him, all brand new and in his size. He had inquired why he would need them when his everyday wear consisted of green spandex and a cape; Bruce had merely grinned and replied that if he ever decided to go on a date, he might want something a little more practical, however well green spandex showed off his ass.
He delved into it, pulling things out one at a time and running his sceptic gaze over them. All designer, of course; only the best and most expensive when it came to Bruce and his credit card. Saks Fifth Avenue, Tommy Hilfiger, DKNY, Jasper Conran, Ralph Lauren, Ben Sherman…
He picked out a pair of black jeans almost as tight as his freaking spandex pants – Bruce for one didn't believe in breathing space – and a white t-shirt, again maybe tighter than he would have liked, that despite being plain probably cost $100+; he doubted that even ol' Tommy Hilfiger could burn a hole in Bruce's pocket. But he had to admit that Bruce, outside of his pointy-eared bat costume, did have good taste in clothes, and knew what his "son" liked and what suited him.
He stood up and swung the wardrobe door wide open, enabling him to observe himself in the full-length mirror inside. He smiled a little at his reflection, seeing those deep azure eyes shining back at him; his mother's eyes. His hair looked a bit hopeless, flat and following the shape of his skull, messy from where he had rubbed it vigorously with a towel. Wearing it gelled as he usually did, he hadn't realised it was so long, but it was obvious now as he found himself constantly blowing it out of his eyes. And if he ignored the mark on his throat – already becoming purple - he looked ok. Well, he looked better than ok; he could see he looked good, thanks to Bruce and his spending spree, thanks to his mom passing on her incredible eye colour. The clothes fitted him like they had been tailored especially for him, tight enough to show off his slim build but not so that they enhanced the fact that he was, ok, on the small and kinda scrawny side despite all the hard work he put his body through. He looked… taller, older… more mature. He looked far more perfect in simple, striking black and white; he suddenly looked as though he had nothing to hide, or nothing to hide from.
And most importantly, he no longer looked like Robin.
He turned away from the mirror and crouched down, seizing an empty box and uncovering the apprentice costume from the very bottom of the aftermath of his rage. He crammed it in aggressively, not bothering to fold it neatly. He had thrown the other one away, but he didn't want to get rid of this one quite yet; he didn't know why. Maybe it could be of some use to him. He hunted for his mask when he was done but couldn't find it. He clicked his tongue in annoyance; he had no intention of putting it back on but it was irritating to discover it had gone walkabout. He turned his attention back to the box and lifted it back into the closet, grunting as he shoved it right to the back where he could forget about it. He rose and stepped over the rest of the mess, feeling the cold metal of the floor against the soles of his bare feet as he crossed his dark room to the window. He pulled the curtains back from where he had drawn them temporarily and looked out over the illuminated cityscapes that stretched as far as the eye could see; Jump and Gotham and even a vague glimmer of the huge Metropolis was visible. Beyond that was Blüdhaven, but it was over the black horizon, invisible, and after that again… Central City? And each a little world unto its own.
Slade was out there somewhere, planning his little end-of-the-world prophecy, and it was up to him to-
Screw it.
He had no interest in being the "Avenger". Once upon a time he'd have been up for saving the world, but that once upon a time was over; it had ended not even 2 hours ago, the moment Slade had come into contact with him, changed him, destroyed him, thrown him into such dark depths that even now he was still struggling to get a foothold to scrabble back out of. And he was kind of preoccupied with getting over the whole thing at the moment; he didn't have time to worry about the fate of the world.
So it was selfish. But he didn't care. He was just about ready to pack the whole superhero thing in, he was that sick of it. He didn't remember signing anything to promise it was a permanent agreement; nor did he remember signing anything that stated that he might be required to prevent the apocalypse from destroying the world.
He felt something brushing lightly against his bare arm as he leaned on the window sill and looked to his left. His black mood returned as his blue eyes fell on Poison Ivy's "present". A tiny flower, chocolate-brown, with splashes of red and yellow, fashioned exactly like a tiny robin; a creation of Poison Ivy's green fingers. It was bound to him, however, by a spell of some kind; if it died, he too would die, so he had to keep remembering to water it – it really was very annoying… As much as he had hated/loved/struggled to resist the urge to think with his typically male appendage instead of his brain concerning Ivy, he had been, at first, pleased with her seemingly innocent gift of a personalised flower especially for him; until he had discovered it had the power to kill him, he had been elated by the fact that there were no bat-shaped blooms to accompany their bird-inspired counterparts. Typical male pack-animal behaviour, he was ashamed to admit. And he had been stupid – and drunk on her love spell - to believe that she had actually liked him – if it was male and moved, Ivy had kissed, felt up and, more often than not, killed it.
I kissed someone too; I kissed another guy. But not just any other guy. Not Cy. Not B.B.
I kissed Slade.
Usually the flower didn't bother him too much; it was a pain in the ass if he forgot to water it, but otherwise it gave a little colour to his drab room. But looking at it now… it was a freaking robin.
He reached out and grasped it by the stem, letting his long fingers close around the silky petals. His dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he gritted his teeth as he crushed it in his grip, killing it…
He promptly released it with a sharp cry of pain as Ivy's magic retaliated and he received a staggering non-physically inflicted stab to his stomach. It died as he loosened his grip on the plant, but a dull ache remained as the crushed petals struggled to uncrumple. He cursed under his breath as he helped it, smoothing out its petals and breathing heavily to combat the pain he had received from it. He could practically hear Ivy laughing at him as he hurriedly tried to make it better…
He lost his temper completely and sent the flower in its ceramic pot from the windowsill to the floor with a powerful sweep of his arm. The pain in his gut got a little stronger as the pot smashed on his metal floor and both earth and flower spilled among the pieces of broken ceramic. He stepped past it, drawn to his plastered far wall, newspaper cuttings serving as wallpaper. They all chronicled highly-elaborated adventures – and the odd misadventure – of the Teen Titans, with action shots of the team, quotes from "Gotham's Favourite Teen Superhero, Batman's sidekick and Titans' Leader Boy Wonder Robin", as his title had expanded to on several occasions, stating that he hoped that was the last the city would hear of the Amazing Mumbo or Control Freak, or mini-interviews with "Shape-shifting Extraordinaire Beast Boy", "Other-worldly Alien Beauty Starfire", "Cybernetic Powerhouse Cyborg" or "Mind-controlling Queen of Gloom Raven" as the press buttered them up, twisted what they said and pretty much kissed their spandex-clad asses to ensure their beloved Titans would never go back on their vow to protect the city through thick and thin.
Well, tough; looks like you just lost "Gotham's Favourite Teen Superhero, Batman's sidekick and Titans' Leader Boy Wonder Robin"…
He grasped hold of a double-page spread inquiring "WHO IS SLADE?" and tore it off the wall, crumpled it up and tossed it over his shoulder to join the mess already adorning his floor. It didn't soothe his anger as he pulled off more, tearing them up and scattering the remains at his bare feet, but he couldn't stop, ripping the pictures in half, then into quarters and eighths and sixteenths, letting the pieces fall, then pulling off some more and repeating the procedure.
If only beating the real criminals was this easy…
This thought played in his mind as he ripped up a picture of Mumbo being hustled into a police car, cursing at his teen infiltrators Scooby Doo-style, then shredded another of Mad Mod, of Plasmus, of Doctor Light, countless artists' impressions of Slade, that one grey staring patronisingly at him, almost laughing at him…
He was only dimly aware that he was uttering battle cries as he tore them up, stripping his wall down to bare metal, his temper sparing nothing, not even the photographs among the newspaper cuttings of himself and his friends doing regular teenager stuff; only the photographs of his parents remained in one piece, but were still thrown to the floor in his insatiable rage. He shredded ones of himself and Bruce, newspaper cuttings about Batman, grasped the Slade mask hooked on his wall and threw it across the room as hard as he could, his breath being torn from his lungs in angry gasps as he turned on the photo quite high up of himself and Starfire, the alien girl's pretty face alight with happiness, her arms around his shoulders as she plonked herself in his green lap for the camera. He was blushing slightly but smiling all the same, although his mask disguised the expression of his eyes… He ripped it off the wall and tore it down the middle, separating his alter-ego from the alien and allowing it to flutter to the floor, ripping off more newspaper cuttings before it had even landed.
Finally the wall was bare and the floor around him was littered with torn photographs and newspaper. He turned away from it, almost driven by something now, his blue eyes glittering with a look that was unnatural. He made for the mess at the foot of his wardrobe, picked up a batarang at his feet and smashed the mirror with a single blow, letting broken glass cascade to the floor as the one in Arkham Asylum had done. Still clutching the weapon he reached down and snatched up the first red "R" motif shirt that came into his grasp, then went to his desk. It was littered with broken weapons and bits of circuitry and notes and more newspaper cuttings and in the middle of it all sat the polished mahogany frame housing the newspaper clipping of Bruce and himself on that warm summer's day over 8 years ago; the day Bruce had officially been awarded custody of him. He paused, running his gaze briefly over the picture, from Vicki Vale's article; then he angrily and viciously swept everything off onto the floor, hearing the glass of the frame smash as it landed amidst the rest of the crap that had resided on his desk. He collapsed into his chair, twisted his grip on the shirt and tore the batarang aggressively into it, ripping the yellow fastenings down the front and carrying on, tearing it open. He cut into it again and again, making huge rips in the red fabric and then pulling at them with his hands, tearing the garment to shreds. He pulled the red and green and yellow apart from each other at the seams, as he himself felt what was happening to him. Finally he was left with the "R" badge and he stabbed the batarang into the heart of it several times before ripping right through it and hurling it aside. He stood abruptly, kicked his chair over, then gripped the edges of his metal desk and put all of his strength into overturning it. His energy was still diminished and he collapsed to his knees trying to lift the heavy desk, but eventually he tipped it off-balance and it crashed to the floor, sounding a thundering of metal colliding with metal. He stood and made for his bed, picking up from his floor a spare birdarang as he walked purposefully over to it. He passed it at first, going instead to the curtains and tearing them into strips with the wing of his weapon, then whipping around and pulling the sheets from his bed, tossing them to the floor to join the rest of his belongings. He stood on top of his bare mattress and from there could reach his crowded bookshelves; he shoved all of the books off onto the floor, hearing the repeated thudding as they cascaded to the floor. He caught the last one as it fell; Theoretical Criminology: Putting it into Practice.
Screw Theoretical Criminology. Fat lot of good it's done for me…
He opened it somewhere near the middle and stabbed it with his birdarang, then wrenched it out again and threw the book aside. He gripped the birdarang by its wings and expended his strength once again as he tried to break it in two. He gasped as he felt a sharp pain in his right palm and dropped the birdarang, looking at his hand and seeing a deep, long, curved cut right through his longest lifeline. Blood seeped from it and it stung like hell.
He might be trying to destroy "Robin", but his alter-ego was putting up one hell of a fight; first the robin-inspired flower, and now the birdarang. As if; "You can't shove me in the closet and forget about me that easy, Dickie".
As he watched his palm get more and more crimson, feeling his heart thudding in his chest, he heard the voices of his friends getting closer and closer as they ascended the stairs and came down the corridor. He leaped lightly off his bed and went to his closed metal panel, leaning against it to try and catch what they were saying.
"Don't worry about him, Star, he'll be alright…"
Cyborg.
"He just needs some time, Starfire. Cyborg is right; he'll be ok, but until then, we have to leave him to his own devices."
Raven.
"Even if his own devices consist of throwing things around and making a terrible crashing noise audible even four floors below?"
Starfire. He frowned; she sounded… not worried. Upset. Frightened.
"Even then, Starfire."
Raven again.
"Well, night, guys…"
Beast Boy. The other Titans responded to the gesture and he heard them go their separate ways, heard the click of their panels as they retreated to their own separate worlds. He heaved a heavy sigh.
What to smash up now…
He knew he was going to regret destroying his room later, but in his present temper he felt like breaking someone's neck, never mind a mirror. He stepped away from the panel… and froze as he heard a distinct knocking on it.
"Robin?"
Damn you, Starfire…
He paused, then decided to ignore her and wandered off to the furthest corner of his room. He expected her to go away when he didn't answer, but she didn't. The panel slid back and the alien girl peeped around it into the dark room beyond.
"Robin?" She whispered timidly. "Where are you?"
He stood in his dark corner, watching her as she edged right into his room.
"Am I… permitted to enter?" She asked softly. She clicked the panel shut behind her. "Raven said to leave you alone but I thought that…" She trailed off. "Where are you?" She asked again, her voice small and scared.
He hesitated.
"I'm here."
"Where is here?"
He failed to answer her again.
"Robin… I… I found this in the hall… it is yours…"
And she held up his mask.
"And these… are also yours."
She dropped his staff and utility belt to the floor, then raised her palm and illuminated the room with her natural green light.
"Thanks, Star."
Even the naïve Tamaranean could tell by his tone that he wanted her to go away, but she couldn't bring herself to, not when she knew he wasn't in a… normal state.
"Robin. Are you… are you alright?" She looked around for him, still failing to see him. "Please come here and talk to me. I am worried about you."
He stepped into the dull glow and she gasped.
"X'hal… Robin… Robin, that cannot be you…" she said weakly as he approached her. "Robin, you look so…"
"So not like Robin?" He asked, stopping a couple of feet away from her.
"Your eyes…" She breathed. He scowled.
"Don't start mooning over them like Raven, please," he snapped, sounding disgusted. Starfire blinked.
"Raven has… already seen them?" She sounded confused. "But Robin, you never take your mask off; I have heard you say so."
"Surprise," he retaliated flatly. She came closer to him, looking down at him being taller anyway and him now bare-footed, and gazed deeply at his eyes.
"They are blue," she stated finally. "Oh, they are so pretty. They are truly as wondrous to look upon as my beautiful home planet of Tamaran."
She cocked her head, taking him in completely.
"You look so different," she murmured. "Your hair is flat and your clothes…" She studied him hard. "Why are you not dressed normally?"
"Wake up, Starfire," he snapped. "I am dressed "normally"."
"No you are not," Starfire argued. "Normal is your cape and your mask and-"
"The tight green spandex pants and the shirt with an "R" on it in case I forget my own name," he finished bitterly. "Yeah, right. "Normal"."
"But why?" Starfire asked. "Why are you dressed like this, Robin? Surely you should be in bed? And what…" She trailed off, her gaze on his neck. "Robin, you are hurt." She reached for him and he recoiled immediately, one hand covering the bitemark that Slade had left upon him.
"It's nothing," he said quickly. "Just a bruise."
"It looks painful."
"It was… I mean is."
Starfire frowned and reached out her hand again. Suddenly angry, he grasped her wrist, but now she could see the mark.
"Robin, I do not-"
"It's just a bruise." Robin shoved her hand back at her aggressively. "Why can't you mind your own business!"
"Because I care very much for you," Starfire replied softly. "Robin, I… what did you do to your room!"
She finished her statement in a very high tone, suddenly seeing the state of his trashed bedroom, as she expanded her starbolt, giving out more light. She looked back at him sharply and he returned her gaze, his deep sapphire eyes icy and unblinking.
"Robin, what has happened to you?" Starfire asked quietly. "You are acting so… oddly, I do not understand…"
"There's nothing to understand." He wandered away towards the window again, his rage still seething and boiling inside him. Usually he was only too happy to sit and talk to Starfire for hours, teaching her American slang and telling her about baseball and different types of soda and his adventures with Batman. But right now… right now he felt like punching her right in her pretty face.
"Robin, please talk to me. Maybe you would feel better if you talked."
"I don't want to talk, Starfire."
He leaned on the windowsill and rested his head in his hands, feeling blood smear on his chin from his bleeding right palm. He heard Starfire shifting behind him as her feet rustled through torn newspaper. She gasped softly as she picked something up and he knew without even turning around that it was the photograph of the pair of them that was now in two separate pieces.
"Robin, what is the meaning of this?" She asked, sounding as though she was about to burst into tears. "Do you not… like me anymore?"
"Yes. No… I mean…" He turned to face her, irritated. She was standing holding the photograph together, her expression mournful. "It doesn't mean anything. I just ripped it up. I was angry."
"Were you… angry at me? You have torn us apart like you wanted to be separate..."
"It doesn't mean anything, Starfire!" He snapped, turning back to the window. He could see a vague reflection of himself in the window, see his blue eyes glittering and his sleek black hair shining in Starfire's green light.
"Will you be dressed like that tomorrow?"
In the window he could see Starfire directly behind him, his mask and the ripped photo in her hands.
"Maybe."
"You cannot fight crime dressed like that," the Tamaranean protested. "No-one will know who you are."
"I don't want to fight crime."
"Why?" Starfire asked softly. "Do you… not wish to be a Titan any longer?"
He shrugged offhandedly.
"I couldn't give a toss."
Starfire cocked her head, not understanding the phrase.
"A… toss?"
Normally he would have… explained it to her, but now he couldn't be bothered to even look at her.
"Forget it, Star."
She opened her mouth to protest, and to demand that he explain what he meant, but trailed off when she saw the smashed plant pot surrounded by spilled earth and in the middle of it all…
"Robin, your flower!" She cried, bending down and scooping the tiny plant off the floor, cradling it in her hands. "What happened? Did it fall off?"
"Yeah, something like that…"
He didn't look at her and she straightened up, still clutching the bird-shaped flower.
"Robin, you must be more careful with it," she scolded. "It is important you look after it or you will-"
"Drop dead," he finished moodily, his words aimed more at her – and that green bitch Ivy – than referring to his own fate. Starfire bit her lip, realising what an absolutely filthy temper he was in but refusing to give up.
"I will look after it for you if you wish," she offered, knowing he wasn't really one for gardening unless it involved torturing Beast Boy. He shrugged his shoulders again and she saw the muscles in his back move beneath his tight white t-shirt. He wasn't acting normally; that much she knew. He seemed so different, and it had nothing to do with his dramatic change in appearance.
"Robin, if you do not want to talk, maybe you should get some sleep," she suggested. He shrugged once again.
"Not tired."
"I know, but…" Starfire trailed off, knowing she wouldn't win him over. He was obstinate at the best of times, but in this mood…
"Would you like me to help you to tidy your room?" She offered. He shook his head.
"No thanks. I like it like this."
"I do not believe that. You are a very organised person. You cannot possibly-"
"Well, believe it, Starfire, ok?"
She shrank back at his sharp tone. Raven had been right; maybe she should have left him alone until he was in a more civil mood. She certainly wasn't doing as well with him as she had anticipated. She sighed and hung her head, looking down at the photograph that she still held together. She saw the mask still clutched in her fingers and reached out, tapping him timidly on the shoulder.
"What!" He snapped, turning on her, his azure eyes narrowed dangerously. Suddenly… they did not seem so much beautiful as frightening. She held out his mask.
"Please put it back on," she pleaded quietly. "You do not look normal without it. You do not look like Robin."
"I'm not freaking Robin."
Starfire blinked.
"What? Of course you are! That is your name, that is who you are, like I am Starfire. You cannot be anyone else."
"I can be whoever I like."
She knew he was referring to Red X and she grasped hold of his wrist, bare without his green gloves.
"No, Robin! You must be Robin. That is who we need, not the Red X; not even the older you who is Nightwing!"
She let go of his wrist, which was smarting painfully from her strong grip, and put his mask back on over his eyes before he could stop her. She withdrew her hands and he blinked several times, debating whether or not to rip it off again. He decided against it and adjusted it so that it sat perfectly on his face, once again hiding his eyes; his mother's eyes.
Starfire smiled.
"Your eyes are pretty, but you look so much more normal now," she said happily. "Now if you would just change your clothes and-"
"And why don't you butt out, Starfire!" Robin snapped, turning his back on her again. Again, the Tamaranean girl didn't understand the American slang that he had used.
"Robin, I do not understand what you are saying," she said.
"Shove it, Star."
Starfire looked down at her hands, seeing only the ripped photograph.
"What is it that I am supposed to be shoving, Robin?" She asked, confused. "Please, I do not understand. You must explain what you mean."
"Cram it."
"Cram what!" She was starting to cry, tired as she was and upset by his behaviour and now bewildered at the words he used in a context with which she was unfamiliar.
"Please, Robin, why must you be so difficult!" She sobbed. "I do not understand what it is that you wish me to shove or cram or… or butt out!"
"Go tell someone who cares."
Starfire sniffed pitifully.
"You… you care, do you not, Robin?"
"No, I don't!" He snapped, turning on her. "Maybe I would have once, a long time ago. But I have other stuff to worry about now, Starfire, stuff that's more important than the fact that you're too stupid to understand what the hell I'm talking about!"
"Stupid?" Starfire repeated weakly, apparently shocked that he had referred to her as such. He usually went out of his way to assure her that not understanding something didn't make her stupid, and now he was telling her right to her face that she was an idiot.
There was something not right there.
He turned away from her again and she reached out, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. She felt the muscles flex underneath the fabric of his tight shirt and knew he wanted her to remove her fingers but she refused to, her touch more comforting to her than to him.
"Robin, please," she pleaded quietly. "Please calm down and talk to me. You will feel better. Surely you can trust me?"
"Don't wanna talk about it."
"You do not wish to talk about what?" Starfire pressed softly. Tears leaked from her eyes again. "Robin, on my planet, my people do not ever hide their true feelings. We always say what we think and how we feel. Maybe you should try to be more like the people of Tamaran."
"And maybe you should shut up!" Robin yelled at her, whipping around and grabbing hold of her forearm. He couldn't hurt her, not through her metal arm-guard, but she simply stared at him, speechless.
"What?" She whispered eventually.
"You heard what I said, Starfire." He seemed disgusted as well as angry. "Maybe you don't want to believe you heard it, but I did say it. I told you to SHUT UP!"
"Robin, please, you are-" Starfire started, starting to cry again.
"SHUT UP, STARFIRE!" He screamed at her, shoving her backwards and releasing her arm. "I don't want to listen to you, I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you! Just shut up and leave me alone!"
He stormed away from her over to the mess of shredded newspaper and photographs. Starfire sniffed and wiped her green eyes, still clutching the flower and the ripped photograph in one hand. Then she floated over to him; he was leaning against his now-bare wall, his eyes closed and his forehead on the cold metal. His hands were pressed flat against it, a smear of blood forming under his right palm, and his chest heaved with every breath he drew.
She landed next to him, now rather afraid of him, but still determined to help him.
"Robin, what did Slade do to you?" She inquired, her voice barely audible.
I kissed Slade. I touched him; I let him touch me. There's a bitemark on my neck; there is a lovebite on my neck.
His eyes snapped open behind his mask and she saw him clench his fists against the metal wall. He turned to face her, leaning back against the wall as though for support.
"You wanna know, huh?"
I kissed him. I pretty much made out with him. He touched me… well, there, and I enjoyed it. And then, when we were both ok again, he raped me.
Starfire nodded, thinking that she was finally making a breakthrough with him.
He laughed hollowly and she saw his abdominal muscles brush ever so slightly against his shirt. It was such a strange shirt; pure white, yet he was far from pure, and so tight it seemed to hide nothing of his body, yet it covered his torso completely.
He stopped laughing and glared at her, his blue eyes piercing her even through his mask.
"You have no idea, Starfire."
He kissed me, he touched me, he bit me – left a mark to show that I am, or was, his – and then he raped me. He hurt me, he humiliated me, and then he tried to kill me.
I have a bitemark on my neck to prove it.
And all because a piece of paper told him to.
He closed his eyes and she used the fact that he was oblivious to her advantage, coming right up to him.
"Perhaps if you would explain it to me, then I would have-"
His eyes opened again and he leaned right into her, furious.
"Get out," he whispered lethally, his face a few inches from hers. She blinked at him, as though failing to comprehend what he meant.
He snapped when she didn't obey him.
"GET OUT!" He screamed. "GET OUT AND LEAVE ME ALONE!"
She stepped backwards from him, terrified, her expression mirroring that of the dream-Starfire as she had realised that dream-Robin was about to kill her. Then she took to the air, still holding the flower and the photo, and soared out as he had commanded, slamming the panel behind her.
He sank down against the wall, his breathing heavy, and put his head in his hands, feeling his silky gel-free hair on his bare fingers. He immediately regretted yelling at Starfire – she had only been trying to help him, after all – but his anger was still seething and Starfire could really be very irritating at the best of times. He knew he would have to apologise to her but right now he was so wrecked he had lost the energy to even stand up. He was still battered from his fight with Slade, tired, upset, confused, humiliated and angry. He was sick of being a superhero, trying to save a city from evildoers when in actual fact he often couldn't even save himself. He knew he couldn't throw in the towel completely, not really, not if this prophecy-thing was real; he doubted that the "Avenger" was allowed to retire early. But how he wished he could; just screw the whole thing and just… just be freaking normal for once in his whole goddamn life… He didn't want to be a circus-boy, he didn't want to be a superhero… But it was too late to be Dick Grayson now.
Robin was all he had left.
Batman's child.
Slade's nemesis.
The Avenger.
The Boy Wonder.
The Teen Titans' leader.
Violated, broken, and with a tender, purple mark on his throat.
He had been dry-eyed all this time, but now he simply buried his head in his knees in the middle of his trashed bedroom and let the tears fall…
Starfire leaned against her closed bedroom door, trying to stop the tears from leaking from her emerald eyes. Around her, her bedroom was dimly lit and she floated over to her circular bed, sinking onto it still fully-clothed. There was a small vase of flowers on her bedside table and she took the daisies she had picked from the water, replacing them with the single robin-shaped bloom. She knew she would have to replant it tomorrow or it would become water-logged, but she thought that it would be ok to leave it there overnight. There couldn't be long to go until dawn anyway.
She rolled over and raised the ripped photo above her head, putting it back together, holding herself and the Earth-boy that she loved together too. He looked so happy in it, almost as careless as the much younger version in the photo of himself and his guardian from 8 years ago on his desk. She could see the similarities between the two pictures in her mind's eye; the dark, sleek hair, the slightly abashed but very genuine smile, the shape of the face, rounded, sort of chubby, but in no way fat, so that he looked very cute when he smiled, and also cute when he sulked.
He did not look cute when he was angry.
The way she had just seen him then… he had frightened her, he had looked nothing like either of the pictures in which he was smiling. She loved him but she knew he had the potential to be dangerous if he was really pushed; she could only hope that he would never be pushed that far. The smiling, blushing Boy Wonder in the ripped photo was worlds apart from the enraged, moody specimen who had just yelled at her to get out of his room. She knew as well as anyone that he was not all that he seemed.
He was far more.
And that strange mark at his neck. What was it? Why had he shied from her when she had reached to touch it? It looked like a bruise, but an odd one.
As though he had been bitten.
She sighed sadly and let the photo fall apart over the side of her bed, then lay back and closed her eyes, feeling more tears come. She couldn't help it; she couldn't hide them. It was the way she had been taught. The way of the Tamaraneans.
She had told him that the people of Tamaran never hid their thoughts, their feelings.
And we do not hide our tears either…
Ah, sad ending for the last-but-one chapter, no? I always was a fan of that somewhat-sad ending which finished Masks in Season One. Where Starfire walked out on Robin after he had abused their trust, just leaving him there subdued against his wall with that cursed Slade mask in his hand?… That is truly beautiful and inspiring storytelling on behalf of the writing team on TT; I think that one was written by Tom Pugsley and Greg Klein. My opinion on writers? I think Amy Wolfram (Sisters, Date with Destiny and many others), Rob Hoagee (The End Pt II, Apprentice Pt I and others) and Adam Beechen (Haunted – my favourite of them all) write the best ones.
But I digress. I pay far too much attention to the writers and animators and directors and stuff on that show. Like Bruce Timm (producer) and Andrea Romano (voice casting) have both worked on WB DC-related shows since Batman:TAS. So that's the aforementioned, Superman:TAS, Batman Beyond, Justice League, Justice League Unlimited, Teen Titans and The Batman.
And again I digress.
Blah.
Last chapter next! Well, of this part. Next part is Black Magic, which is where the real prophetic/magical/Avenging action begins to kick off! I should hope that if you've read this far you will show some interest in Black Magic. The other Titans are in it a lot more, with focuses on Raven becoming more apparent (it is the Orb of Azarath, after all) and Terra is in it too. I promise many surprises, also, plus some "naughty" action, if that floats your boat (it's of the hetero variety. Anyone wanting to read some serious Robin/Slade stuff should look at Small Print, co-written by Narroch06 and me). And there's magic, jazz clubs and hot fudge sundaes involved too! And, uh, wet dreams, Slade sulking some more, that damn seer all over again, plus lyrics by Green Day, Fleetwood Mac and Dire Straits, and just… Well, we've got a whole chapter to go here first, so I guess I'm plugging too soon.
Catch y'all on the flipside when I get some reviews! Toodles!
KEEP WITH THE LETTER-WRITING CAMPAIGN! WE CAN SAVE OUR BELOVED SHOW! SHOWS LIKE KIM POSSIBLE AND FAMILY GUY HAVE BEEN BROUGHT BACK FROM OFFICIAL CANCELLATION! KEEP IT UP!
In Robin's words from The End Pt III; "There is always hope".
I suppose it's better than "Kardiac, you're under arrest"…