Disclaimer: I do not own the Teen Titans.
Coyote – Chapter 5
They were on the beach again, but something was different. His skin was the color of flesh, and his hair was a sandy blond. She had seen him this way only once before, when the Zookeeper's attack had temporarily removed his powers and his green hue. It had left him with blue eyes then. Only those eyes, those warm green eyes, were the same now. Only the warmth of his arm around her waist was the same.
"So how do you prefer me?" he asked. "Do you like me like this? Or do you prefer Mr. Green-Genes?"
Her only answer was to bury her head into his chest and to wind her fingers into the hair on his arms. Her only answer was her silent request for touch, denied to her for so long...
His hands caressed her face, and she felt the heat of them on her cheeks. The sun was so bright, too bright. She closed her eyes against its glare, but still its light crept behind her eyelids.
She opened her eyes and blinked against a vibrant ray of sunshine that was crossing her body; motes of dust danced across it. She was surprised to find herself lying down in a bed and not standing on the beach. And she was alone. Fighting a wave of disorientation, she shaded her eyes from the invading sunlight.
"Welcome back to the world, sleepy-girl!" The sudden cheerful spurt of words made her jump. Not alone, then. I didn't feel anyone else in the room! How? Where am I? Her eyes squeezed shut in realization. Charles. You gave it to me again, didn't you? That drug. That damnable drug.
Her eyes followed the sound to its source: a petite blond woman seated at the foot of her narrow bed. Raven shifted her head to see her features outside of the harsh glare of the sunlight and was met with a spinning room. She clutched the sheets of the bed in a vain attempt to slow the world down.
"Whoa, there, sweetie," the lady warned her. "You've been asleep since you got here. Take it slow."
Raven found her jaw was stiff when she tried to speak. "Who?"
The woman crossed the room to close the sun out with the curtains. "I'm Karen. Karen Thunder Horse. Your cousin Charlie's wife. I guess I'm sort of your cousin-in-law." Karen moved the chair closer to her and sat down. "You're at our ranch. I thought you might be waking up just about now, Raven. Charlie's told me so much about you. Glad to meet you at last."
Awareness was returning to her body, one piece at a time. She studied Karen with wary eyes. My empathy is shut off, she thought, but this one seems to wear her feelings on her face. She seems kind, concerned. But I do not know her. And I feel too weak to move through the dimensions to get home, from wherever this is.
Her mouth was dusty, and her tongue was heavy. Her jaws clicked as she tried to speak.
"H-how did I –"
"Don't talk yet, sweetheart. You're still worn out. Charlie brought you here early yesterday morning, and you were zonked out. Been asleep ever since. It's late in the afternoon now, so you've slept away the better part of two days. Here." She offered Raven a glass of water. "Sip slow. I'll bet you're thirsty. Let me help you—" She adjusted the pillows to help her charge to sit up. Raven's back ached from too many hours of dreaming.
Garfield? she asked silently. Where are you? Why aren't you here? Victor?
Her strength began to return as she sipped the water. "My friends – I need to speak to – to—" I'm not sure what she knows, what name to ask for -- "Victor?"
"I'm sure Charlie will let them know that you're on the mend. Right now it's just you, me, Charlie, and the dog. Old Bill. Hungry? Charlie tells me you're a veggie-lover. I'll never understand you Californians, but I may be able to rustle up something for you." She touched Raven's hand. "If you don't need me for a minute, I'll run to the kitchen –"
"Phone?" Garfield. I need you.
The bright look in her light green eyes faded a bit. "Sorry, honey. Doctor Charlie's orders. No phone for a while. Charlie will explain it all to you in a bit. Just hang tight."
She left the bewildered young empath alone with her thoughts.
(break)(break)
"Do you love me?"
The familiar voice behind Beast Boy was quiet but steady. He turned to face the tiny column of midnight blue, her face concealed by her hood. The top of a thigh flashed warmly at him from above the top of a boot. He crossed the floor to her.
"Yes, I do."
Two gloved hands touched the rim of the hood and pushed it back from her face. Her old face. Steel-blue eyes shone at him instead of the violet ones that he had come to expect; the face he had first met years ago gazed at him. She was taller. Her eyes were more distant, more almond-shaped. But that eternally bored expressionless face seemed...frightened.
"Do you love me?" she asked again. Her voice was that older, deeper voice that he remembered from so long ago.
Ok, now, Gar, you're dreaming. Or she's talking to you in a dream. Or she's watching the dream. Unless the morphine keeps her locked in her head. Don't know. But treat it as if it's real.
"Yes, I love you, too. You are still you."
That smile – even on her former face, especially on her former face – was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.
Her lips moved again. "Wake up, Gar." But she was speaking in a masculine voice.
Huh?
He was jarred awake by hands shaking him. Bart.
"Wake up, Gar. You're talking in your sleep."
Gar sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. He felt stiff. Must have been in a form too long. Sore. He looked down at himself. Must've turned back into human in my sleep. I hope I didn't push her off the—
He finally looked around. He was in his own room, in his own bed.
"How did I get here? I was in the infirmary – with -- with –"
"With who? It's morning. Early. I just got here a little while ago. There's nobody here but us."
"Where's Raven?"
"Cyborg said Charlie took her. He wouldn't tell me where –"
"What? That son of a—where's Vic?"
(break)(break)
"Charles?"
Her voice entered the room before she did. She wrapped her hand around the frame of the door and peered into the room. She could sense no presence there, but then again she did not know when she would be able to feel others again.
Her head was a balloon bobbing at the top of her neck. As she walked, she only remotely felt the smoothness of the wooden floor beneath her bare feet. Her eyes scanned the study. Empty.
She clutched the wooly afghan closer around her shoulders; the contact of the coarse material soothed her somewhat rumpled state of mind. One foot eased into the room, then the other.
Who are you, Charles? Who are you, really?
A low ceiling made the room feel smaller than it really was. The scent of sweet tobacco and old leather hung on the air. Their mingled essence curled between hulking bookcases that stretched from the braided rugs to the cedar beams that braced the ceiling. Two glass display cases flanked a stone fireplace at one end of the room while a heavy oak desk presided over the opposite end.
Raising one hand to touch the edge of a bookcase, she noticed a slight tremor in her fingers. She allowed them to explore the grain of the wood surrounding neatly organized volumes : books on abnormal psychology, archaeological digs around the world and Native American lore. She could almost hear their pages whispering to her of the different faces of Charles Thunder Horse. Books, her oldest and often her only friends, almost always opened their hearts to her, not only revealing their own contents but sometimes the inner workings of their readers.
It's coming back, it's coming back to me.
Courage, they whispered. Knowledge. Hope.
Her fingers trailed along the spines of the books; they made a soft thump-thump-thump that was punctuated by the only other audible sound in the study: the tic-toc-tic-toc of a brass clock resting on the mantle above the room's fireplace. The cold hearth, a gaping hole in the timbered walls, had its own song that blended with that of the books: Sadness. Regret. She wrinkled her nose. Those somber notes in the cozy face of the room reminded her of the stench of curdled milk.
Creaking floorboards interrupted even her light steps as she continued her stroll down the line of shelves. Photographs graced the walls between them. Smiling faces. Younger versions of Charles and Karen, in a black tuxedo and a white dress, surrounded by happy friends. Black and white replicas of Charles wearing an Army uniform and a serious expression.
One more photograph, its worn edges beneath a protective shield of cedar, caught her eye. The glass in its frame reflected her pale features as she scrutinized these new faces. That of a child, same eyes, same nose, as Charles, gazing up with reverence at an older form of himself. That of a snowy-haired man with snapping black eyes, a wrinkled hand resting on the child's head as if in blessing.
Grandfather Thunder Horse? she wondered.
Her fingertips traced the edges of the gnarled wooden frame. Much joy here. How he must have loved him. But there was an undercurrent of something else. Old sorrows from years past had soaked into the wood and mixed with those joys. Bygone passions were Braille beneath her probing fingers. Guilt, the wood moaned.
"Guilt?" she asked the murmuring room.
"Awake at last, Dawn Child?"
She gasped as she spun around, finding her cousin an arm's reach away. "Charles!"
"Sorry to have startled you. You must not be used to being surprised like that."
She blinked at him, not sure what to say. The word guilt still bounded between her ears. She tuned out the sighing of the pages and drew herself up on her toes. She rested her heels back on the ground and offered him a questioning glare.
"You must be confused as to why you woke up here."
"Confused is a good way to describe it, yes. I know I am at your home. I have met your wife. But I do not know why I am here."
Charlie wandered over to his desk and selected a pipe from the rack there. He cradled its pitted bowl in his palm and traced its rim with his forefinger. "You were very ill, little sister. Your friends thought it wise for you to...to take a break."
Pulling the afghan closer about her shoulders, Raven crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "Without asking me," she observed while jutting out her chin.
"You were not exactly available for consultation at the time," he replied, still fingering the pipe. "Please, please, feel welcome in our home. There is plenty of rest for you here. Recover from your pain."
He replaced the pipe on the stand. Circling the desk, he reached for an envelope resting on the paper blotter. "Your friend Victor asked me to give this to you. He said that if you get angry, blame him." He laughed heartily as he handed her the envelope. "He explains it even better than I can."
Green bills spilled out of the envelope as she removed the note.
(break)(break)
Hey witch –
Hope you're feeling better and that you're not too pissed off with me right now. The gang sends their love and hopes you're ok. Get some rest, willya? We'll come and get you in a few weeks. You deserve some time off. I've sent some walkin'-around money so you can get some clothes. Go get a cowboy hat or something. We kept all your gear here, so don't play mistress of magic for a while. I'll talk to you soon.
Love ya
Vic
(break)(break)
The tips of her fingers tingled as they pinched the edges of the page. The worry woven into the paper told her so much more than the written words could.
"My communicator?"
"Still at the tower, Raven. And I've decided you don't need to call them. Not for a while. Get your strength back before you deal with them again."
He picked up the fallen bills, jogged them into a neat stack, and handed them to her. She finally accepted them and replaced them in the envelope.
"I want to use the phone. I want to talk to Garfield," she said flatly. "Now." Her hands were beginning to tremble.
"Not just yet, little one. You need to rest."
"I want him to know I am fine, at least." The trembles became deep shivers as she felt anger rise in her face. I want to let him know I didn't just leave him. I just found him.
"You're getting excited, child. Go lie back down."
So tired of this. Of being directed. The afghan tumbled off her shoulders as her hands started forming the gestures to move her through the dimensions home.
"No, no, you're too weak to—"
Her knees buckled underneath her as the little strength she had regained that day escaped her. Charlie rushed over to catch her, to take her back to her little room.
Too weak, too weak, beloved, she thought. Why didn't you come with me? Why no word from you?
Because, the more assertive part of her brain barked at her, your dear father-figure Victor found out. And now you know what he feels about it.
Why, why? Why can't I have a moment's peace? Why can't I love someone without everyone else interfering?
Why?