This is my first fan fic. That's why it's so short. And bad. It takes place sometime after The End but before Beast boy got that fateful message while playing his tuborkle.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.

Midnight Snack

I went up to my room and swiftly shut the door behind me. It had been a long day: First the Titans stopped several petty crimes, fought Cinderblock in a slightly less than epic battle, and then we went out for pizza. After that we retired to the Tower, and I spent the rest of the evening hunched over my Slade research. His absence after the Trigon incident was worrying. Starfire approached me once, concern painted across her face. I promised her that I would never again allow myself to fall into my obsession over him. That was a promise I intended to keep.

Truthfully, I almost enjoyed that respite from his tribulations. It's just that I could almost hear a watch in some shadowy corner of my mind ticking away the seconds, feel the tension of its spring slowly push through the gears and advance the hands in a coldly inevitable march toward his next attack. I would have gladly traded the uncertainty for the thrill of a fight. As it stood, the Titans could only wait, prepare, and try to appreciate the relative peace the city was in, fleeting though it may be. Evil by nature will always be one step ahead of good, and it seemed that the only choice was to stand vigilant and suffer the excruciating wait before I can react to the next crisis. An endless, uphill battle with victory that will forever be just out of reach: such is the curse of a hero.

I took a long, relaxing shower. The heat melted the knots in my muscles and took my mind off of my troubles. When I finished, I put on some pajamas and looked at my clock. 12:04. That was late enough, so I went to bed.

Despite my best efforts, sleep eluded me. My thoughts flickered rapidly to random things, sometimes degenerating into semi-coherent babble. I must have changed position about sixteen times, yet whenever I got my arms and legs situated, I felt an irresistible urge to move them again. Finally, I resorted to counting sheep. I reached about twelve on various occasions, but a repressed worry would force itself to the surface of my consciousness and pop my concentration like a bubble full of hydrogen that strayed too close to an open flame.

­­Eventually, I feared that I had stayed awake too long and that the dawn would arrive to find me tired and groggy. I was certain at least several hours had passed. My clock glowed faintly just beyond the range of my peripheral vision, taunting me. I refused to look. In my chosen field of work, patience not only came in handy for stakeouts and the like, lives could depend on it. The clock flickered and sent mocking patterns of light dancing across the wall. A very wise man taught me that if you don't control yourself over trivial things, you will never be able to when it's important. I felt the luminous digits bore holes in the back of my head like jeering, unblinking eyes. The clock had no power over me. In fact, I could even turn to face it. Just keep my eyes closed.

About half a second later, I thought I heard a sound in the hall. My warrior instincts took over, and my eyes shot open to see of there was a threat. Damn. 12:17. With a tremendous sigh of defeat, I sprang to my feet. I had no recourse but to pursue a snack. The clock did look slightly less menacing with a birdarang lodged in its face, however.

I descended the stairs and entered the common room. Automatically, the room was bathed in a pale white light. I stood motionless for a moment to allow my pupils to contract. Once the room reached a reasonable level of illumination, I opened the refrigerator and quickly searched its contents. This didn't take long, as both of the items inside were covered in an unhealthy-looking blue mold. Starfire had already cooked that week, so I had had enough fungus for a while. My gaze next fell on the cabinets. The only thing they contained that could pass for a midnight snack was a can of tuna. I was going to have to tell Cyborg to build a replicator. For that matter, I could have gone for some hot Earl Grey. I paused a moment, but thought better than to touch Raven's herbal tea things. I had become rather attached to my face's configuration. Assembling a sandwich was but the work of seconds. On toast, of course, to avoid sogginess.

Next came the tricky bit. I needed to decide how to cut it. This may seem trivial, but I always found that the slicing style had a significant impact on my sandwich experience. Some people have a favorite method, or don't even think about it. I realized long ago that the cut had to reflect the unique feel of the sandwich in question. Vertical gave a neat, orderly appearance, while horizontal conveyed a more laid back, carefree attitude. I was feeling edgy and wanted to take a risk, so I went for diagonal.

I perched myself on the counter, and picked up half of my creation. From the corner of my vision, I noticed a fiery-haired blur float lazily into the room. Looking up, I saw Starfire arch the entirety of her slender body in a yawn. Smiling slightly upon seeing me, she said, "I was unable to sleep, and I observed a light coming from this location, so I thought perhaps whoever was here would like some company. Was I correct?"

"Of course, Starfire."

With a small giggle she alighted beside me. "Is something troubling you?" she asked.

"I just couldn't sleep, I suppose. Nothing is wrong, specifically. Do you want some of my sandwich?" I held out the other half to her. "It's tuna."

"Thank you." She accepted the proffered wedge. For a time, we both sat and ate in silence. A calming aura seemed to emanate from the Tamaranian girl to my right. I knew that whatever happened I would have friends who cared. It set my mind at ease.

Soon she appeared pensive. Something was puzzling her, and from what she was staring at and twisting around in her hands, it was her sandwich. "What are you thinking about?" I asked.

Her entrancing emerald eyes peered at me from beneath her lashes. "Robin, I am aware that this is tuna, but please, is it chicken or is it
fish?"

Please review! If you liked it but don't I wont write any more. If you didn't and don't say why, I will continue to pollute the internet with my nonsense. How will I know the difference? I'll figure it out. Trust me.