Disclaimer: I wish I owned (screams of SOMEBODY call the police for the love of Pete! Argh, get it off me—) Teen Titans, but I don't. Heh. -
ACK! I forgot, I don't own the Doom Patrol either. 0.0;;
A/N: Argh, I apologize for the abundant typos in the last chapter. I will make a point of typing as cleanly and accurately as I can in this one. Thank you TDG3RD. –bows- I will try to update quicker from now on. And Raven'Teacher, I certainly do hope it's going somewhere. Muchas gracias for your kind words and please drop reviews again. That goes for you silent readers—if there are any—out there, as well! Enjoy!
Yes Sir!
Doom Patrol? It was a question, and the only thought Gar could force out of his oxegen-starved, slightly-addled-by-the-force-of-which-Aiden-slammed-him-down-on-the-pavement brain. His eyes were closed from the effort of pulling at Aiden's strong, armored fingers, but they snapped open at the sound of the shout. The patroller's grip loosened with shock—and the eight-year-old made a desperate, but weak attempt to get away. Aiden in return tightened his grasp once more and pushed the shapeshifter up against the wall. Gar grunted on impact and made a shrill wheezing sound when Aiden constricted, muttering terrified curses under his breath.
Gar, opening one eye spotted the patroller take a long knife out of its sheath, the blade reflecting what scant light there was, the razored edge seeming to laugh. Terror surged through the shapeshifter's veins as he struggled furiously, trying to morph but unable to concentrate long and hard enough to shift anything at all.
"The Doom Patrol? Oh sh—!" Mike never got to finish his sentence as the air, already thick with rain, wind and thunder was torn through by a heavy bellow.
"Help!" Gar managed a weak, hoarse cry. If this Doom Patrol is enemies with these two, maybe they'll help me, he thought brokenly, his eyes shutting once more as he fought the pressure on his sensitive throat. Aiden made a furious, incoherent noise as a strange resonance ripped through the air. Clanking and a panicked, shrill scream from Mike, followed by a solid thud—like someone smacking a baseball bat into thick mud followed.
"Stop fighting!" Aiden hissed furiously as he positioned the knife right above the Garfield's heart, so close that it poked his skin. "Don't—UNGH!"
Even through rain-and-fear-blurred vision, Gar could see the tall, sculpted shape of a woman sprint up through the murky darkness and deliver a solid kick to the side of the trooper's face with a cry. The blow cracked the side of the helmet, sending sparks flying from the shattered internal comlink, but not before Aiden had drawn his gun—but he didn't have the time to use it, rather, as the force of the strike, he was thrown backwards, while his heavy firearm crashed into the small shapeshifter's forehead before he could move away. There was pain—and then an odd, watery darkness that seemed to grow from a small puddle in the middle of his vision, and then spread, like ink. It poured into his eyes, nose and mind and ears, slowly shutting out the world around him. He didn't even feel the rain anymore as he collapsed on his side. The last thing he heard before the blackness completely swamped his senses was a coarse, deep and mellow voice, "Elasti-Girl is that a…."
……………..
"So…what're we gonna do with him?" Negative Man wondered, his monotone, impassive rasp cutting through quiet that hung over the members of the Doom Patrol like a cloud. Three of the team's members were gathered in the Conference Room, a rather low-ceilinged, narrow, but long room. The walls, floors and ceilings were a bright white, ceramic-plastic material, giving the room an exposed air, despite the closeness. A moderately sized table that mirrored the general look sat in the center of the place surrounded by four uniquely shaped chairs. The lights above were muted by small, circular gray shades, dimming the lighting so that the blinking red, blue and green lights of the large, rectangular monitors taking up the entire wall towards the back of the room were magnified. Four of the eight small ones distributed on either side of the central, largest monitor displayed several outside locations near the base. The central one and the remaining four remained blank and black, starkly contrasting with the white environs. Security cameras were perched high in each corner, surveying the room with red lenses.
Negative Man sat slouched in his chair, his bandage-wrapped hands flat on the smooth surface of the table, surveying the rest of the team with eyes that were reminiscent of black eye patches. Their silence held for another several moments.
Mento leaned forward, both elbows on the tabletop white he held his chin in one gloved hand, his intense blue eyes slightly narrowed, and his face was set in a small, pensive frown. "I'm not sure, Larry," he said after almost a minute of silence, his voice devoid of much emotion.
"It's not every day that you spot a kid like that, Mento," Robotman put in. His chair hissed as he leaned back.
"No, it isn't. What bothers me is why the Brain would send men after him."
"It's not like we're going to know until he wakes up," Negative Man pointed out. "'Sides, we can't really come to a decision until we get Rita in here."
More silence followed this, but it wasn't as drawn out and loud as the previous ones. "How long do you think she'll stay in there with him?" Robotman queried.
"Not sure, but to pass the time, we should question those thugs that attacked him in the first place." Mento pushed back his chair and stood up, his eyes hardening. "Maybe it'll shine some light on this whole situation." The broad-shouldered man's face set, and he turned on his heel to walk out the automatic doors that sprang open on his approach and marched into the long hallway.
"I hope you didn't break that guy's jaw, Cliff," Negative Man said wryly. "He'll need it to talk."
……………..
Rita sat by the narrow hospital bed, looking down on the small figure with worried eyes. Even with the bright light on, the child's eyelids didn't even flicker.
The hospital wing, like most of the Doom Patrol's base was all white—but the first word that sprang to mind when viewing it was clean. The floors were spotless and assorted first aid in various drawers and cabinets were always kept well-ordered, especially for situations like this.
The monitors that showed the boy's vital signs almost all red in the green—except for his temperature. Obviously, he had hypothermia. Probably from being out in the rain for so long, Rita had concluded. This kid was very lucky to just have that; he had probably been on his own for a while.
Those ratty, wet clothes made him seem smaller than he actually was—and either way, he had a slight figure. When Robotman had picked him up to take him back to the base, he had commented that the kid was light. Negative Man had gone on to say that Cliff's version of the word light was about six hundred times heavier than someone else's, and that the kid looked pretty normal, but now, Rita believed it. He had narrow shoulders, a thin chest and an overall skinny build. She had found him some old sweats to dress him in, and in doing so, she saw his ribs—bony and sticking out like sore thumbs. Now, the sight of seeing the child so prone, and so oblivious to the world in a hospital bed, not having stirred at all from the time the Doom Patrol had found him evoked pity and worry in the woman. To her, it didn't matter that he probably wasn't even human, he was a little kid, probably eight or so—a runty eight—and he needed help.
She sighed; glancing at the digital cock perched on the wall. 11:48 p.m. She had been sitting here for almost an hour, waiting. The men were probably questioning the patrollers they had captured, no doubt. Behind her, she heard a slight groan and a stirring of sheets.
Turning her head sharply, she spotted the little boy sitting up. He was shivering like a leaf, even with heavy blankets and the too-big sweats on.
"W-w-w-where a-am I?" he stuttered through violently chattering teeth. His eyes were half-shut, bleary and dull. He seemed to be feeling too sick to be scared. Rita's heart ached, but she didn't let it show on her face.
"Ssshhh," she whispered, putting her gloved hand on his shoulder and gently forcing him back into the pillow and dimming the bright light that shone harshly down with her other one. "You're safe." She noticed that his face seemed pale and bloodless, but it was hard to tell—his skin was green. Tucking the covers up around his chin, she patted his forehead. It was cold—even through the gloves.
"I'm Rita," she introduced herself in a quiet, gentle voice, trying to save him from having to talk too much, even though she'd have to ask him a few questions of what happened, but her relief that he was awake, if only for a little bit relaxed a tight knot in her gut. "Can you please tell me your name?"
The boy shut his eyes all the way for a moment, and looked at Rita dejectedly before sniffing—he had a bad cold, no doubt—and then asked, "D-d-o I have to?"
The woman was surprised at the question. Had he heard her right? "Well, it'd make talking to you much easier," she coaxed, keeping her voice soft. She felt a strange, motherly pull towards this helpless child, and wanted to help him in all that she could…he obviously had no one else.
The little boy sighed, and then coughed hoarsely before blinking his eyes and replying, "Okay…it's—G-g-arfield. M-m-y l-last n-name's L-l-logan."
Now Rita understood why he didn't want to tell her his name in the first place. "Would it make you feel better if I called you Gar?" she asked, tilting her head to the side slightly.
Gar sniffed, and then relented. "Okay." He was quiet for a minute, and closed his eyes, and it wasn't long before Rita wondered if he had gone back to sleep, and she wouldn't be surprised if he had, but then, the boy opened his eyes slowly again and asked, "Are you p-p-part of the D-d-doom P-patrol?"
Taken aback, Rita frowned. "Yes. How did you know?" she wondered, reluctant to ask any more questions, even important ones after this. He needed something warm to drink and then some more sleep.
"One of t-the g-guys who were t-t-t-trying to k-kill me s-said that." Gar said, sniffing again before settling deeper into the pillows.
"Try not to think about that." Rita said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. She was just about to say something more when Mento's familiar voice cut in, via the comlink on the wall. "Elasti-Girl, we need you in the Conference Room."
Slightly irritated, but determined not to show it to her charge, who had been shocked by the sudden loud noise, Rita stood up.
"Elas-s-sti-G-girl? Is that what they c-c-call you?" Gar inquired, his voice growing softer as the effort of talking seemed to take a toll on him.
"Ssshh," Rita said again, pressing a button that would activate the security camera in the hospital wing and display it on one of the Conference Room's monitors. "Try to go to sleep, Gar…I'll be back to check on you soon. Just press this," she pointed to a small blue button beside the bed. "If you need me, all right?"
The little boy nodded and then snuggled his shivering body under the covers again. "All right…'n-night, R-rita." He whispered, closing his eyes once more before drifting off in what was probably fitful sleep.
Rita, feeling horribly guilty for leaving him by himself dimmed the light some more, and then dashed out of the hospital wing. The others were waiting.
A/N: Whoo! This took forever to write. As you can probably see, I know little about the Doom Patrol's living quarters, so I took the liberty of making all up as I went…I hope I don't get sued. I really hope I got the characters down right…anyway, 'till next time, my readers! I will update soon.