Bright Line

Chapter Three: Cardinality

Criminals were like telemarketers: they were most likely to bother you just when you were sitting down to dinner. It was just past five thirty (Beast Boy had some cartoon that he had to watch at five thirty, which he was currently glued to) and Cyborg had been trying to boil water for pasta when the communicators started blinking. Nobody was ready for it. Cyborg was thoroughly absorbed with making dinner, Raven was nowhere to be found, and Starfire was sitting on the couch wearing fuzzy slippers. You didn't decide to attack things while people were wearing fuzzy slippers with pink rabbits on them. You just didn't.

Unless you were Cinderblock.

But Robin was ready, because he was always ready. "Guys, don't look now, but I think dinner's just been postponed."

"Aww, man, but this is the good part. Couldn't it at least wait till a commercial?" Beast Boy poked his communicator resentfully. "You, sir, are a mean, mean little blinking light," he told it.

"So much for food," muttered Cyborg. He turned the stove off, leaving the pot of water where it was. Behind him, Starfire was scrambling for her boots, slippers kicked off carelessly. Learning to drop everything and move was one of the toughest things that they'd had to learn. But they'd learned it the hard way more than enough times, had seen what happened when you waited another minute to brush your teeth, to turn off your computer, to put your book where it belonged.

"Has anyone seen Raven or Terra?" Robin asked tensely.

"We're here, we're here!" A nervous declaration, girlish and high-pitched. Terra appeared in the doorway, trying to get both of her gloves over her hands. Raven followed, right behind her.

There was barely time to be surprised at seeing Raven and Terra enter the living room together, obviously coming from the same place. Raven shrugged, answering the unspoken question. "I was teaching her to meditate."

Terra grinned, excitement suddenly rekindled. "Yeah, an' it's really cool, too, I think I'm getting the hang of it—plus, I think it's so neat how…"

"Terra. Focus, remember?" Raven pointed to her blinking communicator. "We have other problems."

"Oh," said Terra. She bit her lip.

"If it's a fight they want, it's a fight they'll get!" Beast Boy had left the television on, but he wasn't so much as glancing at it anymore. "Nobody messes up my favorite show and gets away with it."

"Right—good attitude," said Robin. "Titans, go!"

"Do you have to do that?" Raven and Terra, in unison. Well, in completely different ways, of course (bored and cheeky, respectively), but they did say it at the same time. The girls looked at each other and Terra laughed.

Robin sighed. It was a catch phrase; really now, some people just didn't understand that concept. "We'll…discuss that later."

"And, like, we're already there, we know there's stuff to be done, people to save, and all that; I don't get why he has to say it…"

"He could be more specific. Sure, 'Titans, go'…but go where? 'Titans, go get-the-bad-guy' or 'Titans, go make-me-a-sandwich'? Really, it's hard to tell." Raven seemed to be enjoying this far more than she should. She kept glancing over at Robin with an amused smirk.

It didn't seem like the subject of what Robin did and didn't choose to say at any given time would really be all that interesting. Certainly not good enough conversation material to fill fifteen minutes. Of course, at least this meant that Terra and Raven were getting along. Finally. He had been starting to worry about that. And when you were crammed into a car, waiting to find out how much you were going to get squashed by a giant, rock-throwing freak…well, it was easy to see how Terra would latch onto any source of discussion. If it happened to be an insulting one, at least it made her feel better.

"Sooo…this Dinderblock person. What's his deal?"

"Cinderblock, Terra. And his deal is that he likes to make our lives miserable at random, inopportune moments. In general, he loses at the game of life," said Cyborg, far too cheerful for the occasion.

The woods were dark because it was still winter and everything got dark entirely too early. Robin thought about telling them to be quiet, but decided that it didn't really matter. Not like Cinderblock wasn't practically deaf anyway. At least he'd gotten loose in an isolated area. That way, nobody died.

Robin hoped.

"Dude, what's out here that he wants, anyway?" asked Beast Boy.

"Probably nothing. It's just the way out of prison," said Robin, carefully side-stepping a fallen log.

A few more steps past a particularly dense clump of poison ivy ("No, don't touch that, Starfire!") brought Cinderblock into full view. Giant, ham-fisted limbs were set on casually uprooting a nearby tree. He didn't seem to have noticed them.

But Terra had noticed him. Her eyes were round and full in the dimming light, an eerie, piercing blue. "Oh, wow. Wow. He's big."

Cinderblock threw the tree unceremoniously over his shoulder.

"Really? Are you sure?" Raven, of course.

"Well, sor-RY, but he is," muttered Terra petulantly. She took a step back towards the poison ivy. A big step.

Starfire's gaze skimmed over the clearing. "We have certainly been in more unpleasant situations than this," she remarked. Her features were set, eyes staring up in defiance, telling everyone that she was going to figure this out and beat it.

A boulder shattered the tense silence, crashing through the trees and sending some utterly terrified birds flying off into the darkness. It landed very near Terra, who screamed and just barely managed to leap out of the way.

"Unpleasant enough for you?" asked Raven dryly. The remains of the boulder lifted from the ground, outlined in black, ready to be used as a weapon.

He had been planning on at least another minute or two to assess the situation, maybe to lead Cinderblock some place where they would have the advantage. So much for that idea. "Titans…" Robin thought of something. "…never mind."

There was no real need, anyway; they already knew what to do. Starfire was in the air before anyone could blink, dodging rocks at dizzying speeds. Neon bursts of energy radiated from her palms again and again, even as Cinderblock shook the ground with every step.

Fighting was easy for Robin, even against someone like Cinderblock. It was something you didn't have to think about, acting and reacting before your brain could catch up with your body, believing that your fists knew what to do. That kind of trust had been hard for him at first, back when he'd tried to analyze every little move—but there wasn't time for that. It couldn't be evaluated (not until afterwards, anyway). Of course, this didn't mean letting your mind wander: the balance between heavy focus and excessive reasoning was tricky, but had to be maintained. If not, you died. Quickly.

Robin dodged granite feet that were bigger than he was. Practiced fingers found a grenade at his hip, waited a split second so he'd be in range, and tossed. The explosion made his ears hurt, but he ignored it. Cinderblock's enraged roar was considerably louder than the explosion, however, and a bit difficult to ignore.

Disorientation. Half a second's hesitation. Too long. Lethal. A huge rock, sharp, flying towards his head. Desperately looking for the way out that wasn't there, the solution that wouldn't come this time…

And then, deceleration, a metaphorical emergency break and the rock wasn't colliding with his skull. Almost angrily, it flickered with that disturbing not-glow that he'd seen so many times before.

"Die," said Raven. That rock belonged to her now. Up, up, back into Cinderblock's face, sending him clawing at his eye.

"Thanks," said Robin, shaking himself back to full awareness. Stupid, stupid. How many more times would he have to be saved tonight? What was wrong with him?

After that, things got better, because if there was one thing that Robin never did, it was make the same brainless mistake twice. They were beating him; little by little he was tiring, and thankfully no one else tried to come to Robin's rescue. And even more thankfully, they didn't need to.

Cinderblock suddenly turned (as suddenly as Cinderblock did anything), his attention focused on a rocky alcove half-obscured by oak trees. Step after enormous step sent him lumbering away from the fight, almost as if he were in a trance.

"Hey! Y'all, he wants something over there!" Cyborg pointed, sonic canon at the ready, an unmoving, not-quite-human wall.

"What could he…"

"Terra!"

Beast Boy's voice was panicked enough to rise above the unintelligible growling and crunching of boulders. And yes, looking again, Robin could see her: somehow skirting around Cinderblock's huge feet, though it wasn't likely that she could keep that up for very long. Why the thing had gone after Terra, Robin had no idea. Probably because she was the smallest and the most obviously terrified. Well, he'd figure out soon enough that size was irrelevant.

That is, if Terra could stop freezing up and remember that she was a geomancer.

"I'm on it," said Beast Boy, and, before anyone could argue, one hundred and fifteen pounds of boy had been replaced by fifteen hundred pounds of grizzly bear. Perhaps not the wisest course of action, but there was no arguing with Beast Boy when he decided that something had to be done. Especially when that something involved rescuing Terra.

"You idiot, get back…" Raven stopped when she realized that it was a futile statement because Raven didn't do futile.

He was between her and Cinderblock, giving Terra the few seconds she needed to get away. She wasted at least half of them by standing, immobile, mouth hanging open and gloved fingers trembling, but, spurred by a particularly foul curse from Raven, she somehow found the muscles necessary to move. Probably because she was more afraid of what Raven would do to her if she got herself crushed than she was of actually being crushed. Just went to show that Terra had at least some common sense….

As Robin had feared, this worked out in Cinderblock's favor because now he was between Beast Boy and safety—and the stony alcove blocked any other possible option of escape. Beast Boy was in his human form again, eyes darting from dead end to dead end, quickly running out of backwards steps to take.

"Umm…guys…a little help here?"

An audible gasp from over Robin's left shoulder. Little Terra, standing there with shaking hands over her mouth, face frozen in horror. "He's…he's gonna hurt him. Oh god, he's gonna kill him."

"I've got this one," said Cyborg, full to the brim with righteous anger as he locked on to Cinderblock's chest.

"No!" Standing with her feet far apart, anchored in the dirt, Terra set her hands in front of her deliberately, breathing heavily. "I did this, and I'm…gonna…fix it."

In actuality, it was probably only a few seconds (but as far as battles were concerned, that was long, way too long, long enough for the consequences to be irrevocable). But Cyborg let her do it. Terra's eyes—not blue anymore, no, they were a ghostly yellow that was almost sinister—were fixed on the ground underneath Cinderblock, beads of sweat fully visible along the bridge of her nose. The ground began to crumble…then split open, faster and faster, grainy soil pouring through the chasm like salt rubbed into a wound.

Robin noticed the problem first. "Beast Boy, move!"

He glanced into the rapidly expanding fissure, yelped in understanding and dove out of the way. Beast Boy was just barely fast enough to avoid it—but Cinderblock was nowhere near that quick. He crashed down into the chasm with a highly unpleasant echo that rattled half the forest, and lay prone for a long moment before levering himself up and trying clumsily to climb back out

Starfire winced, half-sympathetically, like she wasn't sure if she ought to apologize to Cinderblock for frightening him. "Friends, I…believe we are victorious, correct?"

But Terra had other plans. Still focused on Cinderblock and the hole in the earth, she made a low humming noise in the back of her throat and wrinkled her forehead. And then, the ground slammed back into place around his waist, stone on soil melding together like some ludicrous monument. Cinderblock let out an inhuman snarl but Terra was far too occupied to care.

She grinned when she was finished. "Now, we are victorious."

"Woah. That was…" Cyborg started, pointing at the living statue in disbelief.

"Alright. For a dumb blonde," said Raven with a smirk.

Terra rolled her eyes—fortunately, they were back to being blue. Robin didn't like the way her eyes turned yellow and lost their pupils. It looked unnatural.

"Hey, people? Think I could…" Beast Boy winced. "…get a hand, over here?" He waved at them from underneath a tree that had been split down the middle during the fight.

"Oh, oh wow, I'm sorry, just a minute…" Terra dropped her hands to her sides, finally releasing whatever hold she had channeled for that brief period of time. Robin and the others were well on their way to help him, but Terra got there first. Kneeling beside Beast Boy, she asked him frantically if he was alright.

"Uuuugh," he muttered, pointing to his right leg, face screwed up in what Robin would charitably call an attempt at agony. His uniform was torn and yes, his leg did seem a bit bruised, but Robin could say with reasonable confidence that he would live to tell the tale.

Terra gasped and touched the bruise carefully, murmuring apologies—come to think of it, that was probably just what Beast Boy wanted to happen. He'd never acted like this before: well, he had always displayed a tendency towards histrionics, but never to this degree. Yet another thing that Robin didn't get. If you were hurt, you fixed it or you dealt with it, but you didn't draw attention to it, and you certainly didn't try to get people to feel sorry for you.

Towering over them, Cyborg glanced at Beast Boy's "injury" and smirked. Raven, too, seemed to know exactly what this was about. Starfire probably would have fallen for it if Beast Boy hadn't been such an amusingly terrible actor.

Maybe Terra didn't fall for it either, but she'd already fallen so hard for Beast Boy that she didn't care. It was all confusing. Robin decided to focus on the thing that wasn't confusing: dealing with Cinderblock.

"Okay, guys, I'll notify the authorities that we got him—can somebody make sure he doesn't get out of that thing that Terra did?—and we need to make sure that he can't break out again. Cy, I'm going to need a full analysis of the cell he was being kept in so we can figure out the weaknesses. Can you get on that as soon as…"

"Robin. Day saved. Bad guy stopped. Wrong righted. You can come back from Neurotic Land now," said Raven. The wind blew her cape dramatically, and she pulled it closer around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm hungry enough to eat my face. Well…eww, but I'm almost hungry enough, anyway." Beast Boy laughed, then remembered that he was supposed to be in unbearable pain.

"Yes, we should celebrate this victory!" Three guesses who said that. Starfire smiled sweetly.

"Okay, you guys win," said Robin, realizing that he was smiling before he remembered to stifle it. "When the police show up, we can eat. But I do still want that analysis at some point, Cy, okay?"

"If you suddenly decided that you didn't, I think I'd have to rush you to the emergency room."

They really had every intention of not going out again. In fact, they almost made it halfway home before Cyborg announced that he was definitely too tired to even think about cooking. It probably would have made more sense to turn around and find somewhere to eat right then, but everyone started fighting about where to eat. And Cyborg tended to get very excited about food arguments, especially if they involved disagreeing vehemently with Beast Boy…so Robin had to insist that they figure it out at home, if only for safety.

We're the only superheroes who could survive a battle with an ogre made entirely of rock and then get killed in a car accident because we were too busy fighting about food.

And besides, Beast Boy said he needed to lie down because his leg hurt so much that it was probably going to have to be amputated. "And then wouldn't you be sorry for being so mean to me all the time!" The very first thing he did when he got into the living room was to fall onto the couch, pillow over his face, making pitiful noises.

Terra hurried over, still very concerned, and started talking with him quietly, soothingly. They looked almost…domestic, with Beast Boy's feet across her lap.

Robin awkwardly informed Terra that she had done a good job. He felt like he ought to, since she'd only fought with them a few times before. She beamed at him, though she did rake her fingers through her hair in that way that meant she was worried about something. Probably more than a bit embarrassed at being complimented—either that or she had just realized how everyone was staring at her.

The television was still blaring, now right in the middle of some kids' show about an orange chicken. Thankfully, Beast Boy didn't raise a word of protest when Raven turned it off in disgust, muttering something about how some people never graduated from kindergarten properly. Things were peaceful for a few minutes, with everybody checking themselves for ripped clothing or hidden injuries, trying not to gape at Terra and Beast Boy (and failing in varying degrees). Cyborg poured out the water on the stove, now room temperature, with a look that demonstrated just how relieved he was that he didn't have to worry about dinner right now.

It was peaceful, and then it wasn't. Somehow, pizza just had to get involved.

"Ugh, no, not pizza," said Raven, shooting down Beast Boy's suggestion with venom. "We had that two days ago, remember?" She was standing in front of the television, hand on her hip in that way that meant she had made up her mind. And unless you wanted to lose an eye, you didn't argue when Raven had made up her mind.

It was like building a house of cards and suddenly realizing that you shouldn't have put that six of diamonds where you did. Raven had just triggered what promised to be a painfully long argument. Because Raven was not eating pizza no matter what, Starfire chimed in wanting avocados with ketchup, Cyborg still wanted pasta (only pasta that he didn't have to make)…and Terra wasn't saying anything. Which was more than a little uncharacteristic of Terra, because she always had something to say, even if it was rude, not very bright or vastly inappropriate. She was still looking at Beast Boy, but she wasn't really seeing him—her expression was out of focus, preoccupied. Worried.

Worried about something substantially more important than pizza versus pasta.

So that's why Robin spoke up, loudly, interrupting Beast Boy and Cyborg. "What do you think, Terra?" He watched her ignore him for exactly two and half seconds, then jerk her entire face around as she looked up at him, startled like a skittish horse.

Terra mumbled something about waffles, and Beast Boy cheerfully began tallying up the votes. Robin didn't really care what she wanted to eat. He had been looking for something. He didn't know what—but he was reasonably sure that he had found it. Better shove that idea away before Raven decided to go snooping again. But Raven was busy insulting Beast Boy's intelligence, so she didn't notice. Probably.

"I just don't understand what's wrong with pizza—it's not like there aren't a million different kinds, so you can't say that we had it two days ago…"

"Yes, Beast Boy. Yes, I can say it. Mostly because we did," said Raven.

"Now you're just completely missing the point!"

"Uhh, you guys?" Terra raised her hand like a first grader asking to use the restroom. At some point, she'd untangled herself from Beast Boy, and she was now slumped against the cushions, her free hand over her stomach. She swallowed audibly. "I actually think I'm going to have to take a rain check on dinner."

Forgetting all about pizza for a mere fractional second, Beast Boy touched Terra's forehead with his palm and affirmed that she did feel 'kinda sick-ish.' "It was all that horrible training you made her do, Bat Head, I just know it!"

"It so wasn't, and don't call me that," said Robin. He'd gotten that kind of thing a lot when the team first came together, though it happened less now that they knew how much it bothered him. Instead, Bruce references were mostly reserved for cases when somebody needed to really annoy Robin. He turned his thoughts inward, listening to himself breathe in and out. Robin wasn't Bruce. Robin didn't want to be Bruce. Bruce was a jaded old man that hated the world and everything in it, who had no idea how life was supposed to work, who was impossible to get along with…Robin didn't want to be Bruce.

Seeming to sense the tension, Terra held out her hands and flashed one of her trademarked, magnetic smiles. "Hey, wow, don't get upset over me, you guys. It's just a cold, or something. I just think it would be better if I had an early night instead of going out."

For a while, it looked like nobody was going to accept that (Robin certainly didn't, but there was a time and place for everything, and this was not the right time to press the issue). Then, Cyborg admonished her to take care of herself and told her to go right to bed, adding that they would bring her some soup before they left. Starfire began an energetic story about Tamaranian cures for illness, but Robin decided that he needed to curb that idea before Terra got really sick. He knew a fair bit about the way things worked on Tamaran and, well…some of it didn't exactly make for the best dinner conversation.

"G'night, guys." Terra's words jumbled around the yawn, a bony hand resting against her forehead. She did look a bit more pale than usual. Maybe she really was sick. Could have something to do with the obvious lack of nutrition—her high protein diet started tomorrow, no questions asked. Standing up carefully, she shuffled out of the room, vigorously twisting blonde hair around her index finger.

She had only been gone for a few seconds when Beast Boy turned to the rest of them and proclaimed, "So. Since Terra's vote was obviously the most important, and she can't come anymore, we'll just have to go with the second most important vote: mine!"

"Somebody bought their logic at Wal-Mart," Raven noted.

Whoever Gene was, Robin needed to thank him for saving his team from numerous battle wounds and possible starvation.

Because, by some miracle, Gene had decided to open a restaurant. This restaurant was close by, not very crowded, and served nearly every variety of food imaginable. Given, it had the most banal name conceivable ("Gene's Restaurant"…sure) but the place did seem to have solved the food problem. There was pasta, pizza, and, yes, even avocados. Robin wondered if the silver haired man behind the cash register was Gene. Or maybe he was the guy in the painting on the wall, smiling back like a first grade teacher fused with Santa Claus.

It was cold, though. He wanted a jacket. The air felt almost damp, like climbing out of a swimming pool and getting blasted with air conditioning.

Looking around the table, watching them, he almost couldn't take it. Almost couldn't endure Beast Boy hitting Cyborg with the menu and Starfire asking why they had been given crayons and Raven telling them all, affectionately, to shut up. Because someday, he wouldn't be able to do this anymore. He wouldn't be able to hide it forever and when they found out…

Before he'd really thought about it consciously, he was standing up and walking past the rows of plastic booths. He half perceived the looks of confusion coming from the rest of the table, but they didn't register. Opening the door slowly, he stepped out into the darkness, immediately feeling a lot better because it wasn't nearly so cold outside. Figures that some people thought it would be smart to keep the air conditioning on in February.

This side of town wasn't particularly unsafe, but Robin wouldn't have worried, anyway. Being alone at night was nothing new for him.

"You know, I almost think that you wanted me to come out here and ask you what was wrong." A disinterested voice behind him. At least, it would sound disinterested to anyone who didn't know her, but Robin knew Raven.

Fair point, he supposed. It could be construed that way. Even though that wasn't it—at all. "I'm fine, really," he told the lamppost on the street corner. "It's not a big deal. I just think it's really cold in there."

"Maybe next time, you could remember that it's winter and bring a jacket," suggested Raven. The rustling of fabric, a few careful steps, and she was standing in front of him, though not too close. Her expression was completely neutral.

"I'll try to remember, yeah," said Robin quietly. Something weak and stupid inside of him wanted Raven to stay. Which meant that he should try to get her to go away as soon as possible—before he said anything stupid.

She stared at him for a long moment, unabashed. "You're giving me a headache, okay?"

Another fair point. He'd been obnoxious in the past few months. Though it seemed strange for Raven to call him on it…well, okay, she'd definitely call him on it, but not in those words. "Look, I'm sorry that I've been…well, a jerk lately. I've got a lot on my mind, and…"

"No, not that kind of headache, you idiot," said Raven. "You're not annoying anybody. It's your mind, Robin. Your emotions are concentrated, intense, absolutely boiling over. And they are hurting my head."

"Oh," said Robin. He didn't like where this was leading.

"So…this is the point where I stop leaving you alone about it, because I can't meditate with all the goddamn broadcasting you're doing." She paused, measuring his reaction. "You know I don't pry, Robin. But you lost your right to privacy when you invaded mine. Start sharing."

Heart hammering in his chest, he took a step away from her. Anything to put some distance between them, because she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to, and he did not like that, not at all. "Wow, Raven, I…really, honestly can't figure out where you might have gotten this from."

Raven quirked an eyebrow. "I see: you're saying that I don't know when people are incredibly upset? Because I can definitely see how you'd feel that way." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I mean, I've only been an empath since, oh, birth. I can't imagine where I'd get the silly idea that you need help."

"I don't need any help," he muttered tersely.

"Don't be a drama queen, Richard Grayson."

Robin knew better than to tell her not to call him that. But she was right: Raven knew things. And she'd never let it go if he didn't think of something to tell her that would satisfy her. So, he chose something safe. "Okay, you win. I've been messing up in fights lately, making stupid mistakes, and I'm not sure why. Plus, Terra's…well…I'm not sure how to say this…"

"We'll worry about the second point in a minute. But first of all: it's called sleep deprivation, Robin."

He tried to glare at her but was certain that it looked more like incredulity.

"I mean it," Raven continued. "You stop sleeping, you stop eating, you exercise yourself into exhaustion…are you really surprised that your body isn't listening to you anymore?"

How the freck did she know about that? "I don't do any of that."

Raven tapped the side of her head deliberately. "Empath, Robin. I know when you sleep and when you don't. And lately, it's been much more of the latter."

It did make some sense. Robin wasn't an idiot; he knew how his metabolism worked. Knew what he needed to do to take care of himself. But…he hated to sleep. Hated it. Sleeping meant dreams. Dreams meant memories. And he couldn't—wouldn't—Robin bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and told his hands that if they didn't stop shaking, they'd live to regret it. "I…" He took a deep breath. Then another. "…don't really like sleeping, okay?"

Something changed in Raven's eyes, and when she spoke again, all of the residual acrimony had dissolved. Her hand twitched like she was going to touch him, and Robin felt every muscle in his body tense. Oh, god, please, don't…

Because it wasn't her hand; it was larger, pinning him down to a too-clean bed with a cool detachment as—

Mercifully, she abandoned the idea. He was relieved enough that he didn't even care if it was because she'd felt his reaction. "Do you…do you want to tell me why?"

"Why…what?"

She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Why you don't like sleeping. You know: the thing you just said."

He didn't. Didn't, wouldn't, couldn't. He would never tell her why, because the mere thought made him want to find a dark corner somewhere so he could just die and never have to look her in the face again… "Not really," said Robin.

"Then you'd better start sleeping and eating like the human being that you are, or I'm going to make you tell me why. But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now." She shrugged. "Now, about Terra…I've felt it, too."

That was one thing that was nice about Raven: you seldom had to explain yourself to her unless she decided that making you do it anyway would be good for you. She wasn't telepathic, of course, but she could almost always understand those irrational thoughts that couldn't be put into words. But getting her to agree with them was an added bonus. "Really?" asked Robin slowly.

Raven nodded. "I'm going to leave it alone, because I don't know what it is yet. If I accused somebody of plotting our gruesome deaths every time I got a headache, I would have already locked you in some maximum security prison."

"You think she's plotting our gruesome deaths? You think I'm plotting our gruesome deaths? Terra's giving you headaches?"

"I'll answer them in order: no, you're an idiot, and yes." She turned her head slightly to stare up at the lamppost, probably just to give Robin a break. At least the conversation wasn't about him anymore. "Something's weird, okay? That's all I'm saying."

"Weird in what way?" asked Robin, wondering if he really wanted to know.

She bit her lip, shifting her weight uncertainly. "Well…I'm not sure if you've noticed or not, but Terra's gained weight."

Robin considered that. The girl still looked emaciated to him. Though, if he really thought about it, her bones did seem a bit less prominent, her eyes less sunken than the first time she'd been with them. "Maybe. But that's a good thing, I'd say."

"Sure it is. But when did she gain weight? How?"

The question made him feel a bit queasy. "Good point."

"It's things like that," Raven continued. "Little, unimportant things. Details I'm picking up, flashes of emotions that don't belong: she's feeling…I shouldn't really share what, exactly, but let's just say that I'm getting some odd emotions from her."

"So what should we do about it?" The lamppost flickered, emitting a low humming noise.

"Nothing to do," said Raven. "Just be aware, I'd say. And you need to take better care of yourself. For example, our food is ready, and if you don't go inside and eat it, I'm going to get out the feeding tube."

It was a pretty interesting mental image, he had to admit. He laughed dryly, taking a step towards the door to Gene's Restaurant. "Fair enough. Eating now, I promise."

Raven nodded and followed him back inside. Her hand did that strange, twitching thing again as Robin opened the door, so he ducked out of the way in case she decided to touch him. Not that Raven was a physical person, but you could never be too careful. Heart in his throat, Robin slid back into the plastic booth and told himself that he had to eat the pizza.

He felt Raven's mental presence, just briefly, as she casually made up a lie about what they'd been discussing. An ethereal, careful trace of her emotions—but she wasn't spying, not in the least. She was…just there.

It was almost nice.