Bright Line

Chapter Four: Negation

Robin was not sick. He didn't have time to be sick.

Being sick was for lazy people who wanted an excuse to sleep all day. Or at least for people who didn't have to save the world. It was for normal people…and Robin wasn't normal. Well, he was more normal than anyone else on the team, but that was no excuse. Starfire had never been sick in her life. Cyborg…well, he'd be more likely to get a computer virus. In any case, illness was something that Robin would simply not allow.

He was having trouble concentrating, the overhead light had been getting more and more vicious all evening and he hurt everywhere…but he was not sick. The living room was just freezing, that was all. What did he have to do to get Terra to quit messing with the thermostat? She had excused herself to take a shower—conveniently right after Raven decided that they were all going to play some card games.

"This…is so lame," muttered Beast Boy, staring down into his cards.

From the floor, Raven fixed him with an easy stare. "It's at least six orders of magnitude less lame than watching you and Cyborg glue yourselves to the television screen. Who has the two of clubs?"

"Hey, what's wrong with Mega Monkeys? And, hmm, clubs? That's the one with the little shovel-looking thing, right?"

"No, Beast Boy, that would be spades," said Raven dryly.

In a different situation, maybe Robin would have noticed, but his head hurt and Starfire was sitting next to him on the couch, and she was way too close. It almost made him nauseous. Or maybe that was something else. In any case, nobody played the two of clubs, because Robin had the two of clubs but this fact didn't register until Cyborg reached up and poked him in the knee.

The action was startling but not enough to get a reaction out of him. "Hey, Earth calling Robin—you with us?" Cyborg asked from the floor.

"Umm…yeah," he heard himself mutter, picking up the two of clubs and letting it flutter lifelessly to the floor. They really had to turn the thermostat up…

Cyborg grinned and put one of his cards down, something that was obviously a good move, but it was getting hard for Robin to think about what would be a good move in Spades. Which was more than a little disturbing, because the day Robin couldn't win a card game was the day that the universe caved in on itself.

It was Raven's turn but she didn't so much as glance at her cards. She was looking at him. "Are you okay, Robin?" It was the least annoyed sentence that Robin had ever heard her say.

Robin didn't answer, shifted so he could lean against the arm of the couch, stared into his hand as if he had at least some idea of what move he should make.

"Dude, he's fine; it's your move, Rae, come on," said Beast Boy.

A flash of anger. "How many times do I have to tell you what my name is?"

Beast Boy rolled his eyes but scooted back from her as far as the couch would allow. "Well, excuse me—here I am trying to be nice and play your stupid game and now you're going to be mean to me…"

Raven slammed one of her cards down on top of the pile. "Your. Move."

"Big meanie. Now, which one was the spades…"

Robin had been afraid that Starfire would never understand what was going on; however, once they had identified for her the different types of "tiny, malleable rectangles" and what to do with them, she was actually a decent player. Beast Boy cringed at her move, demanding to know how she had gotten so good at this game when she wasn't even from Earth. He didn't like to lose—even at a game he thought was a waste of time.

Of course, Robin didn't like to lose, either. At anything. Ever.

Starfire took the trick, clapping her hands and grinning. "I may choose any one of the rectangles this time, correct?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Yeah, you just can't lead with a spade since nobody's played one yet," said Cyborg, nodding.

"Hey, stop helping her!" That would be Beast Boy.

The next trick went to Robin, because Starfire played a diamond and he had the ace. At least he remembered to play the ace; it was getting hard to think. It was just so cold. He wondered if he should say something. Nobody else seemed to be bothered by it. Robin leaned over to place a card on top of the pile, telling his headache to take a number.

"Umm…Robin? Man?"

"Yeah?" His voice sounded really foggy, even to him. Perfect.

Cyborg pointed to the card as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "You…can't lead with a spade yet. I just said that."

He looked. Cyborg was right, and that was unsettling because he hadn't meant to do it. Robin knew how to play this game. Robin had been playing this game for seven years; Starfire had been playing for seven minutes. So why did she understand when he didn't? But no, that wasn't right: he did understand; there was just something, some mental road block…he saw what was going on but couldn't remember what to do with it or how or why.

"Oh…oh right, yeah, sorry," said Robin. He corrected the mistake and Cyborg hesitated but then played a card. Trying to keep track of the game, Robin found himself wondering absently if this was the first step of some villain's master plan to incapacitate them all. Had they fought anyone who might have a weapon that lowered awareness?

But Raven wasn't going to let the game continue. She had absolutely no inclination to play a card, her hand forgotten facedown on the floor. "Robin, what is wrong with you?"

"Yes, are you damaged?" Starfire leaned over him, and he could not shove her away, no matter how much he wanted to…she was concerned. Just concerned. Breathe.

Engrossed in building a little house out of his cards, Beast Boy smirked but didn't look up. "I think he's sick."

Starfire pulled away from him, utterly crestfallen. "First, friend Terra becomes ill, and now you?"

Well, if he really was sick (which he wasn't), that made a bit more sense. Of course, Robin didn't think that Terra had legitimately been sick, not for an instant, but he didn't know what it meant and the reasoning got more difficult the more he thought about it. He stared at Starfire and couldn't think of a good answer. Luckily, he didn't have to, because Raven had stood up and walked over to the couch, giving him something else to focus on. Unluckily, Raven had decided to find out if he was sick or not.

Robin stared hard at a spot on the wall when she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. It's Raven, it's Raven, be rational for once. But he couldn't be rational, and he hated himself for not being able to, and his head hurt and…

"Yeah. If you don't have a fever, I'll let Beast Boy paint my nails," said Raven. Beast Boy stopped building whatever he was building with his cards to grin at Raven and rub his hands together.

"I am not sick," said Robin.

"Except for the part when you are," said Raven. "You tried to lead with a spade on the third trick, Robin. To me, that could only indicate that you are deathly ill."

"I don't get deathly ill," said Robin. "Look, I don't think I'm sick, but if I am, I'll survive. It's not a big deal."

"It's a big deal whenever anything happens to somebody else," Cyborg remarked conversationally.

"Yeah, because you all have superpowers, and who knows what would happen if…if…" Come to think of it, he couldn't remember what superpowers had to do with anything.

"Robin, do us all a favor and never try to argue when you have a fever. It really isn't good for our image of you as a leader." Caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation, Raven shook her head slowly. "You should go to bed."

"It's eight-thirty; I'm not sleeping."

"Hey guys, where's Terra?" Beast Boy's card house fell to the carpet and he swore softly.

For once in his life, Robin gave thanks for Beast Boy's one-track mind. Of course, he did have a point. Terra had said she was going to take a shower…fifty-three minutes ago. Even for someone who enjoyed using up all the hot water on a daily basis, that was a ridiculously long time. They shouldn't have left her alone—she could have gotten lost, or hurt.

Or maybe she's not lost, said a voice in the back of his mind, that same voice that hadn't really been silenced since the day she joined the team. Maybe this was exactly what she wanted…

"I'll go find her," said Robin, standing up. "I need to look at something in the main computer room, anyway…"

"Not my main computer room!" Cyborg glared. "You're sick. You're not touching the computers; I need you messing with them like I need Slade messing with them."

He took a deep breath and it slowed his heartbeat a little. "Fine. Beast Boy, can you go down there and check the security when you go to look for Terra?"

Beast Boy sighed loudly. "Oh, fine: I guess I could be your slave. Seeing as how I am basically the nicest person ever. Hey, after I go find Terra, we'll have an even number so we can play with partners!"

"I thought you hated Spades," remarked Cyborg.

"I like Spades with Terra," said Beast Boy as he disappeared out the door. "Back in a sec!"

"You," said Raven, pointing at Robin. "Are going to sleep in an hour."

"I must agree with friend Raven; you appear most unwell," said Starfire. "But what is this 'fever'?"

Cyborg had abandoned his cards on the floor and was now leaning against the back of the couch. "It means that his body temperature is higher than normal."

"It is not," muttered Robin.

"I see," said Starfire. "And this causes one to make uncharacteristically foolish decisions in the game of Spades?"

Robin turned his face into the couch, covering his head with a pillow. Starfire didn't mean it, didn't even understand, of course; apologies spilling over like a waterfall…but he just couldn't bring himself to look at anyone. Besides, the light was really starting to bother him. Had Cyborg reprogrammed the electrical system again?

"It's okay, Starfire; you didn't do anything wrong…" Was the last thing he could remember hearing.

Somebody was touching him. Fingers at his side, his ribcage, pulling slightly at his shirt.

"Stop it-- please-- just stop…"

"You know how to make it stop, Robin."

He wrenched himself back to consciousness, eyes snapping open suddenly, violently. One hand jerked out to grab the attacker, twisting the arm away from him and down, nearly breaking it before the shocked gasp broke through his haze and Beast Boy's pained features swam into focus in front of him. Appalled, he dropped it, swallowing as the living room spun, unpleasantly. "I…I…sorry."

Beast Boy jerked back and immediately put some distance between them as soon as Robin's grip loosened slightly. He opened his mouth to say something but didn't make a sound.

"Don't give us that look: I told you not to bother him." A disembodied voice, utterly unsympathetic, from somewhere over Robin's shoulder.

"Dude, I didn't expect him to attack me!" accused Beast Boy. He masked it with anger, but the fear was right under his words. Fear and disbelief.

"I'm sorry about that, Beast Boy, really." Robin wished he could fall into the couch and never come out again. "I was just…"

"Sick, sleep deprived, and startled," said the disembodied voice. Robin sat up slowly, eyes focusing on Raven, who didn't look very happy. "No: you lie down before you pass out. Alright, just…stay there for a minute, please." She was holding the sides of her face with both hands, forehead wrinkled in either concentration, pain or both. Headaches, he figured. Again. Was he really that obvious? He had to stop hanging around her.

Terra put an arm around Beast Boy, mumbling something that Robin couldn't hear. That made sense. Of course she would be in the room—if Beast Boy was back, he must have brought Terra…they seemed to go together lately, in a way. And why was it so cold?

"Okay, you're not arguing this time: you need to go to bed now," said Cyborg authoritatively. Why was Cyborg telling him what to do? Robin was supposed to tell him what to do. Wasn't he? But Cyborg was older. Maybe that was why. But he was only two years older. One year, really, because Robin would be sixteen soon so it really wasn't fair…And if he'd wanted to be the leader he should've said so, age wasn't enough, he should've said something up front. No fair just--

"Robin, are you listening to me? I asked if you could walk." He wished that Cyborg would stop talking. It made his headache worse—and they still hadn't fixed those lights.

"Robin!" That would be Starfire because it couldn't be Cyborg since it sounded too much like a girl and too energetic to be Raven and too bold to be Terra. Proving that he could still reason logically, he acted on this deduction, tilting his head around to look at Starfire. Her green eyes were round and frightened. "You are ill. And in your current state, you are clearly not fit for the playing-of-Spades."

"What she said," said Beast Boy. "Go to bed and come back when you don't feel like trying to break my arm or something." He paused. "Hey, Rae, can't you just—I dunno—heal him with your powers?"

"I can heal physical injuries, not diseases. Stop calling me 'Rae'." She turned her attention away from Beast Boy. "Robin, you have two choices: you can walk to your room or be carried."

It wasn't fair. Five against one. They just didn't understand that he wasn't really sick. There was something wrong. Some kind of disorientation ray or something. They had to believe him, if they didn't they could get caught in it too--

A snort interrupted that train of thought. "No, Robin, you're just sick. There's no ray."

He turned to Raven, eyes wide. Wasn't she just supposed to feel, things, not actually--

"I didn't read your mind, Robin. You're talking out loud. Now decide: Walk or be carried."

He didn't think he could've been talking out loud, but she was starting to sound impatient, and it was more important to focus on that, not on what she knew. And no one carried Robin anywhere. "Fine, whatever." He stood up to prove that he could.

"I'll take him," said Raven casually.

"I said I could walk!"

"Right, because we're really going to let you try and find your way to your room when you can't manage to keep track of a conversation." She glared at him. Pointedly. Deliberately. It took him a few seconds to remember why Raven was being so vehement, but then he thought of that awkward conversation outside of Gene's Restaurant. Great. She'd probably never leave him alone now.

He hated the way they all said goodnight, in various combinations of worry and confusion. Terra in particular had all but tried to hide behind Beast Boy, looking at the floor and clenching her jaw. They managed to convince Starfire not to hug him, since he was probably contagious, and though Robin wasn't even sure if she could contract their diseases, it was undoubtedly the best decision anyone had made all evening.

The walk to his room was awkward. And quiet—because Raven didn't do small talk and neither did he. When they passed the infirmary, she slipped in for a few seconds to "get some things," which didn't bode well. He wasn't sick. Why was everyone treating him like an invalid?

"Okay, congratulations: we've managed to find my room. I could never have done it without your help."

"No, I really don't think you could have," she said easily. "Considering that you tripped twice and tried to make at least one wrong turn."

That was wrong, of course, but it wasn't worth arguing about. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure I can figure things out from here."

"Sure you can," said Raven. "But I'll be taking some precautions first. Open your door."

Now that really wasn't fair. "You don't let anybody in your room!"

"I don't try to kill myself. Open your door."

He gritted his teeth and entered the appropriate combination. Raven walked through the doorway before him, strode purposefully to his desk.

"What the freck are you doing?"

She reached behind to the back of his laptop and, in one swift motion, unplugged the power cord. And the Ethernet cable. "Taking precautions. These are mine until I can trust you to sleep."

"Raven, I have work to do!"

A glare, incisive and unwavering. "So you were just planning on researching until your eyes fell out. Do I really need to lock you in the infirmary, Robin? Because I don't want to, but I will."

He wanted to think of something cutting to say in response to that, but all the cutting remarks he knew were probably in the same place that his brain had gone earlier in the evening. So he didn't answer, and distracted himself by wondering what could have ever compelled him to lead with a spade when he wasn't supposed to…

"Fine: ignore me, but you're not getting your computer back." She shrugged, and set the cords down on the desk chair. Robin wondered if she might forget to take them with her. "One more thing—I'll leave you alone if you take these."

Two bottles of pills, obviously what she had taken out of the infirmary. "What are those for?" he asked doubtfully. Robin hated medication. Hated it.

"This for the fever and this will help you sleep. Don't give me that look; we'll let you know if any horribly nefarious fiends decide to attack the city." She held the bottles out to him in a way that left no room for argument.

"No you won't," Robin muttered.

"Well, probably not," she agreed. "No, take two of those. Two, Robin. Don't you want some water?"

He swallowed defiantly because ignoring her question made it seem like he had slightly more control of the situation.

"Fine; be that way." Her expression softened, almost imperceptible. "I'm…sorry you're sick."

"Yeah, well, so am I," said Robin.

"Oh, good, you've finally admitted it. That's progress." Raven picked up the cords and walked over to the door. "I…well…" She flipped the light switch. That made him feel a lot better. Light was bad.

"Goodnight," said Raven, leaving him alone with his thoughts. At least she hadn't stayed to make sure he was actually sleeping. It didn't seem unlike her if you could get her angry enough, but it would almost certainly be the final blow to his dignity, the one from which there could be no recovery.

He didn't sleep right away. In the first place, he never did that anyway, even when he ended up sleeping—and in the second place, he needed to check a few things in his books first. But it got hard to keep his eyes open very quickly. Stupid pills. He'd been drugged before, more seriously than this, but he hated it, all the same.

At some point—he couldn't remember when—he did finally stumble over to his bed, not bothering to pull back the covers. It was really, really cold…but blankets were for normal people. Kind of like being sick. Besides. When he tried to squirm under them, he found that someone had bonded them to the bed or something and he just didn't care enough to force them up enough that he could get under.