I suppose I ought to have a disclaimer, since, y'know, all the other kids have them...I don't own Teen Titans. There.
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II.
"Will you, indeed?" Raven asked, in her usual bland tone, but there had been a flicker of genuine curiosity.
"Yeah," he replied, suddenly earnest. "I really will. I'll miss you very much."
That seemed to please her, for some imperceptible reason.
(would starfire care if he'll miss her?)
"I know," she sighed, and looked back down at her cup. "I—…I suppose that if I were prone to maudlin sentimentality—I'd rather miss you, too. A little bit."
His eyebrows shot up, and were promptly hidden by the dark bangs falling in unruly disorder over his forehead. It made him look…odd. Or maybe crazy. Or maybe eyebrow-less.
"I'm not getting soft," she said loudly.
He raised the soda can up to his lips, effectively hiding an unbidden smirk—"He proposed again, didn't he?"
"In a bath towel!" She burst out, the collected, unemotional demeanor shattering. "And he had a ring and roses and everything!"
He clucked sympathetically, as she buried her face in her hands.
"And the roses were black!" She continued, in a muffled, tragic voice. "And the diamond was black! And he—he was in a bath towel, Robin!" She lifted her head, staring at him with wide eyes. "I don't know why—but he was in a bath towel—! Do you know how close I came to saying yes?"
And that, of course, would have been just terrible.
The fact that Beastboy had been in a bath towel seemed to factor greatly into Raven's current distress. That was something he could not quite understand—but he supposed that there were those who liked furry, green guys with underdeveloped muscles…
"Well," he said, dubiously, "I guess—I suppose maybe the diamond was just…coal?"
Her eyes lit up with sudden hope. "You think so?"
He shrugged. "All diamonds are coal, really, from a certain point of view. Or—at least, they had been at one time…or something like that. Y'know—carbon and stuff. Though, for all we know, could've been jet, or—"
"You're not helping!"
He shrugged again. He personally thought that the two of them would make a great couple. Not great in the way where everything made sense, or where you could see them grow old together (Raven already acted like she was decrepit or senile or, at least, cranky, and Beastboy would remain a young soul forever) or where they'd have some clear, bright future, or where they'd live happily ever after, or where you could already see the kind of kids they have (Raven? Beastboy? Kids?), or where it was just meant to be, or where it was something that would naturally, effortlessly, predictably happen, or where they matched, or reflected each other—
But he thought they'd be great. It was illogically, unreasonably, irrationally great.
He wondered what their wedding would be like.
He wondered why he would even try to consider it—being 1) the wedding of Beastboy, 2) the wedding of Raven, and 3) the wedding in which Cyborg would be Best Man.
He wondered if she would wear white—
(starfire would look gorgeous in white—in a bridal gown—coming up the aisle—to him...)
—and whether Cyborg would cry and how would Beastboy ever manage to get into a tux—
"Stop it!" She snapped, irritably, glowering. "I'm not getting married!"
Ah—the telepath thing again.
He tapped a finger against the table, cocked his head to one side. "Of course not." And he nodded, just for emphasis.
She scowled. "What are you going to do—after all this?"
"What am I going to do, or what do I want to do?"
"Are they separate?"
"Distinctly."
She pondered this, and—"Want, then. Knowing you—whatever you will do probably is all duty and boring stuff…"
"I want," he said, and paused, thinking. "Well, I've always wanted to work at K-Mart. I've always wanted to be the announcer person—y'know, the one on the P.A.? The one that goes, 'Attention, all K-Mart shoppers. Blue light discounts on all cookware. Aisle Six.' It would be awesome."
She blinked at him. "I see."
He thought that she probably didn't, but that was all right. It would probably never happen anyway. Richard Grayson would never work at K-Mart. Richard Grayson would probably go to Cambridge or Yale or Stanford, and take over the business, and be hugely successful, and become fabulously wealthy…
It would suck.
"Well, then. I wish you luck," she said.
He inclined his head graciously, "Thank you."
Neither said anything for a moment. He wondered if maybe they'd finally run out of things to say. That was a distinct possibility. There really could not be that many things to talk about—
(starfire always has happenings and going-ons to tell)
—except Raven was looking at him with some sort of expectant look…
"What?"
"Well?"
"Well, what?" He wasn't trying to be daft. He just wasn't very good with the whole cryptic thing she had going for herself.
"Well," she said, with a sort of forced patience he didn't particularly care for, "what about Starfire?"
(what about starfire?)
He swallowed. "What about Starfire?"
She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
He broke the gaze, looked away—out the windows.
Didn't say anything.
Didn't dare say anything.
What could he say?
(i love her. i'd sell my soul to see her smile. at me. the way she smiles when it rains. i want her to smile at me like i'm rain. even if i hate rain…. i want to marry her. i want to grow old with her. i—)
He didn't say anything.
And in the silence, Raven found her answer.
"I see." She smiled.
He still said nothing—looked stubbornly out the windows.
"I see," she said again.
And this time, he thought, she really did see.