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Tabloids
"So, were you two planning on sharing this with your friends?" Roy held up the National Enquirer. The headline on the cover, complete with an obviously doctored picture read 'Nightwing begs Troia 'Please don't leave me!'
"Roy…"
"And you, you heartless bitch—toying with him that way. I'd have thought you'd be a little more sensitive, a little more kind, a bit more generous to his feelings instead of kicking him to the curb the way you've been doing…"
Dick didn't even bother to look up. "Christ, why do you read that crap?"
"Cheap entertainment? Keeping up with my friends?"
They were in Titan's Headquarters, relaxing after a fairly routine and boring meeting. "You haven't had enough of these things yourself?"
Roy looked hurt. "Moi? I live the life of a saint."
Wally rifled through a copy of Star sitting on the coffee table. " 'Twenty-something Speedy in trial marriage with teen-queen Lindsay Lohan'. And evidently you've been keeping your own secrets; 'let him who is without sin… and all that'."
"Yeah, well, she's hot, okay?"
Garth looked up from his magazine; for some reason he was reading Psychology Today. "I don't understand why they are allowed to make these stories up—isn't that against the law?"
"Not unless you can prove it was intended maliciously and that's this side of impossible. We're considered celebrities and as such we've basically had a chunk of our civil rights taken away from us—you know—having private lives if we walk outside the door? Not for us, thank you, very much. Besides, if you sue it just gives them more publicity and then more people read the crap." Dick wandered into the kitchen, coming back with a container of left over lo-mein and a fork. "Just ignore that garbage, it doesn't matter."
Donna, who'd been quiet so far, crossed over and took the Star out of Wally's hands. "But it does, matter—we've all been hurt by this trash. Remember when you and Kory were put through the ringer? You couldn't go out of the house without paparazzi following you and I know—you know—she was in tears more than once about it. My God—when Terry and I were first together you'd have thought I was…"
"That you were a virgin about to be thrown on the alter of sacrifice and defiled or a slut and a whore. C'mon, Donna, that was years ago, get over it."
"Why should I? How many times did you have to deal with that rubbish about Bruce keeping you around because he liked little boys? I know how you reacted to that when you were twelve. You'd either be so angry you'd be throwing things or you'd be close to tears."
"I'm not twelve anymore and neither are you. Ignore it."
She tossed the magazine back down onto the coffee table. "That's easy for you to say; you have Wayne Corporation's fleet of lawyers taking care of business for you, but most of us are on our own."
Nightwing tried hard not to roll his eyes; he knew this upset Donna just as he knew it wasn't fair that they—or anyone—had to deal with this crap but it was part of the business and you either accepted it or you spent all your time banging your head against a wall. It was easier to just tune it out. Hell, if you can't stand the heat…y'know?
The silence that had dropped over the room was becoming a little uncomfortable until Garth started making noises.
It wasn't too subtle and finally Dick looked over to where Garth was sitting, every line in his body telegraphing annoyance. "Garth? Something wrong?" Y'think?
"…This!" He held out the offending article he was reading and which was making his sputter with indignation: Atlantean Psychology and Family.
Dick took the offending magazine out of Garth's hand, skimming the first couple of pages, complete with graphs. According to this, Atlanteans were pretty much about on the level of a school of salmon when it came to interpersonal relationships. It basically came out just short of saying they swam upstream to breed and returned to the same spawning grounds generation after generation. There was some suggestion that the male might occasionally help protect the young from predators, but that was about it. They further seemed to think that Atlanteans traveled in schools, like fish, ate a lot of plankton that they strained through their gills and occasionally lured sailors to their deaths by having some hot mer-babes sit on rocks and sing.
"I'm sure we could sue for this. This is…it's…it's just such…."
"Bullshit." Even Roy knew that Garth was a bit sensitive about being considered inhuman or sub-human or whatever. It really cheesed him off, in fact and was one of the few things guaranteed to really get a rise out of him. "Atlantean women lay eggs and you never told us?" Garth gave Roy a death glare, which was ignored. "But that's not a tabloid; it's a reasonably reputable magazine." Deigning not to answer, Garth threw himself back down on the couch, clearly going into a pout that would last a while.
Wally surreptitiously slid this week's People behind his back before Garth caught a glimpse of that as well. If he didn't like what Psychology Today had to say about his race, he'd really hate what People wrote about the connection between him and Arthur. That was pretty iffy under the best of circumstances and if he knew they were suggesting the whole relationship was based on Garth being simply an expendable appendage of the King. They went on to say that top political analysts thought he was just being held in reserve until being given some impossible assignment that would finally kill him, removing him as a possible rival for the throne—well if Garth read that, it wouldn't be pretty.
"Wally? What did you hide behind your back?"
He tried for his best innocent look. "Nothing, a pillow for my back, I think I twisted it the other day."
Garth held out his hand and Wally reluctantly handed over the magazine, knowing he was busted. Garth read the article to himself; obviously getting more upset with every sentence until he put it down and gave a resigned shrug. "They always seem to find some tiny bit of truth to build the pile of garbage on, don't they?" He saw the question on the others faces. "Arthur does see me as a potential threat to his throne—I'm not, but he thinks I am; I don't think he'd really give me some kind of suicide assignment to get me out of the way." He paused a second, considering. "Probably not, anyway. He'd have to have a good reason."
Yeah, that was probably true; talk about depressing. Okay, Dick looked around the room; logic and reason hadn't worked to lighten things up so he'd go for another tact. "C'mon, guys, we're tougher than this. We are! Who beat Mr. Mad Mod, huh? Who sent Ding Dong Daddy running home to mother? We did! Who got Mr. Twister's panties in a pinch? Who put paid to the Gargoyle? We're the Teen Titans and we rock!" He grabbed Donna, kissed her passionately, "You know how I love you when you're bashing bad guys!" He released her abruptly, causing her to stumble before she caught herself. "I'll beg you again if I have to—Please don't leave me!" His hand was on his heart, his face a picture of longing and hope. He looked around the room; the other four were staring at him with a combination of concern and fear.
"So, who's up for pizza?"
Donna gave him a look that could have melted the ice caps. "After what Superhero Insider wrote about the size of my ass? Wide-load Wondergirl? I'm not eating for a week."
"… 'Maybe a salad?"
Her look froze any other comment he might have made, leaving Dick hanging in mid air over the Grand Canyon of embarrassment. He could fall and die for all she cared at that moment.
"Size six isn't big!"
Garth, always the peacemaker tried. "You look great, we all think so—your, um, rear isn't any bigger than any of ours. I'm sure of it. Honestly."
Even Roy knew that comparing the size of Donna's butt to his or Wally's was a serious mistake. "He means you look great just the way you are and you know it—we all do. C'mon, Donna, lighten up a little, will you? No one believes this crap."
"My butt isn't too big."
"Your butt is perfect. In fact, it's almost as perfect as Dick's." Wally was serious. On the other hand, Dick did have a pretty sensational ass. This fact didn't stop the others from staring at him.
"You spend time thinking about my ass?" Dick seemed a little disconcerted by the thought, though not displeased. "Really?"
"…Well, I'm not blind."
"I always thought you were looking at Roy's shoulders—or maybe Garth's. You know, all that' swimming and archery really built them up."
"Robbie? This is getting kinda weird, y'know? Pizza?" Roy had backed off a couple of steps, Garth was still fuming about the article in Psychology Today and Donna was looking at her butt reflected in the big window, frowning.
"I'm not eating pizza. Ever. In fact, I'm going home—I'm tired. I'm sick and tired…" She trailed off, got her jacket and the boys knew it would be better to talk to her tomorrow after she'd cooled down a little. Maybe it was hormonal or something. The door slammed behind her. Maybe two, three days cool down would be better, come to think of it.
Well, alrighty. Dick looked around the room at the others. "So, four of us; three pies and beer sound good? Okay, Wally, I'll order and you pick them up, okay?" That way they'd still be warm—they still hadn't found anyplace that would deliver to the Tower.
Wally nodded; he was used to making the run—literally.
Roy headed toward his room to change into street clothes but paused at the door. "Hey Wal? It's Friday, right? Pick up the new tabloids while you're out, would you?"
4/1/06
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