30Kisses Theme Ficlets

Robin/Raven

By Kysra

Theme #11 (gardenia): Connotations

Every year on April 12, he would leave a flower for me, somewhere, anywhere that I and I alone would know it was for me. At first - for that entire first year, actually - I had not understood why it was always on that day, why he did it at all, or how he managed to sneak into my room without alerting me.

The first year, we had only been working together for three months, he had left it on my pillow while I was in the shower. A bunch of periwinkle bonnet-petals fading into yellow winked at me even in the moonlit dark. I had taken up the flowers at the base, studying the little bit of branch that remained to support the hanging petals then carefully pressed them. I didn't understand, but gifts were rare and precious, especially when they came unexpectedly.

The second year found a single Allium resting near my cheek. I had stared at the thousand and one blooms, taking in the blur of white and bright lilac. Sitting up had caused the detail apparent to my eyes to lessen, but the overall complexity of it's structure was beautiful, soft and fuzzy looking despite the many stamen projecting out from the tiny petals. This I pressed as well, placing the book in which the Allium rested next to the book that contained the year old Wisteria.

It was then I realized that these were significant. Two years. April 12. Different flowers. He was the type to pay attention to detail, a detective by trade, and a lover of symbols. So, I did some independent research, and found that there was meaning behind it though I still could not fathom the significance of the date. That information would come later and quite by accident when I entered his mind and saw that it was the date of his parents' death.

Year 1 - Wisteria: Welcome; A greeting to someone both foreign and new. Me, a visitor from another dimension. Him, the only person willing to take a chance on me. Together, a fighting force and potential friends.

Year 2 - Allium: Unity, Humility, and Patience; The components necessary for effective teamwork, and a reassurance that he would always be there, would always listen to me, and would wait however long he had to in order to gain my trust.

I did not tell him of my discovery, but by then I knew him well enough to know he could probably guess. The next year brought the crisis of a resurrected Slade, a chaotic sixteenth birthday and the fear of my father's entrance into Earth. I had believed he would forget, all things considered, but on April 12th I entered my room after dinner to discover a sprig of white heather lying in the center of my bed. Sitting upon the deep violet blankets, I had caressed the delicate blossoms, marvelng at their perfect cupped shape and the lovely deep mauve of the stems, whimsically smiling at how they reminded me of tiny tea cups. Again, I pressed them to save as memories of my teammate's strange ritual, before searching for the meaning of this particular flower.

Year 3 - White Heather: Protection. Wishes will come true; He would protect me, keep me safe. It seemed important to him that it was so. He had promised everything would be all right. He was the only one who knew my wish to stop time had come true. He was the only one who could guess at what wish lay dormant in my heart.

That was the same year Starfire had been given a gardenia, meaning "You're lovely; Secret Love," and I remember thinking, It's not so secret, Fearless Leader.

We had defeated Slade (and summarily found out he was immortal) and somehow managed to destroy my father. I had been purified and successfully side-stepped insanity with my friends by my side. My greatest wish had come true, just as his flower had promised; and though it was safe to, I still could not express the joy I felt at the prospect of my fragrant yearly surprise.

On April 12th, yet again, four years after I had first met him, I had been stuck in the med-wing after a particularly intense attack by the HIVE. My leg had been burned quite badly and several bones had been broken. There was too much damage for me to safely heal myself completely without exhausting my body and spirit, so - by choice - I had been sequestered in one of the few clinic-white beds and thought I would be driven batty (finally) by the metallic scenery. On that day, Flower Day - as I had begun to refer to it in my mind, I had woken from a shallow slumber to see the happy hot pink of broad Cyclamen against the drab white of the neighboring cot. I had smiled then, not knowing what it meant, took it up in my palms and imagined that it looked like a lovely tropical bird with it's wings fully spread.

I found out later how apt the visual was.

Year 4 - Cyclamen: Resignation. Goodbye; He had left to Bludhaven. His archnemesis was no longer a threat. Jump City would be safe under the care of the rest of us. Nightwing had been born, and the mantle of Robin had been passed on.

I'm not sure who was more heartbroken out of the four of us in the Tower, particularly since he had chosen to leave in the dead of night without giving any sign or warning of his impending departure. Starfire had spoken briefly of leaving, and eventually, she did at the behest of her family. Beastboy eventually drifted away back to show business, and Cyborg remained at the Tower as it was his father's construction and the only home where he had ever felt truly accepted. I stayed with him out of need for a friendly face and because I had no where else to go. We were an odd couple, two almost-siblings who grated on each other's nerves but whose affection for each other knew no bounds; but with the addition of Bumblebee into the mix, I quickly felt like a third wheel and sent myself packing.

The rest of that fifth year passed slowly. There was little to do but work and . . . work. I found myself working as a nameless sap in some corner cubicle at Wayne Enterprises. I knew Bruce Wayne was Robin's benefactor, but it was not that which drove me to the Batman for employment. I simply needed to eat and pay my rent.

I tried not to think about the absense of flowers on April 12. I tried not to think of much at all.

But when I opened my apartment door on Flower Day that fifth year, upon my coffee table lay a single red Rose. Picking it up, I smelled the rich scent and shuffled into the kitchen with a pleased smile upon my face. I would find out what it meant later, I decided, but was further surprised by a nosegay of Bluebells set upon the counter near the telephone. The starlike flowers were a lovely irridescent, white stamen winking from the center of the perfect, open petals. My smile merely widened as I began to hum, tone-deaf and out of tune. My shoes flew off as I kicked them towards a blank wall, and I padded into my bedroom, fully prepared to press my new additions. However, there was a third flower waiting for me, a Spider Flower, white and erratic and beautiful for all of it's complicated lines and contours, the dark sage of the leaves a deep contrast against the cream of my comforter.

I had been pleasantly shocked that he would still think of me after nearly a year apart, but nothing could prepare me for the translation of his three-part message.

Year 5 -
1. Red rose (single): Simplicity. I love you.
2. Bluebells: Humility. Everlasting love.
3. Spider Flower: Elope with me.
So, here I stand at his doorstep, my hands sweating and shaking as I hold onto the gifts I've brought him along with my answer. Scuffing my feet, I realize that I've never looked so undignified, but I really don't care. My white blouse and gray skirt are the only dress clothes I have.

And suddenly, he's there before me, damp hair hanging into his eyes for once instead of sticking up in all directions due to a habitual misuse of gel. My mouth is limp in its straight line, my teeth clamped tightly shut as I hand him the first of three flowers, the answers to his three messages, hoping he'll understand without having to look it up in a book as I do.

First, Ambrosia. I've chosen a red variety, the vibrant crimson fading into a bright yellow at the center, reminiscent of his old costume. Your love is reciprocated.

Second, Arbutus. He takes the fragile little sprig of tiny, ivory bells from me from the bit of stem I managed to save. It is twirled slowly between his fingers as he studies the overlarge leaves and nearly overwhelmed blossoms. Thee only do I love.

Third, a simple, solid red Carnation. Our hands touch upon the stem, just beneath the first rise of curling leaves, and he refuses to break the contact. I look into his unmasked eyes and see that he does understand, that he knows what I'm trying to say without words as he has spoken to me in the past.

Then we are kissing, and it's so much better than any flower upon my pillow, bed, table, or counter, because I know this won't be the last, and I know he can't abandon me now. I'm his as I've always been. He's mine as I never allowed myself to think he would be mine, and my answer rings between us without sound or gesture. There is just the symbol, a single, solid red Carnation.

Yes.