A/N: angsty angst will now ensue. and there is very bad swearing up ahead, very bad swearing. so if you're offended by that kind of thing, either get over it or read something else. and as ever, read, review, and enjoy the buckets of ANGST :D

How Long Is Never?

Chapter 6

"Just make a smile come back and shine just like it used to be

And then she whispered, How could you do this to me?

Hate me today

Hate me tomorrow

Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you

Hate me in ways

Yeah, ways hard to swallow

Hate me so you can finally see what's good

For you."

--"Hate Me", Blue October

The shadows hung thickly in the cramped, disorganized, and altogether cluttered crime lab of the Titans' Tower. Only one small, pathetic desk lamp dared to defy the darkness, its cone of light glaringly bright against the surrounding black. It wasn't at all conducive to getting rid of one's headache, but Nightwing thought that staring at lines of newspaper and research for hours on end probably actually created the migraine he was now trying to avoid.

Throwing his black-gloved hands up in momentary defeat, the leader of the no-longer-teen Titans rose to his feet and strode purposefully but silently from the room, rubbing his temple wearily. So he had announced he had made a breakthrough last week about the cold case of Starfire's attempted murder—if only he had been able to follow up on that brief and vague exclamation. Sure, he had found some frightening and suspicious parallels between this thing and the other thing, but was it enough? It seemed as though he had the pieces, but right when he thought he'd finally be able to see the picture, it was dashed apart once again. He groaned inwardly and wished that solving crimes was more literally like putting a jigsaw puzzle together: at least then he would have a picture to go off of. As it was, he had nothing. Nothing but a vague inclination, an uneasy premonition lurking in the pit of his stomach that whispered of ill tidings. Nothing concrete at all. Sometimes he found himself questioning why he had even bothered to tell the others.

Running his fingers through his slightly longer and no-longer-spiked hair, Nightwing strode past Beast Boy's room, catching a snippet of the ensuing conversation as he did so.

"—it's been a week, Rae. Come on. Just let me ca—"

"No. You will not press this issue. It's not up to us whether sh—"

And then he was in the elevator, jabbing the down arrow and leaning back against the wall as the machine smoothly descended. He crossed his muscular arms comfortably, picking idly at the black material of his uniform, glancing down uninterestedly at the ice blue silhouette of a bird of prey splashed across his chest. It was the symbol of his new title, his new identity. He had switched from being Robin to Nightwing four years ago. Somehow "Robin" had been too cheerful, too colorful, too childlike for him those days, and he had been unable to look in a mirror without cringing at the blatant advertisement for Crayola crayons. Of course, it could have been because Robin had had her, and he had pushed her away, and if anything, the Richard Grayson that he really was desperately wanted to forget about that, regardless of his good intentions. He had just…and now…his thoughts muddled, and he was relieved when the elevator doors slid open and he was allowed to escape his solitude.

Cyborg, as ever, was relaxing on the massive arc of a couch and watching the even more massive television, coolly flipping through the hundreds of channels. Nightwing walked over and lounged beside his friend and teammate, observing the rapidly changing channels.

"Nothing on?"

"Is there ever?" Cyborg grimaced. "Really, man, it makes ya wonder how Beast Boy spends hours an' hours just drooling over this thing."

"Beast Man," Nightwing corrected jokingly, a smirk twisting one side of his lips.

"Oh, like that little grass stain will ever be a man," Cyborg snorted. "I still can't believe that he wants us all to callhim that now. Beast Man. Riiight."

"Exactly," the other chuckled, amused and dragged from his usual dismal thoughts for a refreshing moment.

"Are you talking about me?" the changeling demanded, right on cue, as he and Raven entered the common area. He placed himself in front of the couch, directly in their line of vision, while the half-demon glided into the kitchen to prepare some herbal tea, ignoring the confrontation.

"Who? Beast Man?" Cyborg said innocently, although the inadvertent cackle that escaped him ruined all attempt at innocence.

"Hey!" Beast Boy erupted, flushing (which created a rather odd contrast to his green skin). "I'm not a teenager anymore, and even when I was a teenager, I was a legal adult! I want some respect, and I think I should start getting some around here. And what better way to do that than to change my name to something…more…befitting of my new, older status?"

"How about 'Beast Young Adult'?" Cyborg said with a straight face, which lasted all of five seconds before both he and Nightwing burst into gales of laughter at the ridiculous nature of the entire conversation and, indeed, the entire concept.

"Robin got to change his name!" Beast Boy burst after frantically grasping for comebacks for a few minutes, glaring fiercely at his friends.

That sobered Nightwing instantly. His eyes narrowed behind the mask, which hadn't changed, and he rose stiffly to his feet, towering a good few inches about the now-nervous changeling. "I'm not Robin anymore, got it? Don't say that name anymore. I don't want to hear it," he grated out from between set teeth.

But something rallied in Beast Boy, perhaps his animal instincts, and he refused to back down. "Well, Robin, maybe if you hadn't chucked Starfire outta here like she was useless—"

"Shut the hell up!" Nightwing yelled, his expression contorting in fury and something snapping within him. "Shut up! I said I don't want to hear it, so shut your fucking mouth!"

Beast Boy recoiled at that retaliation, apparently striking more of a nerve than he had anticipated, and glanced anxiously at Cyborg who was staring in shock as their leader quivered in anger. Nightwing continued breathing heavily, eyebrows rammed together, before he turned sharply on heel and stormed to the training room. He slammed the door behind him, the glass shaking in the door's small window, and began to take out his rage—mostly self-directed—on the punching bag. The heavy bag swung wildly as Nightwing beat his fists into it, emphasizing each blow with a short yell. How dare Beast Boy bring her up. How dare he act like Nightwing—Robin, then—had enjoyed doing it, had planned on doing, didn't regret doing it every minute of every day. But he had had to, he had had to…He could feel the tears stinging his eyes, and he blinked them back, channeling all his anger, all his emotions, into his fists.

The bag broke free of its chain, crashing to the floor, and Nightwing followed it, dropping down to his knees and continuing to pound and kick it. He beat it as if striking it enough would kill it, would cause some kind of effect that would ease his bruised and broken feelings. The tears seared his eyes again, momentarily blurring his vision, and he tore a birdarang from his belt and slashed the bag recklessly, viciously. And with every slice, he screamed in his head, I'm sorry, Star. I'm sorry, Star. I'm sorry, Star. I'm sorry, Star…

The bag was finally rent beyond repair and further mutilation, and he sat back, his chest heaving from the exertion, and sweat mingling with his tears. She hated him…she had to hate him. How could she not hate him for rejecting her like that, ignoring her like that, pretending so damn hard that he didn't, couldn't care? He forced himself to control his breathing, forced himself to marshal himself into some semblance of order. But then again, she was supposed to hate him. That had been the point. Make her hate him so that she would leave, leave and…

He rose wearily to his feet, stowing his birdarang back in his belt, and decided that he would clean up the fluff and the torn shreds later. Some other day. When he wasn't feeling so much. His trudging steps brought him back to the common room, even though he didn't want to encounter Beast Boy. He didn't want to apologize. He didn't have the energy, emotional or physical. So he ignored his teammates and sluggishly went to the fridge and pulled out his usual beverage of choice, blue Gatorade. He drank it in eager gulps, as if he could drown the memory that surfaced just then, of her wiping away his "blue mustache" of the liquid's residue. That was now so long ago…

The double doors to the common room slid open, and all the Titans glanced up to determine who was paying them a visit. Beast Boy cried out and leapt to his feet in excitement; Cyborg gaped for a second before yelling, "Boo-yah, li'l lady!"; and Raven actually appeared to smile. Nightwing, though, was frozen in his lounge against the counter, unable to do anything but stare at her. At…Starfire. He saw her jade eyes sweep the room (he was surprised to find that he had recalled their color exactly) and settle on him for only the briefest of moments, yet he thought he detected a slight frown flash across her face. She looked the same, really, except that she still managed to look different. A little older, a little taller, and fully grown into herself. Her hair, he noticed, was the same length in the back but then in slight layers closer to her face and, for some reason, looked a few shades darker, and her bangs were longer and swept to one side. She was wearing normal clothes, just jeans and a white peacoat, and when she finally smiled, it wasn't the old trillion-watt smile. It was slow, small, and almost sad.

"Starfire!" Beast Boy exclaimed, doing a little dance in his excitement. "You're here! I didn't think you were coming! I mean, after we called you and all—"

"You called her?" Nightwing interrupted, stumbling across his voice. "You asked her back here? Are you insane?"

Beast Boy paled and looked appealingly at Raven, who had lowered her hood and begun walking over to the long-lost Titan. The empath froze in place, apparently unable to respond to that wholly unexpected reaction from Nightwing.

"Why are they insane, Robin?" Starfire asked, her tired voice carrying the slightest hint of a London accent, her head tilted to one side. The question almost sounded like her usual naïveté, but there was a biting, sarcastic undertone that was impossible to miss.

He simultaneously cringed at the name and tried to ignore how beautiful she was, especially after five years of absence. He couldn't let…he had to keep a level, level head…calm and level and…he couldn't do it. "What don't you people get?" he demanded, arms gesticulating sharply, glaring at all of them before singling out Starfire. "Bringing her back? And you! You were…you were supposed to stay gone!" he finished, infuriated, with an accusing finger pointing at her.

"Nightwing!" Raven, Beast Boy, and Cyborg gasped, goggling at him.

Those so familiar—still more beautiful, he thought unconsciously—jade eyes narrowed, and she walked down the stairs and across the common room until she was two feet from him, head tilted back so she could keep her icy stare fixed on his mask and the eyes behind it. "Supposed to stay gone?" she repeated, her voice all harshness and edges with a shade of incredulity. "I was supposed to stay gone? Well, I'm terribly sorry, Robin, but that didn't happen and here I am! So what are you going to do about it?"

Nightwing nearly took a step back. He had never seen this much…hatred directed at anyone from Starfire, ever. Not even her traitorous sister. And it was all he could do to keep himself from collapsing at her feet and groveling and apologizing until she took him back. He couldn't do that. He had to get her out, had to make her leave again…He took a firm grip on her upper arm and began dragging her forcibly back to the door. "I'm escorting you out," he ground out, restraining thoughts of how nice it felt to touch her again, even if it were through a glove and a coat sleeve. He felt the muscles in her arm tense milliseconds before she reacted.

Starfire wrenched her arm from his grasp, effectively standing her ground. "I left already, and I'm sure as hell not doing it again!" she spat, the ice gone from her eyes and replaced by fire. Flickers of the bright green flashed across but were contained; no eyebeams shot forth.

"Yes, you are!" he pressed through his tightly clenched teeth, making to grab her arm again, but she evaded him easily enough.

The other three Titans glanced at each other and, as if on cue, all sidled from the common room, leaving the remaining pair to duke it out however they so wished.

Starfire watched them leave but her glare soon enough returned to match Nightwing's. "I'm going to my room now," she announced and made to leave, clearly considering this conversation over.

"No, you're not," Nightwing countered, stepping in her way. "You don't—you don't belong here anymore! So leave!" he practically roared the last word.

That clearly hurt her, the anger faltering in the pain that now twisted her expression. She looked for a second like she would burst into tears, but she gathered herself somehow and attacked. "Oh, so I don't, do I? I hardly think that's your decision to make, Robin! You might have gotten me out of here before, but it's not gonna happen again. You can be as much of an egocentric jerk as you want, and you can yell at me until you're blue in the face. But I'm not leaving!" She tried to go around him, but when he caught onto her wrist, she threw a punch at him, which he caught also. "Damn it, Robin, let me go!"

He almost smirked, but he was too furious at himself and too entranced with her—such a strange combination—to force a smile. "I thought you didn't want to go, huh?"

"You know what I meant!" she cried, eyes now shining with yet-unshed tears. "X'Hal, I hate you!" That caused him to instantly release her wrists, and she smacked him hard, knocking his head to one side. He stayed like that for a long moment, his cheek stinging from the blow, before he straightened again.

"Don't expect for me to make you feel welcome," he half-threatened, turning away from her and heading for the elevator.

"Wait—you're letting me stay?" Starfire asked, confused at this sudden surrender.

"No, I'm not, but you seem pretty damn determined to hang around, and I can't seem to make you leave, so to hell with my intentions!" Nightwing vociferated, throwing his hands up. She just didn't get it, did she? Here he had been trying to protect her for all these years, and she had to show up again and place herself right in harm's way. Didn't she know he couldn't stand that? Couldn't function properly when he was worrying about her every second of every day? If she had just stayed away…at least he would've known she was safe.

She faltered, looking more confused, though that was swiftly replaced by an unreadable look, and she pushed past him, stepping into the elevator. He glared at her and entered beside her, pressing the appropriate buttons. The doors slid shut with a small ding and the elevator began to ascend, the light music playing softly in the background. The tension was incredibly thick, building a wall on its own accord between the two of them, and it was all Nightwing could do to get his voice working again. He had to know if she were here because of him. Impossible as that sounded, he had to know, to determine if the hatred she professed to feel were real or if she were merely still angry that he had rejected her all that time ago.

"So why'd you come back? After five years?" he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible even though his voice nearly cracked halfway through the question.

She didn't even glance at him, stubbornly staring at the wall. "Beast Boy called me and said that something had come up with the sniper. So I came back." Her tone was so hard and so unlike her that he almost winced.

"Hearing that your attempted murderer is about again would hardly convince anyone to come back here," he pointed out, watching the numbers of the floors change.

"Apparently I'm not anyone," she snapped as the elevator gave another ding, and they stepped out. She didn't so much as give him a second glance as she disappeared down the hallway and into her old room, even though he stood there motionless and watched her walk away.

"I am glad I could see you again, Star."

At least, that's what he wanted to say.

But he didn't.

TTTTT

The door hissed shut behind her, cutting off the light from the hallway, only the smallest sliver peeping in through the crack at the bottom. Reaching for the light switch, Starfire flicked it and hastily shielded her eyes from the onslaught of brightness. Blinking behind her hand, she allowed herself to adjust before tentatively lowering her hand and glancing around. Purple bombarded her from all sides, seeming to magnify the light from the lamp, and she quirked an eyebrow. Oh, yeah. Her room was purple, wasn't it? She shook her head at her own forgetfulness and walked over to her circular bed, stripping off her coat and throwing it carelessly aside as she did so. She sat down, expecting to hear a protesting creak from the mattress, but when no such creak sounded, she recalled that had been her normal, rectangular, old bed in London. The room with white walls and gray skies and rain—not like here where there were violet walls and blue skies and the blindingly yellow sun, sun, sun. This was sunny California, after all. So how could it be so much drearier?

Flopping back on her bed, Starfire tugged a lavender blanket over herself, burying herself in the covers. The light was still on, but she had no heart to rise again and turn it off. She didn't know what she had expected—coming back here. Had she honestly thought that Robin (well, "Nightwing", now, she reminded herself. It would seem that the different identity she had encountered twenty years in the future with all that trouble with Warp had manifested itself quite a bit earlier than expected.), the same Robin who had rejected her once, would welcome her with open arms and tell her that he was sorry and that he never should have said the things he had said and done the things he had done and now that she was here, would she like to be his girlfriend and stay with him forever?

Laughing a forced, bitter laugh, Starfire dragged herself to her feet and flicked the light switch with more violence than was absolutely necessary. Bathed in familiar darkness, she crawled back into bed and wondered dismally if tomorrow would be any better, if Robin—she decided right then to refuse to call him "Nightwing"—would be any better. Because no matter what she had yelled at him, she did not hate him. If anything, she was as much in love as she ever had been, perhaps more.

And she did not find that comforting.