Summary: AU, although it's oddly kind of a mix of Batman: TAS/TNA, JLU, and Teen Titans (CN) + maybe a little from the original Teen Titans. However, still vastly different, really. I'm not certain how far the superhero gig will play into this bit quite yet. I'm making it up as I go, but it should be a fun ride.

Rating: PG13?—R? R for elbow room.

Disclaimer: I'm middle-class "white bread" and broke.

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↔Episode: 02↔
A Comedy of Errors

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Dick rubbed the back of his sore neck and groaned. Sighing resignedly, he set his back against a tall, black steel entertainment center and heaved, sliding it the last few inches across the hardwood floor and against the wall with a grunt.

Standing back to survey his work, he nodded his approval and glanced around the rest of the apartment. When he'd first walked into the place, he'd gotten the impression that the same interior decorator who'd arranged Bruce's lobby had attacked the company housing complex as well, given the chi-friendly organization of the furniture. He'd immediately set to rearranging everything.

That had been… he glanced at his watch. Four hours ago. Damn. No wonder he was starved. He glanced at the kitchen, remembered all the food he currently had in stock were little packages of chicken flavored Maruchan® Instant Ramen, and resolved to phone for pizza.

"Shit!" Tripping over one of three duffel bags lying in the middle of the floor and stubbing his toe on an end table, Dick growled and shoved a hand through his hair. Correction: he'd call for pizza after he'd unpacked his clothes.

Snatching up the bulging nylon bags, he trudged into the study turned master bedroom and heaved them all onto the king-sized bare mattress. He unzipped the first and began pulling out wads of woefully wrinkled and creased shirts and slacks, setting them aside and making a note to iron them eventually, preferably before needing to wear them.

Unzipping the second was like peeling the lid off a mysterious container from the back of your fridge. The stench hit him hard and fast and full in the face, making him jerk back from the bedside with a stumble, exclaiming and waving a hand rapidly in useless attempt to dissipate the noxious vapor.

"Holy unwashed sweatsocks, Batman!" Jerking his T-shirt collar up over nose and mouth as a filter, Dick snatched up the offensive tote and hurled it with a quick flick of the wrist back out into the living room. Making another mental note to pick up several bottles of Febreese at a corner store, he spritzed a cloud of cologne into the air and opened the French doors onto the balcony to help air the room out.

Dick hadn't allowed his laundry to get quite so fragrant since college and was quite frankly disgusted. "That's just sick. I don't think I could eat a damn thing with those things basting in their own juices any longer."

Determined now to deal with the foul duffel bag before doing anything else, Dick held his breath, zipped the bag firmly shut again, and exited the apartment with it held out at arm's length. He was quite glad he'd had the sense to familiarize himself with the building layout earlier, and found himself all but jogging to reach the laundry room and take care of his reeking parcel at once.

Striding on habitually silent feet into the large laundry room—a private laundromat, more like—Dick stopped short at the sight of a petite female with unique violet hair standing with her back to the door at one of the washers, heaving in a load of darks from a white plastic basket.

The girl paused, tilting her head to one side inquisitively and murmuring in an irritatingly familiar monotone, "Why do I smell goat cheese."

"Oh… shit. In a hole. On a stick." Damn you, Bruce.

Spine stiffening and shoulders straightening, she turned with the sort of slowness usually reserved for nightmares, with a look of dread and near horror on her face. It was, of course, Miss Roth.

Behind her, the paint on the wall started cracking inconspicuously.

"It's you. Of course. Because that just puts a cherry on this lovely damn day." She forced her face blank and unreadable, but she still looked rather different, standing there in a pair of black sweats and an oversized purple dress shirt, her hair down about her shoulders and mussed as if she'd been running her hands through it. But the expression, the voice, and the not-quite-there sneer on her mouth determined that yes, she really was standing there, looking for all the world as if she ought to.

Which meant, of course, that she was living here. Under the very same roof as him. Here being the company housing complex newly under his management. Which meant even more interaction than shadowing Bruce threatened.

They stood there for a moment in tense silence for a moment, he still absorbing the fact of her presence, and she seeming to be slowly gripping that he was standing there dressed just as comfortably as she was, barefoot and behaving as if he had every right to be there. Which apparently he did.

Dick snapped to attention with a frown, saying snarkily, "Shouldn't you be reorganizing Bruce's file cabinet or something?" He strode purposefully over to a washer at the opposite side of the room, determined to show her he wouldn't be intimidated while simultaneously keeping his distance from the snappish harpy. After all, she might bite.

She turned from him and decidedly began measuring out liquid detergent. She would prove she was just as stubborn as he was and then some, and besides, she'd been here first. So long as he kept his distance. "I was given the rest of the day off, not that it's any of your business."

He thought to make a snappy comeback about illness or something, but she cut him off by slamming the washer lid and stalking out of the room, basket on her hip, without so much as a backward glance.

"I knew it," he grumbled, dumping socks and other malodorous articles into the washer. "I knew he'd be pissed, and this is how he intends to punish me. Death by shrew."

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Raven walked in tightly controlled strides back into her apartment, shielding harder than she had in her life. All of five minutes in that exasperating man's presence and he'd nearly managed to unwittingly undo three hours' worth of meditated control.

This was not good. This was beyond not good, this had the potential to be downright disastrous. This was exceptionally bad. She quietly seethed, repressing visions of vengeance and the urge to kick things and scream. This was awful.

Richard Grayson's daily presence here was disruptive, unwanted, and highly volatile. He was new and secretive and brooding and filled to bursting with a million thoughts and emotions that battered at Raven's defenses. She didn't like him. He was rude, annoying, and seemed to think he was charming and funny, Azar pity the poor fool.

But if she'd at least had a tiny bit of warning, she at least could have been better prepared to endure him. However, she had not been told. She'd been allowed to walk blindly into a potentially catastrophic situation, and it really, really pissed her off.

The upside was that she knew just exactly whom to blame.

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Bruce sat in his tasteful study in his stately new residence, still adjusting to the modernized atmosphere and the near ungodly amount of late afternoon sunshine pouring into what should have been a gloomy, somber den of brooding.

He focused doggedly on the day's business reports, scanning an account of the current and predicted state of Wayne Enterprises stocks and investments. It was not really his job to be monitoring these and many other reports in his pile, for he had departments dedicated to all these matters, but he liked to be well informed and apprised of all activities.

A concise knock sounded at the door and Alfred entered the room, every inch the upright, prim and proper British gentleman, though Bruce noted with some caution the twinkle of amusement in the dear man's gaze. He stopped beside Bruce's desk and proffered a silver tray with the slim black cordless receiver on it. He said not a word as to the caller's identity, but Bruce trusted Alfred Pennyworth like no other.

Setting the stock reports aside, Bruce quirked a curious brow and brought the phone to his ear. "Yes."

There was a momentary, tense pause, in which Bruce could detect the sound of a scoffing snort. Then a familiar voice as smooth and cultivated as his own, though obviously feminine, calmly stated, "You are an unconscionable bastard."

A softly amused smirk curved Bruce's mouth as the line disconnected, and he gently replaced the silent receiver back on the tray.

"Something amiss, Master Bruce?" The butler was a spectacular actor. He was laughing at his once-charge with his eyes. "Miss Roth sounded quite unhappy about something."

Bruce placed the stock reports in a second stack and reached for the newly hired list, the hint of a smile still lingering on his lips. "Not at all, Alfred. Everything's going exactly as planned, although perhaps a bit ahead of schedule."

"Very good, Master Bruce. Dinner will be served at seven."

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Raven slid into the back seat of the solemn black car, smoothing her smart gray business skirt and crossing her legs primly. Her face was utterly unreadable, her eyes behind her glasses fixed firmly and prosaically somewhere on Bruce's right cheek. She made no greeting or offerings of small talk, nor did she bring up any business. The car pulled away from the curb of Housing Complex T-13 smoothly and silently, rejoining the morning flow of traffic without incident.

"Good morning, Miss Roth. A pleasure to see you again, as usual," Alfred said from the driver's seat, polite, proper, and with sincerity.

"Good morning, Alfred. A pleasure to see you again as well." Raven was just as polite and reserved, her voice inflectionless save for perhaps only the most imperceptible underlinings of warmth for the elderly butler. However disgruntled she may currently be with her employer, Raven was genuinely fond of the older British gentleman, and would not disdain him kindness for Bruce's egoism.

Silence held uncomfortably for a few moments more, until at last Bruce captured Raven's cool gaze with his own. "As much as I'm sure you'd enjoy holding this grudge some time longer, I'm afraid that won't be acceptable. Have you managed to gain control?"

Raven gave him the barest of smiles; it was not at all a friendly thing. "Having increased my meditation to nine hours and reduced my time sleeping to four, I've gained a measure of control, yes, with no thanks to your efforts."

Bruce would let that one slide; he supposed he did deserve it, when one looked at it from her more limited point of view. However, many more of these comments and there would be repercussions. "Good, then. I still expect you fully functional for the brunch conference with Nakatomi and Tachikoma." Her jaw squared, and he raised one brow fractionally, sending the message that her irritation was duly noted and summarily dismissed. "Raven, your aggravation is expected and justified, but you'll have to get past it and accept it. I hadn't expected for you and Dick to bump into each other so soon, but I hadn't planned on telling you, either. The best way for you to actively improve is to learn to adapt your control quickly in extreme and unpredictable situations. If you're going to exist in any sort of everyday life, this is a necessity.

"You've been allowed to keep very much to yourself and private for the most part, but that will have to change. As my personal assistant, and as Raven Cassandra Roth†, private citizen and ordinary person, you won't be able to isolate yourself forever. Think of Dick as training wheels. You can get used to the various interruptions and annoyances of reality via him, all in the relative privacy and safety of the office and the complex. If worse comes to worst, and you do lose control in front of him, at least it wouldn't be quite as… awkward as it might have been with some other ordinary citizen. Dick, as my adopted son, has had a bit of experience with the strange and unusual to prepare him."

"And I am certainly 'strange and unusual'," remarked Raven flippantly.

"Not to mince words, yes, you are. Try not to resent it so much." A cold, acid stare was his reward.

He said nothing, and she took in a deep, calming breath through her nose, smoothing her hands needlessly over her skirt, a very human nervous gesture. His job was not to coddle Raven and rebuild her rather fatalistic self-image; that was up to her. No, his sole task was to keep her all too aware of her exceptional heritage and to assist her in controlling the dangerous nature and terrible power that came inherent with it. And if that required him to be harsh at times, he would not downplay matters for the sake of her feelings. It all came back to helping her reinforce her control.

"So how did it go?"

"Well, I slipped up for about half a millisecond when he surprised me in the laundry room, but as nothing took on vengeful life, collapsed, exploded, or set off sirens, I think it went relatively well, minus the exchange of verbal abuse. As well as one might expect, at any rate."

"Then you're already improving. The success rate insofar seems a positive one."

Stony silence.

Alfred pulled to a smooth stop at the curb in the employee parking garage of Wayne Enterprises and, exchanging brief farewells with the elder man, CEO and PA stepped out onto the sidewalk and summoned the elevator as the Rolls Royce rolled away.

While they waited, the growl of an engine preceded the entrance of a sleek black and red motorcycle, bearing a helmeted young man.

Raven feigned displeasure at the machine's noisy entrance, but watched as the motorcycle pulled into one of the free spaces designated for the slim vehicles, aesthetically appreciating both the bike and its rider. The motorcycle was obviously cherished, the chrome and paint polished to a high gloss and the engine's rumble clean and pure, obviously tended to lovingly. And whoever he was, the cyclist kept himself in good shape as well, and wasn't a particularly shabby dresser, either. Not at all hard on the eyes.

While she watched with an affected sneer, the rider pulled off his concealing helmet, letting spill a mane of night-dark hair that settled about a pair of strong, leather clad shoulders; hair a girl's hands would itch to tangle themselves in. A long-fingered hand ran through that glorious hair, smoothing it out and brushing it back from his face. And his face…

Shock registered in the widening of Raven's eyes and she immediately snapped her attention back to the fore, her cheeks warming and horror bubbling up in her chest like sick laughter as her most recent annoyance dismounted the well-oiled machine. Lips locked tight on the stillborn sound, she caught Bruce watching her in her peripheral vision, the hint of that damned infernal smirk curling the corner of his mouth. He had seen her watching and knew she hadn't been trying to bore holes in the motorcyclist with an aggravated stare.

The elevator hailed them with its soft chime and the reflective metal doors slid open, and Raven almost believed in miracles. She stepped quickly into the lift, Bruce just behind her, and pressed the button labeled 54 and exhaled inaudibly, centering and calming herself as the doors began to slide promptly closed again.

A strong, long-fingered hand reached out just in time and halted the closing doors, stepping inside as the damned things slid obligingly open again, and Raven ran through a mental list of nasty invective and imprecation she knew in various languages.

"Trying to leave me behind, old man?"

"Glad you could join us, Dick."

There was no such affable greeting exchanged between Dick and Raven; just a crackling glance, and silence that spoke volumes of mutual dislike and hostility. The two stared at their own reflections in the elevator doors for the duration of the ten-minute long, tensely quiet ride, Bruce between them giving off airs of amusement.

When at last the lift admitted them to the 54th floor, they strode towards the back offices in silence, each on either side of the older man.

The trio entered the inner receptionary, Raven's office, more or less, and stopped inside as the young woman halted so abruptly she stumbled slightly, the toe of her black heels catching the carpet pile. She stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, while Dick did the same, until at last she became convinced she wasn't seeing a horrible nightmare vision, but that the offensive image was indeed real.

Jaw clenching tightly, she rounded on Bruce, tension framing her posture and tightening the corners of her eyes. "Tell me this is some kind of joke."

Bruce's expression was cool and unassuming, but she could see it in his eyes—he was having great fun, at her expense. "Why would this be a joke, Miss Roth? You were well aware Dick had accepted my proposal to work more closely with me in the company."

While their verbal sparring and her occasional defiances were allowed in private, in the office they were employer and employee, and she was to defer him with all due respect and formality, as one in her position ought. With a quelling glance, he reminded her of this, and she reigned in her temper.

"You never deigned to inform me we would be sharing office space, Mr. Wayne."

"Is that a problem, Miss Roth?" There was a challenge in the ex-Dark Knight's eyes; he was testing her again, and she would be damned if she failed to clear this little hurtle.

Gaze flicking lingeringly to the shiny new desk placed opposite hers, she returned her gaze to her employer. "…Of course not, Mr. Wayne. I just wish you would have given me more notice. However, there will be no problem accommodating for this… unexpected development, I assure you."

He smiled in that maddeningly banal manner. "I had hoped not."

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Dick hadn't a clue as to what the hell that little exchange had been all about—surely she hadn't gotten her garters all in a twist simply because they didn't get along?—but he wasn't entirely pleased about this new situation himself. "Bruce, are you sure that's really necessary? I don't see why I should need a desk at all, and certainly not out here. After all, aren't I supposed to be shadowing you, watching and taking note of what you do and how your job is done? Maybe my perception's skewed, but somehow I don't think my occupying Miss Roth's space would be particularly productive to that end."

Bruce turned his smile on Dick. "On the contrary. Miss Roth is involved in much of my job, and for the start, at least, seeing the aspects of everyday activities that she handles and coordinates will be a perfect introduction. I think the two of you will be working fairly closely for a month or so, and in no time you'll be ready for me to take you through the more complex matters."

Dick glanced at Miss Roth, who, for just an instant, looked positively murderous, as if she envisioned nothing less than wrapping her small hands round Bruce's throat and throttling him soundly. Then he blinked and she was merely a bit unruffled. And that was when he decided she was positively frightening.

"Are there any objections to this arrangement?"

Miss Roth answered by stepping behind her own desk, booting up the computer terminal, and opening her attaché case to rifle through a sheaf of documents. Bruce had taught Dick long ago to choose his battles wisely, and this wasn't one he was particularly likely to win, and the headache that would come from clashing horns with his surrogate father wasn't worth the fight.

Bruce smiled again at Dick. "Good."

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Raven glanced at the corner of her monitor screen at the computer clock, sighing faintly as the digital timekeeper counted another agonizingly slow minute. Nine-thirteen. Time flew about as quickly as a winged whale, in Raven's impatient opinion.

She had been doing busy work for the past three hours, as was her early morning custom, in silence, with which she was happily acquainted, but it was all ruined by the mere presence of a brooding young man slouching in his leather chair directly across from her. He'd been sullen and sulking since Bruce had retreated into his personal office, and was obviously as displeased with the notion of sharing personal space with her as she was. He sat rifling through empty drawers, arranging office supplies, and playing solitaire, looking about as enthused as a tiger in a zoo cage.

They had not spoken or interacted, for which Raven was highly grateful, but his very presence put her on edge. You're going to have to get used to this; you don't have a choice. This is just another obstacle to get through. I can do this. He's just an annoying man, I've handled worse.

She glanced up as Dick picked up a No.2 pencil and began scribbling aimlessly on a sheet of printer paper, then returned her gaze to the monitor, fingers resuming their dutiful typing.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her fingers faltered on the keys for a moment, and she misspelled the word "convenience". Hitting backspace to return the second "e" to its proper place, she zeroed her attention in on the letters as they disappeared behind the blinking black cursor.

Tap, tap, tap, tap. Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptap.

Choking back a frustrated snarl, Raven's head whipped around snakelike and she affixed an intensely gimlet glare on Dick. "Would you stop that damned tapping."

"Hm?" Dick glanced up at her, brows raised, seemed to realize just then that his fingers were seesawing the pencil back and forth on the desktop rapidly, and placed his palm flat over the writing utensil. "Oh. Sorry."

She exhaled through her nose, attempting to regain calm as she resumed her work and he began to once again rummage through the desk drawers.

Click. Click. Click.

Oh, merciful Azar, he'd gotten hold of a pen.

Click, click, click. Clickclickclickclickclickclick.

"If you keep that up I'm going to shove that pen so far up your ass you'll piss ink for a week." She growled the threat with every intention of making good on it if he persisted in being so bugger-all annoying.

He scowled at her, but stopped. "What's your problem, not get enough beauty sleep, princess?"

She snorted delicately. What an understatement. And it's your fault, damned bastard.

"Well excuse the hell out of me," he grumbled, engulfing the small black mouse in his hand and pulling up an Internet browser.

Raven glanced at the clock. Nine-twenty-nine. Half an hour more, and she could get a much-needed reprieve from the unbearable oaf.

Said oaf began typing away noisily on the keyboard, making such a cacophony as to seem to be trying to violently coerce the words onto the screen.

Of course, Raven just might go mad and shred him into bloody little bits in the interim. At this point, odds could tip either way.

At that moment, like a dark savior, Bruce opened his office door and looked to Raven, a file folder in his hand. "Miss Roth, I need you to go to the back-records room and find me the two files preceding and following this one."

Raven wanted to jump up and plant a kiss on his cheek, she felt such gratitude. However, being naturally reticent and due to propriety if nothing else, she merely nodded affirmatively and rose, smoothing her skirt over her backside and moving to take the file from him. "Anything else, while I'm out?"

"A cup of coffee, if it isn't too much trouble."

"Not at all, Mr. Wayne. I'll return shortly." She all but snatched the folder and ran out the door.

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About fifteen minutes later, Dick sat checking his email when Bruce made a reappearance, his expression slightly bemused. He glanced around the office, hesitated at Raven's unoccupied desk, then swung his gaze back to Dick, who deleted his load of junk mail and raised an inquiring brow at the older man.

"Miss Roth should have been back by now. Go find her."

"Do what?" Dick straightened in his chair, turning his full gaze on Bruce. Was he serious? Bruce was sending him after his disagreeable personal assistant? "How would I find her? I don't even know my way around yet."

"No time like the present to learn. Besides, you're resourceful. She should only be on the 36th floor in one of the back-records rooms." He raised his brows demandingly, expression setting in a way that brooked no argument. "Or are you doing something more important?"

Dick sighed, resisted the urge to grumble, and rose from his seat. "I'm going. Send a search party if I'm gone longer than fifteen minutes. She may decide to kill me on sight."

Bruce made no reply to that remark, simply retreated back into his office. The two of them had better be back before another fifteen minutes; they would have to leave very soon in order to make their brunch appointment.

Dick stepped out of the elevator onto the 36th floor and found himself in a long hallway, with many off-branching corridors and assorted doors. Raising a brow skeptically, he strolled onward, hoping to bump into her quickly and get it over with, or at least to find someone who could direct him to where the shrew might be.

"Hey, can I help you?"

Ah, a ray of light in a dark day. At least something was finally going his way.

Dick turned with a primed charming smile, finding a lanky young man in plain slacks and a coffee-stained white dress shirt, the first few buttons undone, leaning in one of the doorways that had been closed as he'd passed it a moment ago. In his hand he had a chipped black mug with a cartoonish green kitten on it, presumably the origin of the faded brown stain on his shirtfront.

He had bright beryl eyes and hair that was a funny kind of dun-moss color, with a greenish-brown olive complexion. However, he had a ready grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eye that made him immediately likable.

"Actually, yeah. I'm looking for someone. I don't suppose you'd know Miss Roth?"

The guy chuckled ruefully and rolled his eyes, indicating he did indeed know whom Miss Roth was, and had also encountered her attitude in all its magnitude. "Her. Yeah, you could say that. Why, you lookin' for her?"

"Playing fetchboy for big bad Mr. Wayne. Wondering where his dear PA has disappeared to. I get the slaphappy task of finding her and bringing her back."

The other man shook his head pityingly. "Ooh, man, I don't envy ya." His amiable grin took on the hint of a leer, and he waggled his brows at Dick. "Roth's got a killer body, but there's no ass on earth worth putting up with that kind of abuse. But yeah, she's here."

Dick smirked, and held out his hand. "Thanks. Dick Grayson."

"Nice to meetcha, Dick. Garfield Logan. Call me Gar."

The two shook, smiling at each other, and Dick thought that if he could get along with the others around this place as well, he might be able to suffer Miss Roth's antipathy and survive after all.

Gar had a considering look on his face and was tapping his fingernail against the porcelain mug, apparently mulling over some notion caught in his head. Suddenly, his face brightened in an "aha!" expression, and he jabbed a finger towards Dick. "I knew I recognized your name! You're Wayne's, like, son or something!" He looked at Dick with something bordering on awe. "Dude, I can't believe you survived growing up with Wayne."

Dick grinned. "Well, it wasn't the easiest experience in my life. But he took me in when I fell on some pretty rough times, and as much as I might think he's a stubborn asshole sometimes, I don't think I'd trade him."

Gar chuckled. "Yeah, I bet not. And lose out on being heir to a fortune like that?" He shook his head, then nodded indicatively down the hall. "Anyways, Roth's down that way, third hall to the right, second door on the left. If she's not there, somebody else probably will be who'll know where she got off to. The shelves and file cabinets are kinda maze-y, but she should be in there somewhere. Try not to get murdered."

Dick chuckled, stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. "Thanks. It was nice meeting you, Gar."

Gar nodded and turned to go back into his office. "See ya 'round, Dick."

Dick headed off as directed in somewhat better spirits. It was too bad he had ended up lumped with Roth rather than somebody friendlier and somewhat less psychotic, like Gar. He just hoped he could locate her quickly and get her back to Bruce's office without incident. The odds weren't in his favor, considering how well they got along, but he wasn't ready out give out on hope yet.

Stopping at the second door to the left of the third hallway to the right, Dick pushed through the ajar door and entered the dim-lit back-records room, the familiar and not unpleasant odor of old paper and must greeting him. He immediately discovered what Gar had meant when he had said the room was maze-like, and his eyebrows raised at the crazy setup of shelves and file cabinets arranged all at odd angles to each other, most of them with just enough space between them to navigate through.

The room was quiet in a peaceful sort of way, only the hush of the air conditioner. If there was someone in there, they weren't making very much noise to indicate their presence.

Dick began to maneuver his way through the stacks, listening for some sound and hoping he didn't get turned around and lost in here. He didn't like mazes for a good reason†, and this place was damn near a labyrinth.

Passing another squeeze-way, Dick halted as he heard a slight creak, followed by a rustling of papers. Turning back, he slid sideways through the gap and followed the narrow route, fingers trailing along the cold metal of the tall file cabinet to his right. Going straight headed to a dead end, so he turned a corner, stopping short and finding himself face-to-rung with a prop-ladder.

Looking up, his eyebrows rose as his line of sight traveled up a pair of long, shapely legs and up a short skirt of indeterminate coloring, giving him a direct view of the black silk panties whoever-she-was was wearing.

Hel-lo, there.

He must have made some appreciative noise without his conscious knowledge, because the mystery woman gave a sudden yelp, starting violently on her precarious perch, sending her scrambling to grasp the side of the ladder. Unfortunately, her efforts to stabilize the structure proved counterproductive and the ladder banged off the shelf it had leaned upon, and her smart black heels slipped from the rung.

Reacting on reflex and instinct alone, Dick reached out and grabbed the ladder, pitting his weight against its momentum and attempting to stabilize it enough to set it back against the shelf.

Unfortunately, the mysterious miss chose that moment to fall completely off the ladder with a screech, crashing straight down—and right on top of Dick.

They went to the ground in a confused tangle of arms and legs, Dick instinctually placing himself to take the brunt of her weight and ending up banging his shoulders against the file cabinet behind him, sliding down beneath the female's weight until he lay on his back on the carpet. The ladder clattered noisily to the ground a few feet from bashing their brains in, and they simply lay there for a moment, braced for the shelf to fall or further disaster.

As the dust literally settled and a few loose papers drifted lazily to the floor around them, Dick and his unknown damsel in distress collected their breaths and shoved their hearts from their throats back down into their chests.

"Are you alright, Miss…?" And then Dick shoved his hair out of his eyes and looked into the face of the young woman he'd rescued.

Miss Roth glared directly into his eyes, her glasses askew on her face and stray plum-colored tendrils escaping from her meticulous bun. "Of course. You. You seem to be the source of all my misfortunes of late." Her voice was dead calm, which was not at all a reassuring thing. She seemed to be using all her restraint not to wrap her little hands around his throat and strangle him.

"Excuse me," he retorted, "but I do believe I just saved your ass from a pretty nasty spill!"

Her mouth flattened into a thin line, then pursed, and her brow twitched before she growled out, "Which wouldn't have needed saving, thanks so, if you hadn't snuck up on me like some damn ninja. Are you this disastrous to everyone you meet, or should I be feeling special?"

"Oh, you're quite special, alright, but several years of therapy and strong sedatives should be able to help with that," he sniped in return.

She pushed herself into an upright position, shoving quite harder at his chest than was really necessary—and then they both took notice that she was practically in his lap, knees to either side of his waist and her skirt bunched up much higher around her thighs. Both flushed and glared in different directions as she clambered quickly and unsteadily to her feet.

He stood fluidly, running his hands through his hair, flustered as she jerked at her clothes to straighten them, located the shoe she had lost in her tumble from the ladder, and smoothed her hair into a semblance of its former punctilious perfection.

"Hey, what's going on in here? Oh my god, you didn't actually kill him, Rae?"

Gar abruptly appeared around the corner with an apprehensive expression, his longish hair wild as if he had come running pell-mell down the hall at the sound of their accident.

Rae? What kind of name is that? And how does he know it?

Dick threw a glance askance at Miss Roth, who paid him no heed in order to glare most caustically at Gar.

"Logan, how many times have I told you to straighten out these damned shelves? It's a wonder we've never stumbled across the skeleton of some poor bastard who got lost in this ridiculous funhouse of yours." Her voice was positively icy, making it clear she felt no warm fuzzies for the friendly young man.

He glanced at Dick and gave him the once over, as if to assess that all body parts were intact and fully functioning, then took note of the toppled ladder behind them. "Jesus, are you trying to destroy my careful order? If I rearranged everything the way you wanted it, I'd never find anything in here."

"The way things are now, you're the only one who can find anything in this mess," she scoffed.

Dick got the feeling that this exchange was a fairly normal conversation between the two of them, and more a custom than something borne of any real bad feeling between them.

Gar shrugged dismissively. "Whatever. Just try not to knock over any file cabinets when you molest people, okay? Really, this isn't the stacks of some high school library, y'know."

Her glare was downright murderous, and Dick took an involuntary step back, thinking she might pick up the ladder and swing it like a baseball bat against the side of Gar's head. However, she demonstrated remarkable restraint and merely sneered with heartfelt contempt at the green-eyed records-keeper. "Please refrain from including me in your frustrated sick little fantasies, Logan, or I'll be tempted to lace your coffee with arsenic."

Gar merely snickered, apparently accustomed to such threats.

Dick broke in at last into this odd exchange, saying, "Anyways, Miss Roth, Bruce sent me down here to get you. He seemed pretty impatient for those files."

Miss Roth's eyes widened slightly and she shoved back her sleeve, peering at a dainty watch adorning her slim wrist. "Damn," she murmured, "I'm running late." She strode briskly past Gar, who scooted slightly aside to avoid any accidental contact. She halted just at the corner, glanced back at Dick, and raised her brows in a demanding "come hither" fashion that wasn't even remotely flattering or sensual.

Shaking his head and receiving a sympathetic grin from Gar, Dick did as he was bid and followed after her, suddenly seeing the rest of the day stretching before him in a slow succession of long, torturous hours.

This just keeps getting better and better. I really hope this isn't how Bruce intends to convince me to take him up on his offer. I'd strangle myself with my own tie if I had Miss Roth as a personal assistant.

A dark look to him over her shoulder suggested Miss Roth felt very much the same.

Dick sighed. It was going to be a very, very long day.

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AN: Well, this one kind of got away from me on length. If I'd gone on any longer than this, which I could have and wanted to, it would have ended up being several pages longer, and as a second chapter, I'd like to keep it fairly along the same lines as the length of chapter one. And I'm afraid this chapter ended up being mostly filler, despite my intentions to start furthering the plot. Ah, well. At least it moved a little bit, and there was a fair smattering of humor. Plus, I did introduce another of the Titans, as promised. I don't really think I could write a long-haul Teen Titans fanfic without Beastboy—Changeling, by this point. Though, granted, he will be somewhat different. I did warn you all there would be some things that seemed OOC. But really, he's not. I'm having to write him considerably older, and I do indeed hope he'd mature somewhat over that many years. Anyways, I do hope next chapter will be more productive, and I hope you all are satisfied with the length of it. Hope it makes up for the ridiculously long wait I've put you all through. Unfortunately, graduation's just on the horizon, and Prom, and a number of other ridiculous quirks and demands of reality I'm afraid I must interrupt my writing fairly often to attend to.

Once again, there's much to address in this chapter. Sit tight, and I apologize if this irritates you. I'm just trying to help clarify some issues. Suspense is good; leaving readers utterly and completely confused as to whether they're on their head or their ass is not.

I'll begin with Beastboy/Gar Logan/Changeling. Obviously, as I already stated, he's older now, about 20, and somewhat mellowed. Also, he's grown out of "Beastboy" and moved on as "Changeling". Also, someone addressed the question in a review as to how I was going to handle Gar's… unique coloring. It's been hinted at what I've done, somewhat, and will be clarified properly at some point in the future, but I can say it's nothing like the image inducer used in X-Men: Evo. I try to be a bit more original, plus I'm a bit wary about borrowing from unrelated shows like that. And as for the issue of Gar's employ at Wayne Enterprises… +grins wickedly+ that's another point I'll wait to divulge until a later date. Or maybe I'll just let you guys figure it out on your own.

Raven Cassandra Roth†. Something of a bad joke, really. When Bruce set Raven up with a fabricated U.S. civilian identity, including all the necessities—transcripts, background, birth certificate, etc.—he designated her a middle name to more normalize her. In a turn of irony, he chose "Cassandra", taking from the Greek mythological woman who was fated by Apollo to always prophesy accurately, but never to be believed. I'm sure he thought it rather humorous at the time. I think it's fairly appropriate.

"He didn't like mazes for a good reason†…" Referring to a couple of instances I recalled off the top of my head from TAS. I remember an episode involving the Mad Hatter and a hedge maze, though I can't be absolutely certain Dick played a role in it. My memory's a bit faulty; it's been years since I've seen the series, after all. Another episode is one that I'm fairly sure included Dick and entailed a labyrinth with a big floating hand, a mechanical Minotaur and either Two-Face or the Riddler. I don't recall that either instance went particularly swimmingly.

And hey, try not to freak out about the sexual humor/attraction-generated comedy I employ between Raven and Dick. I am a Rae/Rob shipper, and whether I use the pairing herein or not, I'll be damned if I don't at least play with it.

There will be no Gar/Raven action. There will be no Dick/Starfire action. Well, at least don't think so. So anyways, don't bother entreating me for either of those pairings. I will slap my hands over my eyes and scream, "LALALA, I can't see you!"

Also, I want to apologize ahead of time for any glaring blunders or mistakes I make involving the business angle of this story. I've not a damn clue as to the operations of a corporation beyond a few very basic things I've picked up randomly, so I'm more or less flying by the seat of my pants on this, folks. So if it looks like I've just pulled something completely out of my ass, it's probably because I have. I hope you can overlook this, and bear with me.

Reviews. Oh my god, the reviews. I love you guys, you just have no idea. I could be having a truly piss-poor day, check my mail, find one of your reviews, and be lighthearted and downright cheerful for the next several hours. Some of you went into more depth in your reviews than others, and I do so love when you really talk to me about the story, but every single one of them was important to me and made my day every time, even if you just said you liked it and expected a fast update. And I grinned like damn fool every time I saw one of you had added me to your favorites/author alert list. There is no better high than that.

Also, special thanks to Peace215, The Angel of Anarchy, and Tifereth Kantrishakrim, because you guys rock hard.

Also, since I can't exactly thank those who reviewed my recent oneshots, Dangerous Promises and Let Go, on those fics themselves—oneshot means oneshot, sorry; no updates—I want to give a huge thanks for them. I put a lot of work into these particular two drabbles, and I'm glad to see I'm not the only person who enjoyed them.

Minor note: In chapter one, I referred to the Wayne family business as "Wayne Corp." when in actuality it's "Wayne Enterprises". I have summarily corrected this error in both chapters.

Reviews are my drug. Feed my addiction and watch me bounce off the friggin' walls.