That night, into the cold and the snow, the tower loomed over me and I remember the vivid feeling of—simply put, though this sounds odd, nothingness as I stared at it. I was not scared, and I was not worried for an outcome that would amount to this or that, but ultimately, what I was feeling was an undying emptiness. The tower, which had once sparked images and feelings of home and warmth, fun with my friends, and a place to be grounded mentally in, now was a place as hollow as the empty complex had been before Slade and I had met there that night, long ago maybe, though to be honest it wouldn't have mattered even if time had been on my mind. Similarly though, I didn't feel the horrible dread that you may be encompassed by when you go to a place to do something maybe you're not completely looking forward to, and the place didn't feel foreign, or cold to me either. At most, it registered as a building that would provide shelter from the elements, but even then, I know that that function could be achieved elsewhere, too, and I knew where it could, as clearly as I could remember the eye, straining quietly in my mind over everything else, even above the tower. And maybe I should have been alarmed that I felt so little for the building that had begun my adulthood away from my former partner, and my relationship with the four people who had grown up with me, and loved me—but maybe that was why, considering. Ultimately, I felt stuck in a limbo of the circumstances; this place held nothing one way or another, but I knew, clearly, more than anything, that until this place was registered with a feeling, either good or bad, and the other place with the remaining connotation, I could not rest—wherever that rest lay. But I had to choose.

In the snow and the cold, the tower did look, in a way even without the mental connotations of home, inviting in its warmth alone, a yellow glow encompassing it. Though it was late, it seemed that with all the lights on, at least someone was awake, though it wouldn't have surprised me if, after all the days I had been gone—though again, without regard to time, it was hard to tell—if they had all gotten better and were back to their normal routines of staying up too late doing things that were too stupid and pointless. Because the tower didn't have windows that were easily seen through, and could only be seen out of, I couldn't tell if they were better and hanging out in front of the computer, wandering about, or maybe actually asleep (as sometimes we had a habit of leaving the lights on at night if to deter attacks on our house from stupid criminals who didn't know any better, as if to stomp out trouble before it fruitlessly began by making it appear that we were awake and ready), which seemed ultimately to be a problem, because, ultimately, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do and in any case, if they were awake or asleep, it seemed to me it would affect the course of the actions I ultimately took. I told myself that if it had been dark and clear that they were asleep, I would have gone in, maybe made myself at home, and talked to them in the morning. But the idea that I'd just be walking up to the door and ringing it and waiting to be let into my own home struck me as demeaning in some strange way, maybe only when I remembered myself letting Kid Flash in those some days ago. It also seemed strange that I should just go in on my own with my key and walk in while they were up, perhaps in the middle of watching a movie or something, as if this casual approach would in fact indict more of a shock from them then would if I could just casually introduce myself back into their lives after this short time. I didn't want to make it seem careless and that there wasn't anything wrong, as there was, as if I was planning to stay, because even though I would have liked to have told myself I'd just go in, go to bed, and forget this ordeal with Slade, I had a feeling it wouldn't be the case. At the same time though, I didn't want to ultimately isolate myself from them by making it seem like I wasn't allowed in the home without being let in. I wanted to linger on a little, without having to make some choice either way before I at least got to talk to them, and ultimately I wondered if I wasn't making a bigger deal out of it than I should. I reasoned that either way, they should just be happy to see me, and it wouldn't matter if I let myself in or rang the doorbell or crashed through the window, but I couldn't deny the looming knowledge that I had left them alone for this period of time—that they'd want an explanation and that I owed them one enough that I shouldn't just be traipsing carelessly back without giving it some thought.

Ultimately, I figured someone would be awake, and I had a feeling who it might be. Considering the fact that the last I saw of the Titans included an all too well-feeling Wally, who, if, perhaps, he even caught a cold, was fast enough to be rid of it in a day tops, I wouldn't have been surprised to have seen him. On the other hand, if one of the Titans who had first gotten sick had finally recovered, it could have been one of them. Really, it probably could have been any of them, but ultimately, my senses told me the lanky kid in yellow and red was going to be the only one up at this hour—or, at least, him, and maybe some company. I cringed mentally at the thought, as I found myself immediately picturing he and Starfire sitting up on the couch, watching some sappy romance show and cuddling dangerously close to one another, huddled in blankets, she, still sick, as he tried to keep her warm and comfortable. But in any case, as I tried to shake the image out of my brain as it became juxtaposed strangely with the eye, always lingering, I realized that either way, be it Wally and Starfire or any of the other Titans, or all of them, I didn't want to go in so strangely—didn't want to sashay in with my keycard in hand; and I almost laughed coldly at the mental image I now saw of myself just quietly going into the kitchen and pulling out a rootbeer from the fridge, whistling, as they stared at me with open mouths and wide eyes at my sudden, unannounced, and uncaring entrance.

So I decided that I would use some curtesy and call them before I entered once again, realizing that if I were to simply alert them to my coming they wouldn't be surprised but it wouldn't necessarily attest to the fact that I wasn't allowed to come back, needed permission—like if you were to let your parents know you were coming home for the holidays. That is, you'd always be welcome in your parents' home no matter how you showed up, when, or what you said, but it would always be appreciated that some heads-up be given, if only to know how much food to prepare for a holiday dinner. It really seemed only fair that I should call, especially considering that I had left so abruptly, and now, fed and warmer and considerably stronger, I was beginning once again to consider ethics and the fact that, while I was the leader of the team and could technically do whatever it was I wanted, out of respect for my friends, I wouldn't abuse that power given to me especially in feeling already so insecure about what they might think of me after what happened in France. And yet, even food and warmth and, ultimately, the comfort that that strange encounter had brought me could not get me considering correctly, in full mind, the truth about Starfire, about my existence here.

I was fishing around in my pocket for my communicator when a strange, almost sinking feeling struck me—a panic that I can't say is a really a panic, but rather, a strange wave of fear and helplessness that can only be equated to the loss of a small, but seemingly defining and relied on material object. The communicator, which had been in my pocket the day I had gone back to the complex for the last time before Slade had ultimately intercepted me, and we had had that strange, ghostly exchange between us, was now gone. And even though I hadn't used the communicator at all since leaving the tower and immediately deactivating its tracking signal, I remember distinctly slipping it into the pocket of the black coat Slade had given me the night I put it on, and as I had walked to the complex, I remember caressing it like it was a worry stone and thinking about the fact that it seemed bulkier than I remembered, that maybe I should change it. I knew I'd had it, and cursed myself internally as I thought I must have dropped it somewhere along the way from Slade's hangout to here, not once thinking that perhaps the man might have had more to do with it than I realized. I barely remembered the exchange when he fixed my coat before I had left, and maybe didn't care to. Maybe I didn't need to—either way, the communicator was gone, and even as it might not have been urgent, and I didn't really need it, I still felt slighted, perhaps still stinging from the bizarre exchange and shuffle and abuse of communicators we'd just experienced with the Brotherhood of Evil and all their scheming. It wasn't as if dropping it now would lead to anything, especially as I could just deactivate it completely from the tower (and tracking was already off), but still, I felt horrible that it was out there and that I didn't know where. Somehow that communicator felt so completely important, and I was once again kicking myself that I had failed in this, too, that this was another thing I had lost control of in the recent months. But maybe I had more good reason to, as, when the initial realization that I'd lost it, a repeated patting of my pockets and hurried, frightened digging in whatever spaces it might lie in frantic hope I might recover it (only to find the isolated necklace, balled up and tangled, be the only thing to grace my fingers instead), finally subsided with its defeat, I realized that this also meant I couldn't call into the tower.

Groaning quietly, I kicked the snow very slightly and, with my hands still lingering in my pockets, stared a weary gaze up at the tower. This now meant I had three options, which I noted dimly: I could either go knock on the door, let myself in, or, the last option, at first jokingly as it circulated my head but then, a bit more seriously—I could break in. And yes, I do understand how stupid that sounds, breaking into my own tower when I have a key, maybe as I'm still overcome by some of the post France dumbness that's encompassed us—but to me, it seemed like it might provide some ducking of something. I thought sincerely, if I could just sneak in past the security cameras, and get into my bedroom, then I'd be home free. I believed that if I could just internally appear into their lives after this stretch of time in which I'd left them alone, then perhaps it would make it seem like less of a big deal that I had left, without making it seem too unimportant or casual in turn. Maybe it would give the impression that I had been working extremely hard to catch Mad Mod, maybe just stopping in briefly every night to sleep when no one was awake enough to see it—make them not only think that I was doing my job, but perhaps be alerted to the problem when considering the magnitude of the supposed searching. It seemed like a good idea: they'd still respect me but they'd realize there was something wrong with their dedicated leader, working too hard and talking too little. The only problem was: how the heck was I supposed to break into my own tower?

The stupidity of the idea seemed once again to loom over me and I thought suddenly: well why does it really matter how you look now, Robin? And to be honest, that question, my inner mind's devil-advocating, was completely legitimate. I hadn't even begun to consider the implications of the actions before, when I had…—well, what the heck had I even done with Slade before coming here? My mind felt numb as I tried to remember exactly how that exchange really had gone down, and I felt myself hit with an understanding that even in the long walk to the tower, even in that time where my head became clearer and brighter as it was fueled by food and…the results of that encounter, I had not once stopped to consider just exactly not only what I had done with Slade, but what that meant in relation to anything else. I hadn't even thought about the encounter as a whole—and ultimately, even though I was consistently seeing and remembering the eye, I hadn't actually thought about Slade or anything else. My mind seemed either too far gone in my own exhaustion for that, or perhaps, maybe in mental fatigue alone was I beginning to have segmented these events into sections that didn't overlap one another unless directly called for, to make it easier on my mind, cutting the work-load for thinking almost in half. There was with Slade, walking alone, and with the Titans. There was no thinking, "When the Titans realize that Slade held me…" as I walked home—at least, not yet anyway. That would come later, perhaps when I had been reintroduced into whatever this world I had left could throw back at me. And to be honest, I don't think really I was thinking about what the Titans would think either—but simply, I was thinking that, in the technique-oriented mind of a healthy Robin, there was a right and wrong way to do this, a way which was proper and polite and a way that was not. In that sense it almost felt like I was going to a formal party of co-workers I didn't personally ever speak to and not talking about my best friends. Maybe my mind should have been considering instead: until they find out what you did, then you still have something to uphold—and maybe there is a way to keep them from finding out, if that thing is upheld.

Wishful thinking. But even now, I couldn't imagine a thought like this.

I hadn't even implicated myself for letting Slade hold me.

Not yet.

The only thing it seemed I could think in that moment was: how do I do this in a way that'll stir everyone up the least? It was, to say the least, probably a defense mechanism, the only one I could think of, an obsessive clinging to something so I wouldn't have to think about Slade. I should have just let myself in and apologized. But I didn't.

Slowly, trudging around the base of the tower in the new black boots Slade had given me, I thought dimly about what I would do once I got into my bedroom, as if to distract myself from what I was actually doing. I tried to envision what I would tell the Titans when I finally did talk to them and realized that, even though I did have an alibi in looking for Mad Mod, I of course hadn't captured him, let alone learned anything about him. Maybe I should have spent the rest of the night before returning looking for him, but remember before how I said that most people have a sense that alerts them to when something's just not quite right? Well, even if I really had been interested in catching Mad Mod, if I hadn't been tired, consumed by general fatigue and with everything else on my mind but the villain, I probably only could have attained this theory so long before I quit borrowing trouble. If the city was quiet, that didn't always amount to a problem, and sometimes it was best to leave it alone. In real life, there is no way in hell I could have spent these five-some days looking solely for Mad Mod if that was my excuse to the Titans, and they knew it. I was dedicated, but not stupid, and could be just as lazy as they could. I'd have to come up with something else to tell them.

And I contemplated the truth.

I might have told them it—but Slade, in that truth, came to my mind and once again I did my best to shove the idea in its entirety out; sectioned off, Slade seemed unable to enter this realm the Titans existed within. Good or bad, I felt I could not use him as an excuse even though arguably, the Titans perhaps did deserve to know that Slade was back, and active—but was he? That was the problem, and again, my mind did not think like this just yet. I figured quickly, to remove my mind and set it in its predestined course, that I would tell the Titans collectively that I had been collecting leads outside the city on these "escaped" criminals and had gotten preoccupied by crime. I could tell them I had lost my locator, which was true. It was as simple as that. And even though I already knew they wouldn't buy into it, I was as set to use it as my excuse. Maybe it didn't matter; maybe I wasn't thinking straight; or maybe I didn't care what they thought…well, most of them, at least.

That decided, if stupidly, I made my way around to the area of the tower where my room was located. Well, as I began to really enact out my plan to get into the tower, I think that's actually when I had begun to see how completely stupid an idea it really was. Compared to the other Titans, my room was smaller, but much more convenient to reach as it was almost directly outside the main area, the computer's location, in the tower, which meant that I had the greatest access to that technology as well as considerably stronger technological follow-through. The problem now though was that since my bedroom was so close to where everyone else would congregate, if they were awake, then surely they'd see me—even if I broke into the tower, crept through the side window, down the hall—there's no way they wouldn't hear the door opening. In fact, down the hall past my own room even further from the main area, Raven's door could be clearly heard opening and closing in the middle of the night even from the other side of the wall, which I knew from staying up in the late hours of the night and working on leads when she too seemed to be restless and stirring. Someone would hear me, and if they were asleep they'd wake up and hear me—and I knew that someone would be awake; as, with me missing for five days, there was no way they'd treat it as anything other than an emergency unless they'd gotten word otherwise, which was protocol. Someone would be up monitoring the frequencies for my signal, checking in with the communicator, and trying to get in touch, while monitoring the city all the while to see if I happened to show up there by some luck. They'd also be on higher security, as was also protocol, as I knew, because I'd set the protocol. If a Titan was missing, likely, that meant the rest of us could be prey as well, and so our defenses were intensified. On top of understanding ultimately that I wouldn't be able to break into the tower, a dumb idea anyway, without being caught and then having to explain those stupid actions on top of everything else, if, in the process of breaking in, it happened that those amplified defenses saw me as a threat, I could find myself in some serious trouble if I made even the slightest mistake, and as I was honest with myself, I noted that I was in no condition, mentally and physically, to disable the systems, even with my knowledge of codes and how they worked, as flawlessly as one would have needed to break in without getting hurt. Not even considering the mental work, my limbs were still so weak and even though I had my utility belt, I realized that scaling the tower would be a feat in itself especially if I had to do it quietly. Simply put, it was a dumb idea, and almost impossible—and, when it came down to it, more pointless than anything else, as I considered the fact that I wouldn't be able to slip in quietly, I realized the Titans would never buy into the story I had been in and out of the tower to sleep when, if I had, they also would have been alerted to that in the same fashion.

I had been examining simply the scale of the tower, my feet frozen in this sudden overwhelmed, devastating power that overcame me as I began to mull this over quietly in my mind. What had I even been thinking in considering something so completely half-brained? Well, that was the problem—I wasn't thinking, not right, at least. I was over-thinking, trying to overcompensate for this so that my mind would not have enough time to wander over to the man who had just saved my life like a fly drawn to some strange heavenly light. And I realized something else as I looked at the scale of that place: I didn't want to go inside. Suddenly everything seemed so cold, foreign, and so unknown to me. Feeling almost dwarfed by the size of the tower, I felt myself collapse into the snow, flopping down gently. I felt defeated in so many ways—I felt isolated and small, insignificant, and ultimately, a feeling of something I hadn't felt in a very long time: just wanting to give up, let my eyes close, and be done. In retrospect, it wasn't so much that I had placed anything on this plan; I gave it no self-worth, and I didn't feel that I was some failure that I hadn't accomplished the goal. But there was this feeling, this simply overwhelming feeling, of having placed weight on this plan; having chosen, chosen wrong, and now, it felt that there was nothing else but to lay there in the snow and close my eyes, because then in that moment there was nothing else ahead, nothing else in my mind, no plan B, just a simple crash, a fall from this failure. It was a decision that didn't mean anything, really, because I know it wouldn't have mattered, but its failure had the disheartening quality of something major, like a regretted marriage. Sadness and an overwhelming sense of loneliness became me, and as I closed my eyes, sleepily, laying spread out in the snow beneath one side of the T, I thought of falling asleep in Slade's warm arms and missed that. That seemed to be the only thing, laying there in the snow, on this cold night, in a dark existence where the only light seemed frigid and the only warmth was too far away to reach in either direction; the thought of the Titans did nothing to calm me, but I realized, as I heard my breathing slowing down to sleep, that the only thing that would have willed me to continue was that embrace, and now it was gone. I lay there alone, unable to get up, unable to move, my breathing slowing.

When I look back on that moment, it is, to say the least, a very strange thing indeed—perhaps not as strange as my encounter with Slade, as really, even now, it seems impossible that anything should match that in its strange power over me. But this passage of time, this odd coming and going, fleeing of thoughts, was amazing to me. In reality, thinking back on it, if I had been able to see into the future, or had seen a movie about a teenager making some half-brained plan, considering it for a minute, and then just giving up and progressing into a comatose state, a younger Robin, perhaps the Robin with my older partner, would have laughed. He would have scoffed but would have laughed in pity and almost laughed guiltily like in its pathetic-ness it was perhaps wrong to find humor in that boy's expense. And even now, I find it funny in only the cold understanding that so long ago, I would have laughed; I found humor only in the difference, not the happenings of that boy, me. But it should have been funny—it perhaps was. Here was a boy, a man, the hero of the city. Here was the hero of the city, who had once thought so thoroughly about things and what was more, thought thoughtfully, carefully, strategy raining and making each and every villain think twice; and now here was this boy, this hero, spending too much thought, too much effort, and bringing his own pathetic, ridiculous downfall in some almost mesmerizing display of stupidity as he tried to think of the best way to get into his own tower. Here was the boy they had all feared, stalling, distracting, and wasting time, draining what little a sworn enemy had given him in strength as he stood weighed down by his own delusions, realizing the stupidity of it all only when he had drained himself enough to realize that the weakness dictated otherwise. Here was the Robin who had once, like a zen-master, practiced a balance of thought and strength, giving and taking wisely, at complete harmony with the body he owned, knowing its ins and outs, now allowing weakness and confusion to mull him onto a pointless one-track course for his mind to follow and eat upon while his body rotted quietly in the elements, while he withered, while the thoughts were made weak by the body and the thoughts in turn made the body weak as well. The sight of the tower, which had once been a sign of pride for that Robin, all he had accomplished, was now enough to cripple him, the one thing that seemed to bring his body back into control, silenced his thoughts and gave them some relevance as he fell—and he fell daintily, like an exhausted child. The Robin who had fought time and time again and who could be beaten and slammed into buildings and who had fought the devil, as all the villains knew and considered when they set their eyes upon causing trouble in his city—this Robin was crippled by his own stupidity, distantness, and inability to control his surroundings. He was changed—

I was changed. I had been changed. I had slipped, and everyone, including my friends, knew it. They might entertain my usefulness, my position as a leader; Beast Boy might try to comfort me and Slade might treat me as if I was still the same apprentice he had wanted and strangely loved, as if the grandeur he had spoken of still existed. But he—they—had lied. I had been beaten and I had slipped, and it was because of that small moment, the smallest mistake I had made in France; I had given the communicator to Madam Rouge and I had doomed us all—and from there it was all downhill. I had gotten myself captured, I had been frozen, and I had failed my team when they needed me. I felt like a stupid child to have been bested by a member of the team who wasn't even second in command, and I felt utterly worthless. It shouldn't have been a surprise that all it took was a little jealousy and the idea of betrayal from the one girl I had placed so much of my heart on to drive me to this, lying in the snow; because the minute she'd shown Wally affection, I realized that after my mistake in Paris, after slipping, I had blown it in her eyes. I was no longer the leader she had loved—and there was a stronger, more confident, more handsome, sweet-talking boy who hadn't been captured by Madam Rouge even when he fought her directly, who had avoided her and laughed about it the whole time as he put on a show for Jinx. I was now a stuttering, distant, and childish boy—a baby if anything. I had cried. I had cried. I. Had. Cried. It was no wonder that Starfire had given up on me—who would want a boy as their love who perhaps needed more protection from the girl than she did him? Wally could give her what I couldn't—he could give her confidence. He could give her a smile and a light attitude no matter what—but I couldn't. I couldn't let go; I could give second chances, but I could never let go. I could never stop trying to right the wrongs that would always dwell on me. I would never stop trying to justify myself in my partner's eyes; kick myself for letting Terra die at the hands of my enemy; and now—after my failure in Paris, it was something else to add to this never ending list, and draw me that much further towards the breaking point. It's no wonder that my former partner treated me like a child, because I had that mindset, and it's no wonder that Starfire agreed with him. The only thing that was strange was the fact that I still had a name for myself in this town, and the realization that I was slowly chipping away at the base of that source of confidence was too slowly chipping away at the very mindset that allowed me to keep myself sane in the face of my weakness. I could only tell myself that I might have figured out a way to get unfrozen for so long before reality kicked in. And now—

Now I was laying here in the snow. My weakness at its fullest, I had been crippled completely by nothing but myself, and that was the point in which, if dimly, I think I realized the extent of the failure I was.

Everyone knew it and talked about it. My team didn't trust me as much as they had, and I saw that. Everyone looked at me differently now—after what I had done, after my slow progression and spiral into incompetence, everyone looked at me differently. Everyone—everyone except—

Slade.

I might not have believed him when he tried to reassure me that the fault for my failure hadn't been mine, but what I realized was as simple as the snow itself as it fell on me. He didn't see me differently either way, and he was not judging. I might have changed, but I was still Robin to him. The Brotherhood of Evil did not matter. My own implications of failure did not matter. All that mattered was what we had between us—and that had always been the only thing that mattered to him. Not how I won or failed here or there. He didn't care that scaled mountains to become a martial arts master and that my team had been dressing up like me, wanting to be me, and he didn't care that I had carried Raven through the caverns of Hell to save the world, but he also didn't care that I had almost been an ice-cube or that I had almost lost a race to some old fat guy with a crappy car without the help of a "friend." But, he was willing to comfort and console me or congratulate me either way, and—what he really cared about, was what we did together. I could see the gleam of something foreign and strange but inviting in that one eye when I took down the fire monsters with him in that same Hell cavern and I realized—he's proud of me, but there's deeper meaning to it than just pride for an apprentice.

And now, having left that embrace, the only one which hadn't implicated me, even if those implications hadn't always been calculated, but always present and burning—now that I left that warmth, I was completely and totally alone.

I had brought myself to my knees and I suddenly understood that that was it. Because I had left the one person who in that moment, maybe forever, could have lifted me up to my feet again.

And I thought,

I'm going to die here—this is it—I'm going to die here.

I don't know what to do and I'm going to die here.

I promised him I was going to be careful and I'm going to die out here. I said I would come back, I thought, and realized that when I had said it, I had meant it, out of everything else.

"I'm sorry, Slade," I spoke quietly into the night, with eyes closed, and sighed sleepily. "I'm sorry. You were…right 'gain…should've…stayed…"

"Robin," a voice said very softly, and I could only very slightly pull open my eyes. There were hands touching me and pulling me into their embrace, comforting me, a hand gently sliding down my forearm, causing me to moan very quietly. "I'm here," he said very gently, and in that haze—even in that haze—I felt myself calmed by the voice.

"Slade," I murmured, half asleep, as I stared at the eye, just barely exchanging its glance, getting lost briefly into the gleam of the gray around the pupil, feeling it almost transfix me, as it stood out against the falling snow, seeming to draw the cold out of my mind and fill me with strange warmth as my subconscious explored its depths and melted into the embrace. As sleep now seemed to take me, lulled by the ebb and flow of the cold and warmth the eye's stare somehow encouraged, I felt myself relax, almost completely instinctually, and welcomed it, only after pulling myself closer with what little strength I had to the figure over me, wanting to be close, wanting to feel the touch that drove me, the one I thought I would die without. "…t…thank…y-…you…"

Slade stroked my arm again, as I fell out of the world and into unconsciousness once again while he held me. I barely noticed that the hands I had known to be gloved with their metal accents were now bare, pale, and accented by only black cuffs and sparkling blood red rubies lined with gold. But the eye still loomed.

I remembered that moment so long ago when I had fallen asleep to the eye guarding me, and woken to it too, unmoved, remaining confidently and protected in the arms of its owner. This time, I also fell asleep to the eye, sheltering me as it looked down upon me in its gleaming gray and comforted me, somehow willing me into a gentle rest, as with last time, similarly a sign of safety as it regarded me. But this time when I woke, the sight I was met with was much different and there was not the familiarity of the surroundings I had dizzily regarded as I began to slip slowly into the dreary state. The frigid loneliness of that night, those elements, before I had seen the eye, was now strangely juxtaposed with a warm bed, the glowing of lights illuminating me about a considerably large room, the heat of insulation in the metal walls, and the gentle buzzing and beeping of machines on either side of me. It was a hospital—no, not a hospital, but the wing of the tower in which we had placed our medical ward, and it seemed to be in full swing now, as I began to consider carefully the extent of the effects of my position.

My friends had done for me what Slade hadn't, what he hadn't felt he had had the right to, what was a choice to me, and he knew that. He knew there was perhaps a time and a place for infirmaries, for care, for this completion my friends had enacted, and on the street, having wavered on deciding, then it had not been the time, and we both knew that. If I had gone home with him then, I know this would be his job now, that he would be tending carefully to my withered body, that the IVs that filled my blood with soothing drugs and nutrients would have been placed by his careful hands. But I had not chosen, and we seemed to have an understanding that until I chose, he could not offer me these things, this indication of the completion of the knot that bound me to him, the tending, the attention, the bond in these things, that would incite him as my caregiver for as long as we planned to exist in that way. He could feed me so that I would not die before I had made my choice, but I understood that until that choice had been made, he could not enact things that would hold the defining qualities of claiming me as my friends had when they picked me up out of the snow and brought me into the tower—namely, the girl Raven (and for the record, the significance to this, the connection to the eye, didn't hit me until awhile afterwards). I didn't blame him for it, either. It was not his job to take care of me if I didn't plan to allow him to fully care for me—the equivalent of going to a doctor for surgery and then ignoring the doctor's orders about what you could or couldn't do afterwards. It wouldn't be right, and if I was beginning to look at Slade without notice to the past, then I wouldn't have discredited what he had done for me in that time so seemingly far away because of it. If I wasn't looking at the instances of fighting and challenge between us, I would have thought him as a savior and nothing else. He had done this good deed for me, but if I didn't plan to cherish and appreciate that then there was nothing else he could do for me, and I understood that. It seemed really to be the only thing I understood as I stared up at the two girls standing over me, and realized that even though I wasn't thinking about Slade, per say, or again, what he had truthfully done, I did not wonder in the wake of my begging for him why he hadn't been there. He had tried. There was only so much he could do, so much help he could give, until I gave in and allowed him to do those things, to help. Factually it would have seemed that without Raven picking me up, as I realized quickly after coming into consciousness, I might have died—but there was a feeling rooted so strongly within me that not only couldn't it have been blamed on Slade had I died, but that, somehow, in some way—he had been there to help me. He had saved me. Raven had picked me up but he had saved me. I knew it as certainly as I knew the light above me, as I knew the two girls before me, as I knew my condition. He might not have been there, and it might not have been his job—but to him, it was his job, and to me, he was there too, somehow.

I looked up at the girls standing over me, and immediately was met with triumphant smiles at my wakefulness. Near a computer which I realized had very detailed readings of my frequencies, heart rate, blood pressure, and the like, the girl who had saved me, dressed in her typical blue, was standing, monitoring it very closely and gently typing at an easy pace, but she had stopped and glanced over at me with a soft smile gracing her pale lips. Next to her, dressed in similarly dark colors, a girl with spiky pink hair, wearing purple and stylized stripes, was also smiling very gratefully in my direction as she saw my eyes open. Her arms were crossed gently over her chest, and if I were to consider the girl in my relationship with her, I would have realized that her expression was perhaps the softest and most motherly I had ever seen it, and to be honest, it was comforting to see it. In fact, even considering the implications of what had just happened, and the loneliness I had felt, tossing ideas of Slade aside if just for the moment, I was very appreciative to see them both, though I could not lie to myself when I realized a strange emptiness somewhere inside myself that I tried to ignore as I stared at them.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Jinx said, smirking, and reached out a very delicate hand to ruffle my hair, earning an eye-roll from Raven that was annoyed but ultimately, still affected by the happiness, if such a word can be equated to Raven, that I was awake, it was obvious she didn't mind this once enemy touching me so playfully.

I groaned softly, but immediately, overcome by some strange happiness at her touch, couldn't help but smile, though when I look back on it it was obvious I wasn't completely there, as the IV in my arm was trickling drugs into me at a rate that was perhaps enough to cripple even a big guy like Cyborg with all his systems. "Mmmm, you know…I hate people touching my hair…" I spoke groggily, and made a half effort to turn away from her hand that had no real power at all because in truth, I was too doped up to care.

Jinx just laughed, but didn't take her hand away as she turned to look at Raven, who was smiling more now perhaps at the voice that had been silent to them for so long. Jinx obviously felt the same way. "See, he's back to normal. Once again being stuck up," she said, and laughed.

I smiled a little again, musing a little "Mmm," in my state of still sort of drifting between sleep and wakefulness, not much caring what they had to say, if I was truthful, not that it would have mattered.

"He's better than he was," Raven agreed. "Still pretty out of it, but at least his vitals are back to normal."

I barely noticed Jinx nodding lightly, her hair bobbing gently as she did, her arms still crossed over her chest, though now she seemed off-put and it was as if she was hugging herself for some comfort. More seriously, she looked down at me as she mused, "Man, he's been through a lot. If he's like this because of those freaking Hive Five I'm going to snap their necks…I wish I would have found them."

Even with my eyes closed, I felt Raven's eyes suddenly bore into me. She spoke then, and even in my half-sleep her words somehow had the power to not only reach me but quickly and effectively chill me. "I don't think he's like this because of them. I get the feeling it was someone else, maybe."

"Maybe," Jinx agreed. "They're too weak to beat him anyway. Who do you think it was, then?"

I knew Raven's answer, and I feared for it. Because even if I was not thinking about the extent to which the results of my encounter with Slade would affect the Titans, I knew just as I knew that the eye was there, that Slade had saved me—I knew that Raven knew. I thought that not only did she know because of what I had said to her unwittingly as I lay in her arms in the snow, but I knew that somehow, she had a deeper understanding of what it really meant, what had happened, and grasped it even more completely than I could in that moment. She knew what had I had allowed Slade to do. She knew his words, his comfort, his embrace, and his eye as well as I did, and understanding that in that moment, I feared her and that consequence more than anything in the world. Even on the drugs, mostly soothed and sleepy, even weak and recovering, I knew with an astute clarity that her connection to me had allowed her to see this, and I feared the results that might coax as much as I feared death, and as much as I feared Wally and…

And as I had opened my eyes to look at her, not knowing what I would do to stop her from confessing what she knew to Jinx, maybe to just stare up at her pleadingly, maybe to say something, maybe to do nothing, though I will never know—as I opened my eyes to stare at her, the three of us were interrupted by the door opening loudly to our left, and we all looked up, jolted.

In the doorway stood the girl of my dreams, Starfire. In her usual skimpy purple skirt and top with her tall boots, sparkling armbands, and dark gems to compliment her eyes, she seemed to slump over on herself, her long arms hanging and her hair gently shifting as it fell to hang over her face. Immediately, I saw that still, she wore the glass star necklace. And she stood there for a few moments, looking at the ground as if there was something extremely interesting there, as if one of the bugs or roaches that frequented the tower was suddenly doing something new and exciting that she must watch, but I noticed, again, even in my sleepiness, that she seemed out of breath.

"How is—" she began as she began to slowly pull herself up to stare at the three of us, but cut herself off when she saw me. The expression that had been there, a tired, saddened, and considerably disheartened one, now turned very bright and her eyes seemed to light up with the sparkle that I had always known them to have, the sparkle that I loved, making the star necklace gleam as it seemed to reflect their light in a captivating, almost mesmerizing—almost strange fashion. She clasped her hands together against her chest, gasping excitedly as her mouth pulled open into a big smile. "Robin!" she screamed, and ran to me, almost sprinted, as she came to me and threw her arms around me, with perhaps too much force, more than she had meant to use, I think, as I felt my sore body groan out in protest, but in reality, I barely noticed. Her excitement was apparent, but what was more, was that she clung to me as if I were a lifeline in the wreck of some overturned boat, and I knew—she didn't want to let me go. I knew that, as clearly as anything else that night. "Robin," she said again, and squeezed me tighter, as I sat there, unmoving—stunned.

And that was when things began to get complicated. Even more complicated than they already were.

Really complicated.