Author's Note: We're back by popular demand! When I wrote what is now "Chapter One" of this project, it was meant as a fluffy little one-shot, written rather hastily. I classified the story as "Complete" because I had no plans for any follow-up material.
But various people, on this site and another, have expressed the hope that I will continue in the same vein. In spite of myself, I found my mind toying with various ideas for further misunderstandings and near-misses in a budding romance. Then I began writing scenes to flesh out some of those ideas. (Some of those scenes are not in this chapter. One of them will probably be the last several paragraphs of the final chapter, when the time comes.)
This is the first time I've been persuaded to change a one-shot into a longer project. I decided I'd better leave the story title alone, now that it's well-established, so as not to confuse all the people who enjoyed reading the opening chapter and may be glad to see a new installment. (The number of readers who already marked this as one of their Favorites, just on the strength of Chapter One, was rather flattering!) Be warned, though, that most of the subsequent chapters will have little or nothing to do with the subject of taking naps.
By the way, I'm assuming it's now a couple of weeks after the first chapter. Some of you were probably thinking that sooner or later Raven and Beast Boy would both be awake on that couch at the same time, and would simultaneously see each other's open eyes, and then would be forced to have a frank talk about certain things . . . and I also thought that was a serious possibility at the time I posted that material. But remember, I originally intended it as a "complete short story" with the hypothetical aftermath left entirely to each reader's imagination! If I'm going to make it a serial then I've got to prolong the suspense somehow instead of letting them have that frank talk any time soon! We'll just assume that after Chapter One ended, Raven eventually woke up again, decided she had pressed her luck as far as she dared, and quietly retreated to her room, convinced that the still-slumbering Beast Boy had no idea that she had ever been snuggled up against him with her head on his shoulder as if she actually felt very relaxed that way!
(None of the other residents of the Tower have rocked the boat by mentioning that they all got a good look at what was happening and thought it was awfully cute. All three of them correctly assume that the silly situation on the couch had arisen by sheer accident. However, none of the three ever realized that both Raven and Beast Boy woke up at different times, appraised the situation, and then went back to sleep instead of doing anything right away.)
Since Beast Boy does know some of what happened that night, and has subsequently observed, to his considerable surprise, that Raven doesn't seem to be harboring a grudge about it, he's beginning to work up the nerve to try to get a bit closer to Raven . . . if he can find a plausible excuse to start the ball rolling without ever mentioning that he knows she was kinda snuggled up against him on the couch for awhile. (He's afraid that would embarrass her something awful—and he has a point.) That's where this second chapter opens up; he thinks he's finally found the right excuse!
Chapter Two: Under the Mistletoe
Beast Boy meant to be stealthy. In the form of a monkey, he clung to an overhead light fixture in the hallway with one hand, and braced himself with one foot against the upper edge of the doorframe, while his other limbs carefully held a small object flat against the ceiling and pressed the Scotch tape tightly against it; all this taking place just above the entrance to Raven's room.
Unfortunately, he also had a short attention span. By the time he was done taping up the mistletoe, he was so pleased with himself that he'd momentarily forgotten about the whole "gotta be stealthy" bit. He simply changed back to his human form while dropping to the hallway floor. The resultant thump was enough to catch the attention of Raven, who was sitting just fifteen feet away inside her room, floating in mid-air, indulging in her final meditation session of the day before crawling into bed. She extended her psychic perceptions enough to let her determine that Beast Boy was outside—now moving away—with a particularly furtive tinge to his aura.
Raven waited five minutes in case he doubled back for something, then carefully teleported from one side of her closed door to the other without ever touching the knob, just in case some childish booby trap had been set up. (Something akin to the balloonful of motor oil which had splattered against Starfire's head way back when, prompting her to call Beast Boy a clorbag varblernook? A well-deserved epithet, Raven was sure!)
Nope, no bucket or balloon suspended overhead. But there was one new item attached to the ceiling: a sprig of the same apparently harmless plant which had killed Baldur in Norse mythology. And Christmas was just a few days away.
It didn't take a genius to size up the situation. (Raven was a genius, but in this case it wouldn't have mattered if she weren't.) The old "kissing under the mistletoe" routine. Obviously the grass stain would be lurking in the hallway around breakfast time tomorrow, just waiting for Raven to poke her head out the door so he could pounce!
This was corny, immature, opportunistic, and generally just what you'd expect from Beast Boy.
(It was also . . . just a tiny bit . . . flattering . . . to be his chosen target. At least, if she was the only girl he was planning to ambush that way this holiday season. If it turned out he was planning to treat Raven as just one of many names on a scorecard for a whole series of Mistletoe Ambushes this week, then was he ever going to regret it!)
On the other hand, the strip of Scotch tape he had used to fasten it to the ceiling didn't look very sturdy. It would be another seven or eight hours before Beast Boy would be expecting her to emerge for breakfast. If someone didn't do something, the steady tug of gravity combined with the normal vibrations of the hallway—doors opening and closing, for instance, and Cyborg tromping through—might easily shake that sprig loose before Beast Boy got any mileage out of it.
This annoyed Raven. If you were going to set an ambush, you could at least take the trouble to do a proper job! Just imagine how awkward it would be if Beast Boy assumed the mistletoe was still overhead where he had left it, and caught her by surprise with a quick kiss . . . and then hastily defended himself by pointing upward to where his justification ought to be dangling . . . and then they both saw it wasn't.
At that point, as a matter of pride, Raven naturally would have to punish him for stealing a kiss without having so much as a thin veneer of an excuse rooted in a ridiculous holiday tradition. Beast Boy's resultant whimpers would probably ruin everyone's appetite for the rest of the day. Couldn't have that!
She levitated up towards the ceiling and peered at the taped mistletoe more carefully. Something had to be done. Duct tape? Superglue? She'd better head down to the garage and see what was currently in stock for hasty repair work.
A few hours after sunrise, Cyborg still wondered how he had gotten it so wrong in guessing what would happen.
Since Cyborg's largely-mechanical body didn't need as much sleep as regular flesh-and-blood metabolisms, he had been up very early that morning, prowling the halls of the Tower, and had noticed the sprig of mistletoe attached to the ceiling just outside Raven's door. He knew he hadn't put it there. Robin didn't behave that way—and Raven wouldn't be the likely target anyway. No guests were staying in the Tower this week. That narrowed the field to one likely suspect!
Cyborg had a good idea of when Raven usually came out to the kitchen to scrounge up some breakfast. About an hour before that time, he awoke Robin and Starfire and quietly briefed them on the mistletoe situation.
The three friends had rapidly agreed on a few things.
First, nobody would warn Raven about this. It wasn't like Beast Boy was some psychotic stalker, after all. (Besides, Raven could take care of herself. If Beast Boy got way too fresh, she might teach him a valuable lesson in manners.)
Second, none of them would be anywhere nearby when Raven emerged from her room. After all, it was possible that the presence of a witness would cause Raven to react more harshly than she would if she thought an encounter under the mistletoe could be kept a purely private matter. (But Cyborg would set up a miniature spycam to record the event for posterity.)
Third and most importantly, they needed to get some bets down on what would actually happen when Beast Boy sprang his ambush! Each of the three would make a prediction. Whoever came closest to the truth was the winner. He or she would be excused from any housekeeping chores outside of his or her own room for the next two weeks; the losers would do that person's normal share for one week apiece.
Robin had been betting that Raven would give Beast Boy a serious tongue-lashing, but wouldn't hurt him beyond that.
Cyborg had been betting on something really painful for Beast Boy—maybe a slap to the face, maybe something more serious. Such as the way she'd once handled Doctor Light, leaving him a whimpering nervous wreck.
Starfire had been betting they were both wrong and Raven would take it much better than they thought. She might not look happy about it (par for the course with Raven), but she wouldn't scream or lash out at Beast Boy with her hands or her powers.
Neither Beast Boy nor Raven had mentioned whatever had happened—if anything had?—after Raven appeared in the main lounge and started nibbling on something for breakfast.
Neither of them had mentioned it during the subsequent training session coached by Robin, either.
Later that morning, when the three conspirators were able to steal off for a few minutes without it looking suspicious, Cyborg had played back the recording of that crucial minute.
The reality was surprisingly anticlimactic. Beast Boy, previously lurking as a spider on the wall near the door, had suddenly morphed into his usual self and pressed his lips against Raven's right cheek, then hastily jumped away; saying very fast, "Holiday Greetings! Mistletoe! Look! My 'Get Out of Jail Free' card! You aren't allowed to kill me!" While pointing frantically at the green thing a few feet above the sorceress's head.
Raven had stared at him, then upward, and then said, "If I remember Monopoly right, you only get to use that sort of card once before you lose it." The sprig had been suddenly surrounded by black energy—and when the blackness dissipated, the mistletoe wasn't there anymore. Just unblemished ceiling. Apparently feeling that she had made her point, Raven had turned away and calmly moved off toward breakfast at her normal pace.
Behind her, Beast Boy had wiped his brow, then grinned. Possibly congratulating himself on being such a sly dog and coming through unscathed?
So Starfire won, hands down. Robin and Cyborg had been sure she was underestimating the problem because of the general lack of emotional impact associated with "kissing" in Tamaranean culture. But maybe she had understood the strength of Raven's carefully cultivated stoicism better than they did? Or maybe the violet-haired girl had been touched just a little bit by the holiday spirit of peace and tolerance and didn't want to get blood on the floor, figuratively or literally?
(The far-fetched idea of Raven actually enjoying a smack on the cheek from Beast Boy was, of course, too laughable to be seriously considered by either of his male teammates! Starfire seemed to agree with that assessment . . . or at least she never said she didn't.)
After the training session Raven had retreated to her room, which surprised no one. The other Titans might have been startled by the current trend of her thoughts, however.
Two things surprised Raven about the Mistletoe Ambush, in hindsight. One was that Beast Boy had only kissed her on the cheek. She'd thought the impudent little joker would have more courage than that, if he had the nerve to ambush her in the first place. It was disappointing to realize that a fellow Titan was lacking in valor!
The stranger and larger concern was that brittle objects in the vicinity—such as windows and light bulbs—had not broken during the moment those lips were touching her face. Nothing had even rattled around, near as she could tell! That non-event had neatly scuttled the excuse she'd been planning to use for only letting Beast Boy get away with this once—as an experiment— before emphatically warning him that it was far too rough on the Tower's equipment for him to try that stunt more than once a year as a holiday gesture. Now she had to rethink her tactics.
Why hadn't anything broken?
In some ways, the simplest explanation could be that getting a brief kiss from an immature practical joker such as Beast Boy just didn't carry enough of an emotional charge to activate the involuntary use of her powers. Because she just didn't take him all that seriously in the first place? And/or because she'd known it was coming and had been psychologically braced for it? And/or because she knew there was really nothing romantic about it?
An impartial observer, only knowing what had been said and done as viewed from the outside, probably would have settled for that reasoning. Raven, however, was dubious. She was fairly certain her emotional reaction at the time had qualified as "pretty darn strong," although she had apparently done a decent job of keeping her composure so that Beast Boy couldn't tell just what she really thought of the odd experience.
Another possibility was that she had reached the point where even that sort of thing, although emotionally loaded, just plain couldn't overload her conditioned self-restraint after all these years of practice. But it might have been a very near thing?
After all, Raven's emotion-linked powers had never made her utterly untouchable. As a rule, nothing bad happened when Starfire hugged her or Cyborg carried her off a battlefield after she'd been wounded. She had felt considerably more exci—um, make that more perturbed—by that so-called "kiss" than she would have been if the grass stain had just touched her arm to get her attention. But apparently her years of training had been adequate to the task of keeping her powers in check. Presumably her emotions would have been far more stimulated if it had been a "real" kiss with mouth-to-mouth contact, such as you saw in the movies?
This second theory seemed more plausible. As it now stood: Raven, totally lacking practical experience in that area, could only speculate about whether or not full-fledged kissing would shake her equilibrium as hard as it seemed to hit many other girls. If so, the side effects could be scary.
Arranging a proper test of that hypothesis would be very difficult, though. What was she supposed to do, ask Beast Boy to kiss her all over again, firmly on the lips this time, strictly in the name of scientific experimentation? Boys were frequently irrational about that sort of thing—and Beast Boy's rationality was nothing spectacular at the best of times. He'd probably get entirely the wrong idea and think she was just inventing some half-baked excuse to smooch with him! (Ridiculous notion!)
On the other hand . . . since she hadn't been able to deliver the planned lecture about kissing her being far too rough on the Tower's infrastructure, it was conceivable that he was planning to stage a repeat of this mistletoe ambush all over again tomorrow, in some different place where she (presumably) wouldn't be expecting it.
Hmm. If I can sense him coming in the nick of time and just "accidentally" turn my head the right way at the last possible moment, then lip contact might be established by "sheer coincidence" . . . and then the results might be very interesting to observe.
Good grief, the things I am prepared to do in the name of research!
But I've got to find out sooner or later, don't I? Can't just go through the rest of my life paralyzed with fear that if I ever do make lip contact with a guy, it might bring the roof down on our heads! If that's the simple truth, then let's find out as soon as possible so I can come to grips with it—or figure out how to overcome it, given more time—instead of just biting my nails wondering!
Raven abruptly became aware that her pulse had accelerated for no good reason while she paced back and forth in her room, chewing on the situation. Apparently this topic was getting more stressful than she had thought. Obviously it was time to consciously calm her body and start meditating on this problem in an orderly way until she had everything in its proper perspective.
She settled into lotus position, hovering three feet above the floor, closed her eyes, regulated her breathing, and started some heavy-duty meditating.
After a half-hour of meditating about what had actually happened inside her, and what had totally failed to happen in the surrounding environment, during and immediately after that quick "kiss" from Beast Boy, she decided it was time to put that behind her for the time being and move on to a fresh topic.
So she meditated for another half-hour about how nice it had felt—for reasons she couldn't quite define—to be leaning against him on the couch a few weeks ago, for an extended period, without his even knowing it.
Then she meditated for a half-hour about the possible ramifications of letting him kiss her on the lips tomorrow—if he tried the mistletoe stunt again—in order to establish exactly how much of that sort of thing her subconscious was currently willing to tolerate before it went ballistic.
Then she meditated about how this was getting silly and it really wasn't necessary to keep thinking about Beast Boy when she was meditating.
She had meant to give that last topic a full hour of its own so she could consider the matter from every possible angle, but she was only about twenty-five minutes into that stage when her thoughts were disrupted by the blare of a Red Alert sounding throughout the Tower. Raven made a mental note to pick up where she had left off when she started her next meditation session, then rushed to the main lounge to find out which villain was running amok this time around!
Author's Note: I want to clarify my feelings about schemes such as Beast Boy's in real life. After reading this chapter, you may well be wondering!
To tell the truth, I have never been a big believer in the idea that positioning a sprig of mistletoe overhead during the holiday season actually makes it "all right" for a guy to surprise someone else and plant a kiss on her if they aren't already on such good terms that he could reasonably expect her to appreciate that sudden kiss, with or without the flimsy excuse of mistletoe.
But then I'm not a big believer in the idea that demon lords are able to impregnate human women and produce superpowered half-breed offspring, either! I am religious, but I don't believe that particular scenario is even remotely possible in the real world. Yet I implicitly embrace that assumption (and many others) whenever I write a story about the Teen Titans.
If I can accept that whopper as a plot device, I suppose I can also accept the smaller assumption that a Mistletoe Ambush of someone who has never encouraged you to kiss her is tolerable behavior in the world of the animated series, no matter how rude I might consider it to be in the real world. It helps that I placated my conscience by making it clear to the reader that in this particular case the girl in question knew what was coming and didn't exactly strive to avoid it, as she easily could have done!