Chapter Five: Like Oil and Water

Raven had eaten a heftier-than-usual breakfast at an even earlier hour than usual, which meant far earlier than Beast Boy was likely to be ambling into the kitchen looking for sustenance. Then she had retreated to the security of her own room. Raven's current plan was to spend the day locked in here, skipping lunch (when Beast Boy would almost certainly be out there in the kitchen, raiding the refrigerator), and probably supper (ditto), then perhaps venture out to scrounge up some nutrition after midnight—when BB would presumably have conked out again.

Of course that plan would fall apart in ten seconds flat if some supervillain started a rampage and the entire team was summoned to deal with it, but Raven would cross that bridge when she came to it.

Now Raven sat hovering in mid-air, as she often did when alone in her quarters, but for once she wasn't meditating.

Just brooding over recent events.

(An outside observer, had one been present, might have said that the primary difference was that Raven didn't have her eyes closed.)

Yesterday night she'd been embarrassed over Beast Boy waking up and learning that she'd cut his neck and sucked out his blood—worst of all, had done it for a flawed reason. The memory of that blooper was bound to seriously cramp her style the next time she wanted to criticize his ignorance of this, that, or the other thing.

Well, the blush had long since faded and she didn't think it was going to come back on account of that incident, but she had belatedly realized Beast Boy's next reaction—after the news had really sunk in—might be a lot worse than just feeling awkward and avoiding her for a while.

Given the grass stain's love of horror movies, it would not be the least bit surprising if he spent the next couple of weeks convinced that the recent blood-sucking incident was frightening proof that Raven had somehow been infected with vampirism when he wasn't looking. Was he going to start eating a garlic sandwich with each meal in an attempt to keep her at bay? Was he going to load up a squirt pistol with "holy water" and shoot her with it to see what happened?

She could always spend more time out in the sunlight to reassure him that she hadn't been turned into one of the undead—but with her luck, he'd probably decide that she was a vampire after the fashion of Bram Stoker's Count Dracula, who had been perfectly capable of strolling around in London by daylight, but evidently couldn't use his evil powers until the sun had set.

Her thoughts were going around and around, along these cheerful themes, when there was a knock on her door. Raven extended her perceptions enough to verify that it was Beast Boy and nobody else. Just ignoring him had its attractions, but might be taken as a sign of weakness. Or guilt. Or something.

She manipulated the lock with a thought and heard it click open. Then she called, "Come in if you have to."

The door swung open. Beast Boy took two steps in and then paused, as if trying to find the right words to express whatever was on his mind.

She decided a preemptive strike was best. Get it out fast before she lost her nerve or he started jabbering about something else. Speaking much more rapidly than normal, she began: "I'm-really-sorry-I-cut-you-and-sucked-out-your-blood-it-was-the-recommended-first-aid-in-a-manual-I-studied-in-Azarath—"

Her green friend had blinked several times while she was speaking, and now cut her off with a raised palm. "Slow down! Why are you apologizing?"

Had she been going too fast for him to make out the key words? She tried again. "I said I'm sorry I cut—"

"No, I heard you before. I just don't understand why you're even mentioning it. You also cured the magic snakebite poison, and that's a heck of a lot more important than me losing a few drops of blood! A few scratches in the line of duty never killed me before, so why would be I obsessing over the latest ones?"

"Beast Boy . . . you obsess over all sorts of things. Why wouldn't you pick this one for your latest fixation?" (Raven noticed her latest attempt to be contrite and tactful sure hadn't lasted long . . .)

He scowled. "Well, at least I take an interest in the world around me! I learn new things when I get all wrapped up in another hobby or a new conspiracy theory or whatever! Given a choice, you'd rather just sit here in your room with those dusty old books and vegetate all day, wouldn't you?"

That had been her plan—for the next few days, at least—which hampered her in constructing a really good rebuttal, so she settled for nitpicking over one detail. "You mean meditate."

Beast Boy shrugged. "Same difference! Except you've just demonstrated you never miss a chance to tell me I said the wrong word or made some other mistake in the heat of the moment . . . well, I guess that qualifies as an outside interest. Maybe there's hope for you yet?"

Raven hesitated as she tried to sort out the implications of that rejoinder. Was that really how he saw her? As a rhymes-with-witch who was constantly waiting for him to screw up so she could gleefully make petty, insulting remarks at the drop of a hat?

Okay, so there was the time Starfire was worried that Mad Mod's hypno-screens had ruined his brain, and I expressed surprise at the notion that he even had a brain to be ruined. And then there was the time I accused him of learning his American history from the back of a cereal box. Come to think of it, the first time we met, I had to point out that his insistence on wearing a mask to protect his "secret identity" was pointless, because how many other green-skinned guys were running around in this city?

And then there was that other time . . . and that other other time . . . and so forth . . .

But who'd've thought he would take those little things personally? I swear, some people are so thin-skinned! What about all the other times he did or said something dumb and by sheer force of will I managed to keep my lip zipped? I guess he doesn't bother to keep count of those, so he's convinced I never cut him any slack at all?

Like a man who breaks the speed limit every day of the week, and gets ticketed three times in six months, and then starts whining that it just proves the cops have targeted him as their favorite person to pull over?

She was so busy brooding over this for all she was worth that she missed part of something else Beast Boy had said after several seconds of tense silence between them. Raven blinked and said, "Sorry—got distracted—what was that last?"

"Well." He suddenly seemed fascinated by the carpet around his feet as he said tentatively, "I was starting to tell you why I came over and knocked on your door in the first place. (Aside from wanting to say 'thanks' for the healing spells, I mean.) Even though we snipe at each other sometimes, we still have holidays coming up, and we're still friends even if we hardly have anything in common except being Titans together . . . and I still have a couple of Christmas presents to buy before it's too late . . . and I wondered if maybe you had some stuff left on your list too, and then you might want to tag along with me on a shopping trip downtown?"

Raven had taken care of all her holiday shopping weeks ago. Online, of course, with the merchandise delivered to the Tower in plain brown boxes. Who needed the grief of being crowded in with hundreds of other people in a store? The holiday season was so much more tolerable when it involved as little human interaction as possible . . .

So she was extremely surprised when she heard her own voice saying, "Yeah, we can do that."

Beast Boy looked so childishly flabbergasted—and then pleased—at her acceptance that she suddenly felt an urge to scratch him behind the ears as if he were a puppy who had just learned a new trick. The urge was easily restrained, but the scary thing was that she'd even felt it in the first place!