The Tower is a creepy and lonely place. I know this without opening my black eyes. Right nao, this place cocoons me in a delicate warmth. I could lie here for hours. I do lie here for hours. Stray thoughts in my head, hazy blemishes of fireworks and cinderblocks and rainy alleyways; they all peel away one by one to the steady beep of an electric nightingale beside me, attached to me—Or perhaps I am attached to it.
I don't care; I float.
There is a great, bright sea that I have pierced through, and here I am marinating in the shadowlands beneath it, helpless to know which way I am drifting, powerless to spark myself into thinking about it, or about anything for that matter.
I allow myself to sink in the wyrd, hypnotic melody of the rhythmic beeps, taking a gentle gliding step down the circular staircase with each echo, finding every reflection of myself bent into a million indiscernible refractions—and not a single one of them is important. I have freed myself from all attachment—if even for the briefest of breaths. I could swear, somewhere beyond the ocean of harmonious chirps above, someone is applauding me, green-eyed with envy.
A sheen of frost collects in the extremities—the hint of an invasive chill, but this too melts away—Haoever not from the sea of melodic beeps, but from something warmer beyond, something truer, something hovering just a few inches away from where a part of me used to be.
I am rushed back to the surface—not in a panic and not in a flight—but in a gentle lull, like riding an upside down wave of honey up through a crystal ceiling. The beeping echoes loudly nao, like two swordsmen fencing with copper bells. I am not the least bit frightened, but my eyes open—And I embrace a false black.
A stirring. I move my left hand up to my face. Nothing happens. I move my right hand up to my face, and drunken fingers remove a sleeping mask just enough to roll in a sharp stab of reality from beyond the raised veil.
She sits cross-legged in a chair just beyond a flickering, chirping machine. She is the source of the gorgeous melody—the true melody—which rises majestically above the rhythmic falsetto of the health monitor seated right beside me like some heartless, monolithic guardian. I've evidently stirred, and still she does not cease her angelic humming. I can't say it out loud, but I am thankful she hasn't stopped.
Whoever she is, a pair of glowing emeralds sway in my direction. The hum alters in pitch to weather a gentle smile, and she plants a book of pale pages down in her lap just long enough to murmur: "Relax, friend Jordan. Simply allow yourself to sleep. I am watching over you, verily."
The humming continues, unhindered. It vibrates across the feathery heavens and caresses me, pushes the mask back over my eyes, and lays me back down into the clouds. I am in the womb again. I must be. I must...
Sleep.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
The beeping is back, but I know it could not have stopped. There are bodies in the murky obscurity between me and the melody. I can feel them without feeling them. Shuffling noises—too—they halo me. I am not afraid. I am barely awake.
Something turns, the world is revolving. Mechanisms and mechanisms—and then I feel a hand reach forth from the gentle cacophony. Cold fingers grasp my shoulder, lifelessly cold. But I somehao know to trust it.
"Won't you wake him?"
"He's already awake, dawg. But he's so full of meds, I doubt he could feel a forklift giving him a buzzcut."
"You don't think you overdid it, did you?"
"Robin, who's the closest thing to a qualified physician in this Tower?"
"I'm sorry. I should know better than to question you."
"Dang right you should. But don't sweat it, man. I know you're just as concerned as the rest of us."
"Are you getting the measurement you need?"
"Yup..." The cold fingers are gone. "If nothing else, I'll have a prototype constructed in a day or two."
"Wow, that fast?"
"It's simply a model. I won't construct a permanent graft unless he takes a look at the thing and approves of it."
"Hao do you choose the hand you're gonna live with for the rest of your life?"
"Better yet...Hao do you go about choosing to lose the one you were born with?"
"Yeah..."
The voices shuffle away. Their bodies. Their breaths—lingering-and the room grows briefly colder, only to be fought away by the settling miasma of time, the cloudiness of absence...
And none of it scares me. None of it...
Only beeping...beeping...beeping...beeping...
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
Beyond the rhythmic pulse that brings me back, a glinting shadow glides through the inkiness. It is a purple shadow—violet on black—and this is hao I know that my sleeping mask is not on.
I am squinting, nao, craning a neck to see whatever it is I am not allowed to see. But the world is foggy, and the heart monitor—I nao know—is powerless to clue me in. I realize hao fresh and warm the gown is that I'm clothed in, and I realize that I am not wearing the same thing that I had been wearing over the last bleary century of hibernation.
A wisp of cleanly laundered fragrance brushes my nose as I twist my head against the collar—Only to be impaled by an otherwise harmless reflection of hallway light from a medical mirror suspended above me. The whole thing wears me out; the room reels. I fall a million miles, only to float feather-softly back into the mattress that's less than half an inch behind my shoulders.
All of this—just as the violet shadow briefly slides back in. Two bored eyes, observing. A hand reaching out. A breath, meditative, lulling.
Gone.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
The beeping is back. There is a beat to it. I concentrate heavily on the audio strobe, and this time it brings me back just as gradually as it once dragged me under. For an hour, I chase the pulse, for a day—even.
When I reach the crest, it is with a sharp breath, a brilliant glow of light has ascended above me, like a childhood Hiroshima in flight, and I make out an angelic figure within the penumbra of the necessary spotlight.
"Pleasant slorvax, I do hope, friend Jordan." She smiles. The only she who can reinvent the Smile itself, Starfire. "Cyborg says that it is time—So I have travailed upon serving you."
I do not know what she is referring to—but suddenly my stomach does. The meaty thick vigor of a soupy broth wafts its way to my nostrils, and the bed shakes from my innermost growling. It is nao that I begin to wonder when this hellish heaven began, and hao much longer it is to last. But none of that really, truly matters—only what's in that bowl does.
She knows this, sees it, and is swift to hover by my side and help me—and the motorized half of my bed—up into a sitting form. The world reels briefly as I reacquaint myself with gravity, the spinning of rocks around an unwitting yellow nova, and all the chemicals with legs confusedly trying to keep balance in between. As the blood rushes back to my black eyes, I am reminded of life—life in all of its prettiful, amber glory—smiling at me.
"I do hope you are fond of clamming the chowder." The girl blushed, a tiny estuary of green showing up beneath her dimples.
I exhale the shadowlands out through my lips, then curve them in an anxious smile. I see the tray before her, between us, an agonizing mile away. A wince of my spine, and I make to move my limbs towards it-
-but she stops me, gentle hushing hands pushing me back into the upright mattress. "Please, do not avail yourself upon any movement. According to Cyborg, you are still in the process of recovering. He says you must not try to use your arms-" She chokes on the sentence for some reason, suddenly as mute as I am. It takes her a monumental half-dozen seconds to fight for her smile back. "You must simply rest. Allow me to assist you, Jordan."
I nod. I rest back. I do not fight.
She smiles to reward my docility. "Praise X'hal. I-I was momentarily concerned that you would take the route of stereotypical Terran males and attempt to put up a fight." She lifts the tray into my lap, scoops a spoon into the creamy white soup, and nods at me. "There is nothing to be ashamed of. We all need our sustenance."
I nod slowly back. I am not ashamed. Merely hungry.
And she lifts the spoon, and feeds me. I realize that this must be the first time I have taken nourishment outside of IV wires for days...months? There is a brief nausea, a momentary jump to my pulse.
But then I see her smile—the smile I have always known. Those warm, inviting eyes. Arms that are no less comforting. A breath that speaks for friendship, for love, like so many other breaths, like so many arms around me...
Just like your arms, Ana.
And I relax. And I feed.
And I get better.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"You've been lying in bed like a lazy mofo for over a week straight and you're saying that you don't want to read the heaps of fan mail you've gotten?"
I raise a curious eyebrow as the Green Elf slides across the infirmary, sitting reverse on an office chair, and comes to a skittering stop next to my bed. He grins at me with crescent moon teeth even though I have not spoken a single word. Hao can I?
"I mean—for real, dude!" Beast Boy cackles, thumbing through various envelopes and folded pieces of paper. "Soo.. many people are pulling for ya to get through this! And even after the whole Wyldecarde charade; they're still begging to hump your leg!" He winks at me over a particularly rose-colored envelope. "Mmm...Benefits of having a magazine, huh?"
I blink.
We have a magazine?
"So, I thought I'd take it upon myself to ORATE—ahem, no dirty thoughts—ORATE to you the delightful musings of your dedicated fans. Besides—I'm friggin' jealous. You outnumbered my fanmail this month for the first time ever." He briefly snorts with a green bull's nostrils.
I chuckle and shrug helplessly as he opens the first letter and goes on.
"'Dear Noir-'(This one's from a chick named Evina, oooh la la...ahem)-'Dear Noir. I know that you have done a lot of freaky things lately.' (Boy, that's one way to start a letter.) Mmmm-Ah. 'But I know that it is all for the best because, when nobody was believing in you, all you were doing was helping stop Slade from hurting the Titans and then the City. The fact that you did something so off-beat and shocking only proves hao far you are willing to go to be a hero, and that is really all that matters.' D'aawwww. Come on, Jordan! Ain't that worth a d'awwwww!" He leans over a portion of the bed, nearly drooling in dramatic rendition.
I roll my black eyes.
"Oooh! Here's another one!" Beast Boy flips to another sheet. "This time, it's a guy named 'Sanchez'. Yeesh, dun drop the soap, dude!"
I kick his chair from the bed.
"Whoah—Okay! Okay! I'll just read. Whew—Prima donna! Ahem." The elf's eyes narrow. "'I was at the July Fourth parade when my family and I saw you go toe-to-toe against Cinderblock. I only wish I was badass enough to go a few rounds with some big jerk like that. You showed guts man, and I know that if it wasn't for you, then Cinderblock could have gone stomping through a bunch of innocent people. I'm not sure just hao you Titans muster up your insane courage—But I could use some of that stuff for the football practice coming up. But, nao that I think of it, realizing hao much you and the others have saved this City—yet AGAIN—has got me pumped enough that I think I can take on the whole world. So keep it up, Noir, man, we're all rooting for ya.' Nao ain't that snazzy? Some day he'll shatter the neck of another high schooler in your name!"
I exhale in a mute groan.
"Whaaaaaaaat?" Beast Boy shrugs with a cheesy grin. "Try not to look so tortured! It's only fanmail!" He licks his finger, flips to another paper, and scans the top of the page. "Whew! This one's a doozie! It's initial'd simply 'JRJ'. Ahem. It says-"
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"Try pivoting the base of the wrist. Don't struggle—Just think it. The electrodes will do all the work."
I furrow my brow, from where I sit on the bed's edge, gazing towards an alien series of gizmos and sprockets—seated on a metal tray. Reflective silver digits briefly twitch, stutter, then collapse. I exhale in defeat, eyes pathetically following the wires running from the motors, off the tray, across my bed, over my shoulder, and down to my-
"Just relax, dawg!" Cyborg's head leans into view. He smiles suavely and points at a device in his hand before turning a series of random knobs and dials. "I'm still recalibrating it. We'll find that magical spark sooner or later. You'll be playing solitaire in no time. Or...uhm..." Cyborg shrugs. "...giving me the finger. Whichever you prefer."
I smile back at him tyredly, then nod my head back towards the silver skeleton.
"Okay. Adjusting. And...try it again..." He says as the gizmos whur to slovenly life, trying to crawl an invisible ladder in the infirmary air. "Pretend you're scratching an itch. You know the itch I'm referring to. Feel it, man. Just be natural. Be natural..."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"...and after speaking to Commissioner Decker and showing him the evidence gathered from Slade's frigate, I was able to finally get through to him. It took some time—But I think the fact that all five of the original Titans are nao collectively defending a single issue that, just days ago, we had taken the opposite stance on—Well—I think it moved something within him. He's willing to hear me out...And, more importantly, he's willing to hear you out."
I listen to Robin, standing, walking—slowly—with my right hand tightly gripping a metal railing. I fight to rediscover my balance, all the while stretching muscles that hadn't been moving for nearly two solid weeks. At the sound of his words, I look up from my shadowed half of the corner, eyeing the Boy Wonder far away in his lonely perch, leaning against the infirmary doorway with his arms folded, his eyemask affixed to some hidden part of the floor.
"It also helps that Jinx has suddenly become fully compliant in offering a detailed testimony of the part that she played in this whole debacle." Robin murmurs. He must feel my eyesight on his person. He nervously stratches the side of his head and flips the edge of his cape over the shoulder that's pointed at me. "And, quite frankly, Decker knows the truth. The truth that me and every single one of the other Titans know."
"..." I raise a curious eyebrow.
He takes a deep breath and looks at me. Cold. Neutral. But wyrdly vulnerable, very un-Robin. "Dagger, Slade, Jinx, Cinderblock—four of the greatest menaces to this City—all of them have been rid of. And we owe it all to you."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"You have been most healthy in your recovery..." Starfire says, proudly, as she offers me the last two or three spoonfuls. I never want the clam chowder to end, or her voice for that matter. I can feel the drugs dwindling in my system; it is like being born again. "One time, when Beast Boy ecountered the nefarious 'mumps', it felt as though the Tower was positively collapsing from the volume of his infernal cat-err-to-the-wall-ing."
I smile at that, cough, and mouth a quiet 'thanks' for the meal.
She takes the tray back, smiling in a stray thought. "It would seem that we each handle pain in our own diverse ways. And gratitude, for that matter..." She pauses, biting her lip in a sudden repose.
I blink curiously at her, concerned.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
The beeping sound wafts in and out of my consciousness. With each blacker-than-black second, stretching through the illusory space of time, I become aware of the beeps growing shorter and shorter in breadth.
And, for that matter, all of this time—in the shadows of the shadows—she has been sitting there, hovering there, watching me, guarding me.
But when my black eyes open, and the sleeping mask is gone—a right hand, an only hand, fumbling—I embrace nothing, a barren room...
Save for but a fleeting streak of violet.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"'And our whole club is praying for you. You have no idea what kind of an icon you have been to us. Everyone in the sign-language class thinks that you're swell, and would fit in just as well with us as with the Titans. And we're sure they're glad to have you back after all that has happened'..."
The letter's message stops, but only because Beast Boy's voice has stopped.
I blink my resting eyes open, moreover curious than let-down by the break in reading. I glance aside the bed at him.
He's huddled in the chair, bent over the same letter, but something very turbulent and boiling hot is keeping him from reading the rest of the envelope's contents. His hand shakes, almost dropping the message. But the elf swiftly calms himself, swivels about in the office chair, and faces me with moist green eyes.
He sniffs, he says: "Noir... ... ...Jordan..." He says, lip quivering, still, then quivering again. "I...uh...I think that all of these fan-written things are swell and all..."
"..." I stare at him.
"...but they can't...th-they can't give back what we've taken..." He bites his lip, his throat tight, swollen. "...wh-what we've forced you to give up..."
I feel a pain shoot to the surface of my face. My lips grimace as I shake my head. It makes me dizzy.
"I...I-I mean it, dude...it's just..." He slumps his fuzzy head towards the floor and needlessly swivels away from me like a settling iceberg. "It ain't right. They should know the truth. They should know hao much...hao much...y-you..."
I smile painfully towards him. Instinctively, I stretch my left hand out to touch his shoulder.
No contact is made.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"There has been...many things I have wished to have said, to you—to all the Titans, for that matter."
Starfire squirms nervously in her seat, her hands folded over the empty soup bowl in the center of the tray. For the burning green life of her, she cannot bear to look at me.
And it hurts.
"But you...You deserve to hear this, Jordan. Or...at least it would give me a selfish semblance of fulfillment if I were to say this to you..."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"I mean it, Noir." Robin says. "You need a break. Don't hop straight back into this. Cuz I know that you want to. But that's something I can't allow."
"..." I blink fiercely at him, my brow furrowed. I no longer feel the metal strength of the railing I am leaning on. I simply see a determined young kid with gloved fists, staring back at me, as if I've just cornered my shadow.
"I'm the boss of this team—A team you just saved. And...And..." His eyemask gazes down the length of a limb that nobody else would dare look at. He glances just as fiercely back up. "And you've done enough—Enough for a season, enough for a career. Face it, you need time to recoup. This whole thing—well—it'll be a hard act to follow."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"The way in which you risked every inch of yourself to ensure the continued safety—the continued existence of myself, of Robin, of the rest of us..."
Starfire hugs her opposite arm and bites her lip.
"It has been a most magnificent heroism. So much so, that...it reminds me of someone, long ago, someone you would not possibly have known, who so bravely risked his life for me before, and for the life of others. On my planet, Jordan, there was a war...a most horrible war...and mysterious warriors appeared by the miraculous grace of X'hal to escort several victims of carnage, such as myself, safely through a Gordanian invasion. If it was not for their bravery—and the courage of one in particular, whose warm and protective embrace I can still feel—I would not be allowed to enjoy the grace of your company today."
She looks up. Eyes burning with gloss, trying bravely against character to hide her sorrow.
Starfire's eyes light up with the tiniest flame of emotion, everytime she attempts to stifle her earnesty—a fact lost to every Titan she associates with, every Titan but me, with these black eyes.
"You remind me of him...You have always reminded me of him..." She smiles. A painful, but healing smile. "But nao I realize that he reminds me of you...for your bravery has come to astound me even more, Jordan. And I am thankful—we all are truly, truly thankful..."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"I just dunno h-hao...h-hao we can make up for it all, dude..." Beast Boy rubs his cheek, the tears coming freely nao. "We put you through so much crap, and nao we're supposed to be friends again? Just like nothing ever h-happened?" He shudders, hiccups. "My parents died earlier than they were supposed to cuz they spent the time they coulda been huddled safely in laboratories instead running around the African Serengeti in a quest to find a cure for my stupid disease! I'm sick of people sacrificing themselves for me! It's not fair! It's-"
This time, I reach my right hand out. It's a weak attempt—but a solid one; I manage to hook a wrist around his shoulder. He slides in, unhindered, and leans against me, his fuzzy head buried into my chest as I hold him closely.
"I-I'm so sorry, J-Jordan...All we've been through, all we've ever done together—I dun want it to all be for nothing! Please, forgive me..." He sobs. "Forgive us."
I smile, I pat him on the shoulder.
I already have.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"Just lie under the radar for a while..." Robin utters, still only half looking at me. "Let Cyborg, Raven, and I do the work. We'll make some sort of—I dunno—cover story about the extensiveness of your injuries. The public won't think twice about your sabbatical. Heck, maybe even Blake Glover will get off your back-"
He stops in his tracks, turning towards me in a voiceless gasp.
For I am marching towards him. Firmly.
Something strung up between a grimace and a frown alights his face. "Noir, don't-"
I close the gap, wincing, but I close it. I all but fall into his flinching form—Slap!-My hand, my only hand collapses into his glove. I stumble, I tremble.
He bends his legs and supports me.
I wince, shake all over, but manage to stand up straight. I look into him. I glare into him. With a jaw clenching, I squeeze his glove, and raise it till both our arms are a single stalk between us, bridging the shadows.
Robin gazes back at me, mouth agape, but slowly...oozingly bearing a tight, knowing smirk.
I deeply inhale. With all my strength, I release his hand, form mine into a right fist, and collide our knuckles together. In mutual coordination, we swiftly then punch our fists up high, down low, and rejoin them in the tighest grip—Releasing with a snap.
He points at me.
I point at him, and give a thumb's up...teetering a bit towards the end-
He steadies me with a gloved hand on my shoulder—a glove still warm from the friction of our partnership. He sighs.
"All right, Noir. All right...I should know better..."
I nod, smiling.
That's right. You should.
His eyemask is cockeyed as he groans: "I swear. Someday, you're gonna be the death of me."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
Cyborg sits, chin resting on his knuckles. He thinks, thinks, thinks, exhales, then straightens his back, all the while gazing at the floor below my dangling feet. He opens his mouth, ignoring the skeletonous arm on the tray besides us, taking his sweet time before speaking, in a shaky voice:
"Even if it does work, Noir...Even if all the wires connect with all of the servos...Even if all of the gears turn correctly...Even if you can do the five-knuckle-shuffle like a true controversial champion...Heh..."
One red eye gazes my way, the human one lingers.
"...do you really want this?"
"..." I stare at him. I stare at the hand. My face is a kaleidoscopic mosaic, reflected in the shiny bone-metal...My bone metal, if I so choose it. Two black specks, blinking, drift to and fro in the chaotically beautiful architecture, like parts of me scattered everywhere.
Like where I was, when I left you, Ana...
No...
When you left me.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
The beeping stops.
My black eyes open. An unfamiliar ceiling. Shadows shifting, drifting, then solidifying before a last second cockroach skitter-away from the invasion of all encompassing light.
I wince, seething through clenched teeth.
"Sorry." An unenthusiastic voice drips from my right side.
I turn my aching head to glance her way.
She gathers various guts of gizmos onto a metal cart, using her bare hands. She should never use her bare hands.
"Cyborg says he needs these back in storage, since you're better and all."
I blink, wincingly. I sit up slowly and look for the time of day—only to see that the clock is gone, along with the EKG machine, my hypnotic beeping companion.
"And you are better, aren't you?" It is more of a declaration than an inquiry. I know it is pointless to answer.
I swivel my legs out and place them against the floor, shifting my weight, feeling my naked heels squeeze against the cold monochromatic tile.
"Good. So those work too." She drones matter-of-factly. "Then you'd might as well make a bee-line back down to your cellar before Starfire gets the hare-brained idea of dusting it again in your absence."
My mind snaps at that. I know that I should be thinking of Myrkblade's mantle first and foremost. But the only thing that comes to mind is a feather duster getting stuck in my underwear drawer...for some reason.
When was the last time I shaored?
"And by the way, today is Tuesday. It's been three weeks."
I exhale at that. Three weeks? But wait, has she been counting the days-?
I look up to see her, but see nothing—Nothing but a metal cart being pushed out of the infirmary, flanked by a streak of violet.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"Noir?"
I snap out of it, glancing up to face Cyborg directly.
"Do you...? Do you want this?" He gestures towards the tray, the arm, the infirmary, the Tower, the life, the career...
Everything.
And I exhale...smile...and knock rhythmically on the metal half of his skull.
He blinks at the tonality, chuckles, and rubs his head with a blush. "And, so, just what does 'Shave and a Haircut' mean in sign-language?"
I stand up on wobbly legs, lean towards him, and mouth: 'Hell. Yes.'
"Well, alright." He chuckles.
I start to make my way across the room, eyeing Myrkblade resting in the corner, wondering who cleaned the blood of Slade off of it...
"But, I gotta hand it to you, Noir..."
"...?" I swivel. I turn back to face him.
He glances over his shoulder at me. "You've reminded me of something..."
I raise an eyebrow.
He smiles gently. "I've clinically died nearly half a dozen times in my life, been brought back to life through overpriced toasters and miles upon miles of fiberoptic cables—And yet I haven't felt so...so inspired ever as I do nao...As you've helped inspire me..."
"..."
"Yeah, you." He shakes his head and chuckles. An exhale, long and sweet. "It never really is too late to start again, is it?"
I look towards him. I smile. I lean over to pick up the black blade with my only arm.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
I am standing in my cellar...my home.
Soft lantern light awaits me as I enter, as I hover, as I linger.
Minutes later, naked in the shaor, I feel the waves of water wash over me, my wounds—some healed, some never to be—and then the parts of me that are gone for good...
But the all of me that is still around, still alive, still kicking.
I shudder in the firmaments of the darkness.
No.
It is never, ever too late to start again.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
Nighttime.
The great windows of the Tower's Main Room stretch wide before me, revealing a glittering canvass of night stars over a sleeping, safe City. The Bay Waters dance forth in the majestic kaleidoscope of it all. The Bridge stretches, brave, inviting, welcoming.
Everything is dark. Everything is welcoming. Dressed in white casuals, dark pants, and a red bandanna—the only colors that have ever mattered to me—I stand silently before the glass edge of the here and nao and inhale it all.
I am not alone.
She hides in the shadows, as quiet as an unwritten song, hidden from the sunkissed eyes of every Titan in this place. Every Titan but me. Even before her softly padding feet slide her petite form up behind me, I can see her, feel her, through the Spectrum.
She feels back, whispering: "I heard that Robin had spoken with you. You let his offer down."
I glance over my shoulder, eyebrow raised.
"And both of us know it was only an offer. He can't command you to stay grounded, Noir..." Raven walks around my left side, making a lengthy show of it, but not trying to. She never tries. "Nobody can. Not even the prophets of Azar themselves."
I cock my head to the side with a shrug. My hair is unkempt. My legs still weak...but I can't stop standing there. Before the stars, before the Cityscape, I can't.
"I don't suppose you need to hear the obvious..." She forms a parallel profile to me, violet threads parting to allow the starlight full access to her ruby chakra. The two of us gaze out long into that darkness, pondering. Buildings fall down and monsters roam the streets of this Earth, and still we both gaze beyond it. "...but one of these days, at this rate, you're gonna cut off something that Cyborg can't build back."
I shamelessly chuckle, sickening myself in the process, but not caring.
A pair of violet eyes narrow up towards me. "And what, pray tell, is so blasted funny about that?"
I gaze back down at her. I know not to presume on her sense of humor.
She knows not to ask me to—not to ask of anything. After twenty-odd seconds of meandering eyes, she lowers her hood. She is suddenly paler than she's ever been, awash in the stars of a world that's always been too painfully joyful for her to look at. She looks to me instead, a hand trailing up my left shoulder, then down the hidden length of my arm, forever hidden.
"Do you..." She murmurs. The voice feels as if it is coming from ten miles beneath her. "...do you still feel it?"
I want to tell her. I want to tell her that someone who can't feel something is luckier than a person not allowed to feel everything. But I know better than to insult her intelligence, even if I could speak, by reinforcing something Raven's always known, ever since she was cursed to understand the blessing that she is, consistently, to those around her.
Maybe she is thanking me for not speaking, for not ever speaking, for not ever wanting to. But whatever breaks the dam, it is the quietest of rivers, welling forth from her right violet first, then her left, and soon she is gently clutching the space of the hand that will never have the grace of clutching her back, until my other half comes around in a warm embrace, holding her shamelessly against my chest, anchoring her in place, in the shadows.
Raven and I hug. Her back to the stars. My black eyes awash in them. For minutes we hover there, mute sobs in orbit over a solitary sphere, an unspoken breath of understanding, of forgiveness.
An hour later, we part ways. Never again will Raven speak of this moment. And for that matter, neither will I.