Stuff Like That There
(Hugs)
by Em

A/N: There are several problems with this thing (not the least of which is that it makes like, no sense whatsoever...or...maybe a teeny tiny bit of sense, but not much at that). I tried to approach this one in two different ways, but one (which I kind of like) turned into this big hulking thing that had no end and that I didn't know how to end, and that totally lost the crackiness that is so prevalent to the Stuff Like That There (Hugs) one-shot series. And then another that was going down the same path.

Then, today, outta da blue...this one hit. So, yeah. I figured, what the hell? I might some day post the other one if I ever mange to figure out how to end it.

Not Beta'd -- not even really read by anyone....yet.

Thanks: You guys are all great. Really. I'll answer each review individually through the review response feature if you've asked me something or there's something specific for me to say.

12: Fur

It was cold, and it was wet, and although she'd never admit it to anyone, she was tired. She'd never admit to anyone how much she hated the cold, either. Of course, she didn't hate the cold anymore than she hated extreme heat or the wet season. Living in California, they rarely got the extremes (except for heat waves), so she didn't particularly have cause to ponder how much she hated extreme weather...but she did.

Still, she didn't show it.

Despite the fact that it was minus 14 degrees, that little nearly invisible snowflakes were catching on her eyelashes despite the hood of her cloak being raised over her head, and that she was starting to lose sensation in the tips of her toes even inside the fur lined boots and thick wool socks, she didn't move about or shiver and the breath coming out in visible puffs was even and steady.

No one looking at her would know that she wanted nothing more than to stand under the spray of a hot shower until the water beat the numbness out of her skin and then crawl under the pile of thermal blankets and goosedown comforters in front of the fireplace she knew would be warming the hotel room, and forget that they'd have to be up the next day at the crack of dawn to fly back home.

A"t least, at the end of the day, she could expect to be back home in mild 70 degree weather instead of standing on the iced over sidewalk in front of some picturesque toyshop in upstate Washington waiting for the owner to decide he'd had enough lunch and open up so they could question him.

"We could go to the shop across the square and get some hot chocolate or something," Robin spoke.

She didn't bother to turn to look at him. He was from Gotham -- he was used to the cold. Nobody ever bothered to ask her what the weather had been like on Azarath.

"And come back to find out Mr. Dacus had finished lunch, but closed to go to dinner?" Raven asked.

"Well, you could go to get a hot chocolate and I'll call you when he opens up the shop?" he suggested. There was amusement in Robin's voice and she turned to stare at him. He was leaning one shoulder against the brick wall next to the door, arms crossed at his sides and although the hood of his uniform's jacket was pulled up over his head and the buttons were done all the way up, he didn't look a bit cold.

She didn't ask him why he had put her on this mission with him -- the last time she'd asked as they flew out to Metaline Falls, Washington(1) got her no satisfactory answer and she doubted repetition of her query would yield any better results, but she thought it.

Starfire would've been a better person to come on this mission -- seeing as how the alien didn't feel cold at all -- and was a better people person overall. And yet, Starfire was back home -- probably watching that special on fungi on the food network...again.

Raven was not amused.

And when she didn't say a word, Robin knew it.

"Aw, c'mon, Rae," he said, and although he worked hard to keep the amusement out of his voice, she could hear it anyway. "This place isn't so bad."

"I've been asked whether I've forgotten Halloween was three months ago, Robin," she said, deadpan.

"That was a little kid," Robin pointed out. "She didn't know any better."

"Twice," Raven added.

"Well, the old lady could hardly see, really," Robin excused.

"She thought I was dressed as Bat Girl."

"My point exactly," Robin said. "She didn't know any better either."

"Do you think Barbara would appreciate being confused for me?" Raven asked. "Because I can assure you that I don't."

Robin's lips quirked, but when Raven glanced at him, he pressed them tight together to keep from grinning. "I don't know," he said when he was sure he wouldn't laugh. "Babs has a pretty good sense of humor about these things."

"Babs also doesn't wear a cloak," Raven pointed out.

"Well, you know...cloak...cape..." Robin shrugged.

"And she's a redhead," Raven finished.

"That doesn't show with the costume," Robin pointed out, but when Raven glared at him, he raised his hands in surrender. "I'm telling you," Robin insisted, "the old woman had glasses as thick as coke-bottle bottoms!"

"She needs to renew her prescription," Raven said.

There was silence for a few moments, before Robin spoke again. "So I guess that means you won't go get some hot chocolate?"

Raven was momentarily distracted by what she thought was movement beyond the multi-colored displays at the toy store's window and when she turned to answer Robin's question, he was suddenly in front of her, having cut the distance between them silently, even despite the iced-sidewalks.

Surprised, but unwilling to show it, Raven raised a brow and leaned almost imperceptibly back. He didn't seem to catch her hesitation at all, but only put his gloved hands on her shoulders along the outside of her cloak and brought her slightly closer to him.

By the time Raven was able to react, his hands were rubbing up and down her arms in a tantalizingly warm rhythm.

"What are you doing?" she asked, keeping perfectly still.

He paused long enough to pull her back and look at her face, but she couldn't read his eyes thanks to the mask in place. "I'm warming you up."

"Why would you feel the need to do such a thing?" she asked as if he had said he was attempting to read the stars in the crown of her head.

"You always get cranky when you're cold," he said simply. "I just figured I'd warm you up some."

"I am not cold," she argued, because it irked her suddenly that he had figured her out and spoke about it as if it were common knowledge.

He smirked at her. "You hate the cold," he told her, as if she didn't know. "Of course you're cold."

And before she could say another word he was back to rubbing her arms and then bringing her close enough so he could reach behind her to rub at her back and the faux fur lining of his jacket that slipped out between buttons tickled her nose and felt soft against her cheek.

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Notes:

(1) I just looked up small towns in upstate Washington, and Metaline Falls has a population of something like under 270. I couldn't really find pictures of it, so I just sort of used my mental image of the old town part of Quebec City in Canada to define the area -- what little definition of the area I did, anyway.