Time, as I've previously stated, is a rather slippery concept in a mindscape. Rachel's mindscape tended to parallel the outside world's time stream rather accurately. Mine, on the other hand, tended to telescope perspective time. Sometimes time passed slower on the inside, and at others it passed faster. I was hopeful that the pattern would continue to condense our subjective experience of time.

Unfortunately, I seem to have pissed off the God of Time somewhere along the line.

"Jon, what is the point-"

"Hush Rachel. I need you to hold still."

"I'm not moving."

"Your mouth is moving, and I'm working on it right now. Just a minute..." A light scratching sound. "... and done! Okay, you can move now."

Rachel (she had tried to get me to call her Raven, but apparently my stubbornness was stronger than her own) stood and walked towards me. We were currently in a large room, lit with a single overhead light which cast some rather dramatic shadows. I stood in front of an easel with a large sheet of paper clipped to an oversize board displaying a newly finished charcoal portrait. I added a few minor touches as Rachel walked towards me, a darkening here, a smudge there, nothing major. When she finally saw the portrait her eyebrows quirked up and her mouth opened slightly.

I grinned. It was about as close to an expression of pure shock I was likely to get from her.

"Jon... this is good. Really good, beautiful," she said sincerely.

"With you as a model, how could it be anything less?" I replied.

She threw a glare towards me but it seemed to be more for forms sake as there was no heat in it. Over the last several weeks (or so it had seemed to us) we had talked, traded stories, played at mock combats (which, in retrospect, were actual battles of wit) and done nearly anything else we could think of to stave off boredom. One of the things I had gotten into the habit of doing was flirting with the young lady. She was reticent at first (the mock combats didn't start out as such) but had eventually grown to accept them. In return, she had become less cold, less stand-offish. I was beginning to think that I had a chance.

"Seriously though," she said, "it really is beautiful. Once we leave here maybe you could do one for real."

I winced a bit. "I'm afraid that you'll have to be content with this in your memory. I have absolutely no talent for drawing."

"Really?" she asked. "Your visualization is excellent." She turned to examine the portrait. "It has life to it, emotion."

"The visualization comes with my job. The life and emotion come from you."

She didn't respond, and I didn't press her. We had spoken of our histories, to a certain point. I knew that her abilities were partially emotion based and as such she was careful to keep them tightly reined. I also knew that she went entirely too far with the whole endeavor to attribute it to simple power management. Thus, I waged a war of attrition against her emotional bulwarks. It was already bearing fruit.

"Thank you."

Her words were spoken softly, but clearly. As I watched her examine the portrait I wondered again what pain she struggled against that caused her to attempt such a total cloistering of self. Only rarely were such nakedly sincere sentiments offered from her lips, bereft of the armour known as sarcasm.

"You're welcome," I replied. "Take it. You can put it somewhere in your mindscape. Just think of me when you remember it."

"Who else would I think of?" She smirked slightly as she unclipped the paper and fed it through a black vortex, presumably leading to some portion of her mindscape.

I conjured a couple of easy chairs and sat in one. The room melted around us, replaced by an oceanside vista. Rachel looked around a bit. "Still Florida?" she asked. I nodded.

"Boca Raton, to be precise. I spent a bit of time a little north of here in Delray Beach a few years ago to prepare for my trip to Japan."

"You came to Florida to prepare for a trip to Japan?"

"Certainly. My tribe spent much of its time on the east coast when I was younger, and Delray was the home of a Japanese colony about a century ago. There's still quite a bit of Japanese culture in the area, not to mention a museum and educational center built on the grounds of the original colony. It was a good choice, and while I was there studying the language and culture I was able to teach a bit at one of the local universities."

Rachel twitched a bit, as though the weight of a sudden thought had unexpectedly thrown her off-balance. She turned to look at me and said, "What languages do you know?"

I raised an eyebrow. "If you want to try teaching me a language to pass the time, I think I'd rather pass. I know enough to get by as it is."

She gave me one of her flat looks. "Humour me," she stated.

I looked at her with an expression of utmost innocence and said, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Fine," she growled back. The effectiveness of the old growl-and-scowl routine was rather hampered by the blush that was painting her cheeks red. "I know English, German, Latin, Romanian, Ancient Sumerian, and Sanskrit. Your turn."

"Chinese, Spanish, English, Arabic, Hindi, Portuguese, Bengali, Russian, Japanese, German, Javanese, Telugu, Marathi, Vietnamese, Korean, Tamil, French, Italian, Punjabi, and Urdu. I also know several ancient languages, Latin, Tolkien Elven, and Klingon." At Rachel's incredulous look, I winced and said, "It's a long story."

"Purely out of curiosity... which Punjabi? Eastern or Western?"

"Both."

"Ah. Of course."

I made a non-committal sound. A moment passed before-

"Seriously? All of those?"

"Yep."

Another moment, and then-

"... Tolkien Elven and Klingon?"

"It's a really long story, and I doubt you'd believe me anyway."

It was her turn to make a non-committal sound. Deciding to get the conversation back on track, I said, "So, why do you ask?"

Her expression sharpened into what I had come to consider her "war-mask". Her voice lost the subtle shadings of emotion that I had become used to and she droned in a monotonous manner. "There have been a string of crimes near the airports and docks. The assailant or assailants carve symbols into the flesh of their victims, leaving them awake and aware." She waved a hand and a vortex opened. She reached into it and retrieved several large photographs. A wave of my hand duplicated the easel and clipboard, and she proceeded to clip each photo to its own board. "I think the language looks something like Ancient Sumerian.," she continued, "but I've been trying to decode these for months now and I'm hardly any further along than when I started."

I walked closer to the boards and sucked in a sharp breath that set me to coughing. I finally convinced my diaphragm that it wanted to stay in my torso, turned to Rachel and said, "How long have these things been cropping up?"

My own war-mask was firmly in place, and I think Rachel was both surprised and pleased. She responded, "Two months, a little more." She peered at my face and said, "You know something." I nodded.

"Tell me," as I approached one of the pictures a pen appeared in my hand, "how did you translate this symbol?" I circled one of the symbols that appeared on each victim, and proceeded around to each picture and circled it every time it appeared.

Rachel's brow furrowed in thought. "Rock, stone, or something similar. What-"

I waved her off. "Close, but an accident. The languages are too different, you couldn't have decrypted this." I continued to circle different symbols and drew lines to connect them. Some of the lines hovered over empty space, and before long a network of spidery traces linked the different pictures in a tangle. I stepped back.

Rachel, possibly a bit miffed that I had cut her off, stated dryly, "Wonderful. What does this tell us, now?"

"Everything and nothing. Damn it!" I exploded. "If I hadn't been in that god-forsaken coma-"

Rachel chose this moment to cut me off. "What is the problem, Jon?"

"This!" I yelled, gesturing sharply to the cacophony of lines floating ephemerally between the photos. "You have no idea what this is, do you?"

"Obviously not, and I'll continue in my ignorance until you enlighten me."

I shot a glare at the object of my ire. "Azrethar Contiga Shoulgrithar Revitha!" I growled. The photos and lines began to duck and twist, diving and cutting through the air until they ceased in a precise geometric form. "Look, I don't know what kind of magical background you have, but tell me what you think that is," I said, pointing at the form hovering in mid-air.

Rachel moved forwards, eyes intent on the form. "There's a definite circle formed, other regular shapes and angles, more circles... it looks incomplete," she said, turning towards me.

"It is," I allowed. "The symbols these poor people have been defiled with are the work of Nephilim."

Rachel's eyes widened. "Nephilim?"

I nodded. "Offspring of mortal women and fallen angels. Demi-demons." I turned back to look at the form, summoned up the pen, and completed a few lines. The form floated serenely in the air, belying its sinister purpose.

"Dear Azar," Rachel murmured. "It's a portal..."

I nodded grimly. "A bi-directional one-way gate to Hell, if I'm not mistaken."

"Then the symbol didn't mean stone... it meant 'gem'."

"Yeah," I turned to her inquisitively. "How did you know that?"

Rachel's eyes flashed hot with white fire. "It's time to leave," she stated. A stone archway appeared behind her and she stepped through it. I simply willed myself awake...

… and came face to face with a bright blue light being held by a very serious looking Cyborg.

Well... that was unexpected. How much time had passed since Robin returned to his body?

"Cyborg, no! He's a friend," came a somewhat groggy voice. Looking over revealed Robin being helped into a chair by Starfire.

I turned back towards Cyborg (who had yet to remove his weapon from my head) and said, "Yes, I'm very friendly. See?" I bared my teeth in a rough approximation of a smile. Sweat beaded on my brow and upper lip.

Cyborg seemed less than impressed. "If you're so friendly," he asked, "why are you so nervous?"

A soft drone came to my rescue. "You have enough energy primed into your sonic cannon to turn his head into a fine red mist. I would be nervous if you had it pointed at me."

"Yeah, so? He's been makin' with the mind-voodoo on both of you. How do I know he hasn't done something?"

Rachel's eyes glowed white and the cannon was suddenly enveloped in black energy. "Nobody messes with my mind Cyborg. Now put your toy away before I put it away for you," she said dangerously. For just a moment I thought I saw a flicker of red amidst the white in her eyes, and my mind began to slowly piece together various hints and clues that I had been picking up during my association with Rachel.

Cyborg looked at his arm nervously. "Alright, I believe you. Nobody else could be that scary."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cyborg." Rachel then released his arm and turned to me, the hellish light (hellish?) leaving her eyes to reveal her familiar indigo orbs. "Are you ok?"

"Fine, thanks. How's your head?"

She smirked slightly and replied, "Perfectly healed. Get up, we have work to do."

I groaned as I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the cot. "No rest for the benevolent," I complained as I moved. "Hold her from the brink of death, share my mind with her for weeks, solve otherwise insurmountable problems for her and what do I get? Not appreciation, I'll tell you that."

A snort came from the depths of her hood, causing me to grin and everyone else to look at her in something resembling shock. "I'll thank you later. For now, we're running out of time."

"True enough," I said as I recalled why we had gone charging out of our very comfortable minds. "But you owe me a da-ACK!"

The rest of that sentence was cut off with a surprised and undignified squawk as the floor rushed up to greet me. Cyborg caught me before I could fall too far, but the event still caught me by surprise. Having spent (subjective) months in our collective mindscape had caused me to forget that some things in the physical world were not the same as the world in our heads. Namely that I had a bum leg.

"Thanks, big guy," I said as I patted his arm.

For some reason he seemed discomforted. "No problem."

I looked around. "I don't suppose anyone grabbed my cane?"

"Cane?"

"Guess not," I sighed. I let go of Cyborg's arm and leaned back against the cot. Rachel floated over to me, presented an arm and said, "We don't have time to look for a cane. Lean on me, I'll take you to the Ops room."

Using Rachel's arm for support, I hobbled out of the med-bay.

=-=-=-=-=-

"Robin," came Starfire's inquisitive voice. "That was not normal, was it?"

"No," Robin replied, shocked. "He made her laugh."

Cyborg, equally shocked, added, "She let him touch her."

"That is what I was thinking," Starfire responded pensively.

Several minutes of silence passed them by until the door swished open and Beast Boy walked in. Glancing around at the lack of patients and the catatonic states of his team mates led him to utter, "Guys? Did I miss something here?"

=-=-=-=-=-

The Ops room seemed like some kind of cross between a movie theatre and a college apartment. It was sized like a cinema, and had an absolutely huge viewscreen (nothing that size could be called anything less). It also had an en suite kitchen/dining area with a counter stacked with dishes and fridge full of what might once have been food. I made a vague note to myself that at some point food needed to enter my body. Thankfully, however, the Ops room had an absolutely decadent couch. It felt like I was sitting on an orgasm, it was so wonderful.

Rachel settled me on the couch (for which I immediately absolved her debt to me), and proceeded to float towards the kitchen area. "May I get you something?" she asked, her voice rasping slightly as she raised it above its normal level.

"Whatever you're having will be fine, thanks."

She set a kettle on the stove and proceeded to make tea. "Sweeteners?" she asked.

"What kind of tea is it?"

"An herbal blend."

"Ah. No thank you, then."

Silence fell, a now-comfortable state between us, and I took the time to examine the room in greater detail. The pane windows looked out over the bay, the noon-time sun illuminating the scene with a stark white-yellow light. We were fairly high up, and since the building had the feeling of a sky-scraper I made a staggering leap of logic and deduced that I was in the so-called Titans' Tower.

"Here." A cup of tea was placed on the coffee table, easily within my grasp. "I would have offered something to eat, but I'm not sure that would be considered hospitality at the moment."

"I find myself agreeing with you, and feel that it was most hospitable of you to refrain." I picked up the cup and took a sip. "This is wonderful," I said.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

We enjoyed tea together for a bit, and I felt my depleted reserves begin to trickle back. I looked suspiciously at the tea, and then towards Rachel... who looked far too innocent.

"An herbal blend, you say?"

She nodded.

"Undoubtedly your own recipe."

A smirk.

"Well... thank you very much. I was quite... thirsty."

"More?"

"Please."

Rachel began to refill my cup, and it was this scene that the rest of the Teen Titans walked in on, with predictable reactions.

I looked at Rachel. She looked back. After a moment she looked away,a spot of colour touching her cheeks. "I'm not usually so... accommodating."

"Good to know I'm special," I said dryly. I gestured towards the viewscreen with my head. Rachel nodded, stood, and assisted me to the front of the Ops room.

"Settle in," I said to the arriving heroes. The little green one (Beast Boy, if memory served) began to make a fuss, likely about being bossed around in his own home. Rachel cut him off, her eyes glowing white as she growled, "Now."

They settled. I turned to Rachel and whispered, "Are you sure you're not in charge?" She just gave her trademark smirk.

I turned back to the seated teens. "I am the Chronicler Jon of the Far Western Tribes of the Amazon Nation." My eyes narrowed as they fell on each of them in turn. "You interrupted a diplomatic meeting held under a flag of truce between myself and the entity known as Arform. Prior to anything else, my duties as Chronicler require me to complete that meeting, albeit with Arform in absentia. Now, what are your objections?"

"Um... objections to what?" said Cyborg with a befuddled look on his face.

"Yeah, what are you talking about, dude?" came from Beast Boy.

"Jon was engaged in diplomatic talks with the creature, known as Arform, when we arrived," said Robin.

"More specifically, I am now acting as a mediator between you and the Arform as you negotiate a peaceful resolution to your current state of animosity," I said.

"It was a mistake. We hold no objections," stated Robin firmly.

I nodded sharply. "Very well. We'll discuss that later, but there's something more important that needs to be spoken of now. Robin," I said, "is there any way you can put the images Rachel showed me onto this screen?"

"What images?" asked Robin, while the other three said, "Who's Rachel?"

Rachel hissed beside me. "I told you to call me Raven." I turned to look at her and retorted, "You haven't told me to call you Raven in weeks." I paused for a moment. "Subjective weeks, anyway."

She chose to ignore me for the moment and said to Robin, "The photos of the attacks at the docks and airports."

Robin reached into a compartment of the couch and pulled out a large remote. A few button clicks and the screen lit up with images of a dozen victims.

I felt my mouth go dry. "I thought there were only three," I said dully. Suddenly Rachel had to take more of my weight. Robin spoke, but I barely heard him as I furiously studied the new images in an attempt to fit them into a working theory. "Remote," I said distractedly, and someone put it into my hand. Within a few moments I had figured out the controls and had set about rearranging the images across the screen. "This is strange..." I muttered to Rachel.

"What is?"

"It's not just a portal... it's also a message." I continued in a louder tone. " The Gem denies, the Gem restrains, the Gem is dull and mortal." A sudden silence sprang up behind me to replace the squabbling conversation that I had unconsciously blotted out. I shot a glance behind me to find everyone focused on me with ashen faces. I finished in a more quiet tone, "Others maim, in Father's name, to open up his portal."

Rachel's hand began to tremble where it rested on my arm, and the others all swung their gazes to her. I looked first at her hand and then at her face. Her eyes were wide and sparkled with what may have been tears in a more emotive person. Her head shook back and forth slightly as though to deny some horrible truth.

Suddenly, it all made sense to me: the otherworldly skin and hair colouring, her vague statements about heredity and familiarity with demons, her power, ability, and aptitude for magic... a thousand little details dutifully recorded and analyzed subconsciously as a result of my training. I placed a comforting hand atop her trembling one. She turned to look up at me with a face subtly flickering between a thousand conflicting thoughts.

"Rachel," I said softly into the silence, "your brothers are very angry that you didn't bring your Father for a visit..."