Beast Boy realized, albeit reluctantly, that he was a fool. For some (read:Raven), this deduction was long overdue. Why this conclusion?

He was finally able to perceive that he risks his neck every day of his life, and he doesn't even get to choose how, where, when, or why. Someone tells him—and has always told him-- where to put it. Someone tells him—and has always told him-- just how far to stretch it out on the chopping block. And the worst part is he's used to it.

He began to ponder. How far back does it go? How long has he taken orders?

Naturally, his parents were first to run his life. No ill feelings there. But then he entered the foster care program with…that man. Not long after, when he made his escape, he had a small taste of freedom (if living out of the trash was freedom). The Doom Patrol followed, and when he couldn't suffer Mento's totalitarian grip any longer, he waltzed right into the bosom of Robin and the Teen Titans.

He has always been under someone; he has always looked to be under someone. Some part of him looked for direction, to follow. Why this…dependency?

His entire career as a hero, he was on a team, and the youngest member at that. Never striking out on his own, always sacrificing personal interests and talents to better harmonize as a unit, never growing as an individual-- always needing help.

Was it part of his personality? Was he really that weak? When he was young, he watched his parents tell him they love him with tears in their eyes. They never took their eyes off of him as he -- against his own wishes-- flew away from the doomed boat. They made sure not to scream as it plummeted over the waterfall; they didn't want him to remember their screams, he'd later realized. Perhaps it was trauma from losing his parents in such a powerless way? Does he still doubt himself, his abilities, because he couldn't save them?

He ran his gloved fingers through his shocked green hair, overlooking the bay from his favorite spot on the roof.

Maybe, he reasoned, it was part of it. And, he had to admit, he hasn't totally moved on from that notion. Maybe he never will. So then why does he feel the way he does now?

Feelings like he wants something more from his life, like he wants to grow.

Life dealt him a pretty rotten hand at the extremely tender age of six. He was so young, how could he have survived on his own? But what about now? Should he just be grateful that he made it this far?

He can't help but wonder who or what he could have been if he had struck out on his own after Doom Patrol instead of joining the Titans. What kind of a person could he have been by now? What kind of hero?

Then, out of nowhere, he had another attack.

Images of Raven flashed before his eyes. His heart rate spiked and his breath caught. His hand clenched as he shook his head to get rid of such thoughts; ugly thoughts of domination, and ownership. He could feel the tiny prick of claws digging into his palm. He needed to calm down.

Breath.

In.

Out.

A few more times.

His heart calmed. Slowly he unclenched his fist. Tiny holes at the tip of the finger and the inside of the palm showed themselves. He'd have to replace his gloves again. It's been happening more frequently, his claws extending without his consent, but the gloves he could put up with. This wasn't the first attack he's had about Raven since the initial one a couple weeks ago.

What was bringing this on? Raven wasn't here; he'd been avoiding her for the most part, dodging any extraordinary, one-on-one conversation, just so this wouldn't happen.

With a sigh, he fell backwards onto the sun-kissed pavement, staring into the sky.

He'd been wondering what he could have been if he made different choices in the past. The things he'd done. But, right now, he had no idea who he was in the present.

The door to the roof creaked at the arrival of a visitor.

"Hey Greenbean," Cyborg greeted. His voice was less cheerful than normal.

"Yo, Tinman," Beastboy returned.

The mechanical man made his way over to Beastboy. The shadow from his towering form drew closer until it bathed Beastboy in a cool shade. It wasn't discouraged; it was nice to have a small reprieve from the late afternoon sun. Glancing up from his worms eye view, Beastboy made eye contact with Cyborg (who as far as he could tell, was upside down). He instantly noticed seriousness in his gaze.

Of course he had to pretend he hadn't.

"You've got a mean booger, like, right there," Beastboy offered, mirroring by pointing at his own nose.

"Sure, I do."

"No, really, it's there. Want me to get it for you?" He said, lifting himself off the ground.

"Nah, man, stop being gross. And I don't have a booger."

"Come on Cy, what's a booger between bros?" Beastboy quipped, waving his index finger dangerously at him.

"Ok, ok, cut it out," Cyborg managed with a chuckle. "I came up here because I need to holla at you real quick."

So much for that.

"Sounds serious," Beastboy said dramatically.

"It isn't, but it could be."

This had Beastboy's full attention.

Cyborg continued, "I've been worried where your mind's been at these last few weeks. God knows I've given up trying to decipher that crazy thought process of yours. But, lately, you've seemed…distracted."

"Are you here on orders from Robin? This some sort of performance review thing?" Beastboy asked, more disdain in his voice than he intended.

"I won't lie to you, Robin didn't send me; but, I am here because of something he's said to me."

"And that was?"

"Not going to happen B. What you tell me stays with me. Same goes for Robin."

According to habit, Beastboy ran his hand through his hair, running over his metal friend's words. It sounded fair, and maybe it wouldn't hurt to get some of it off his chest again.

"I have been distracted Cy. I just don't know why. I've been feeling…antsy lately. Like, I have this itch that won't go away."

Cyborg placed his massive hand on Beastboy's shoulder, gently rattling his green frame.

"Fleas?"

"Ha, whatever dude," Beastboy laughed, swatting his arm away. "I'm being serious here."

"Ok, but can I ask you this? Does it have something to do with Robin?"

The mood darkened.

"Oh, so now we can talk about Robin? Real fair. What makes you think it has anything to do with him?"

"I don't know, maybe it has something to do with how moody you get whenever his name is mentioned. But, mainly, it's from the way things have unfolded that I can't help but think something's happened between you two."

Beastboy crossed his arms.

"There is nothing special to report. In fact, I don't even know what it is you're seeing."

"What I'm seeing looks a lot like insubordination."

"What! Excuse me!?"

"Ok, look, maybe that was a strong word. But, your actions in the field have been going against the current. It's causing ripples, and the team has been feeling it."

"So some imaginary 'ripples' and all of the sudden I'm some rebel?" Beastboy over dramatically stated.

Cyborg gave him a stern look, a nonverbal reprimand.

"Ok look…so then what do you mean, 'the team has been feeling it?'" Beastboy acquiesced.

"We've been off. We're off because you've been off. When we need you, you're somewhere else. You're taking hits and Raven or Star has to fly off to help and it puts us in a bad spot. Its stuff like that and the team hurts because of it."

Silently, Beastboy was fuming. So what, he's some type of screw-up, is that it?

"So being in a slump means I'm this crazy, insubordinate, looney-loo?"

"No going against orders makes you a crazy, insubordinate looney-loo."

"Orders!?"

"Yes, orders. Robin's orders: procedures and plays and formations and everything in-between."

Beastboy hadn't meant to contort his face. But he couldn't help it. Orders? From Robin? It irked him; in truth, it irked him more than it should have, and he knew it.

"I'll ask again: Did something happen between you and Robin?"

"Nothing Cyborg. Ok? There was no smack talk, no name calling. He didn't unfriend me on Facebook if that's what you're asking. Nothing."

Very convincing, Beastboy thought.

It was silent. The two young men gathering their thoughts; Cyborg was pondering how to proceed; Beastboy was pondering how to escape.

"Listen, B. I didn't come here to argue—seriously. But I can't ignore what I've been seeing. Whatever it is you're going through, whatever this 'itch' is (you sure it's not fleas?), I just hope you can keep your head in the game. I don't want to see anyone smear our resident grass strain onto the pavement." Cyborg said with a smirk.

A cool breeze passed between the two, only visible by the tousling of Beastboy's hair. Cyborg raised his sizable fist to Beastboy. Reactively, Beastboy raised his and connected.

"I know tinman. Look, I appreciate it. I do (yes, I'm sure it's not fleas)."

Cyborg was turned to leave, seeing nothing else to glean from this conversation. He got but a few steps away before a thought occurred to Beastboy.

"Hey Cy."

Cyborg turned to answer. "Yeah?"

"Before you joined the Titans, what kind of person were you."

"The same electric god that you've come to love and worship."

"Yeah, sure. When we first met you were trying to tear my head off."

"Sure, I was more malevolent in those days. But now you revel in my benevolence."

"Ignoring those words and using my context clues I'll ask: Why? And what made you change?"

"Why the sudden interest?"

"I don't know, just, right now, it's really important to me, or something."

Cyborg mulled it over in his head.

"You mean before the accident, or after?"

"After."

Cyborg crossed his arms. He cast his gaze to the horizon. It seemed endless; the blue of the sky and ocean blending into one.

"I was in a bad place B." Cyborg offered.

"Believe me bro, I am no stranger to bad places. I own a summer home there. Raven's dad delivers my mail."

Cyborg sighed, feeling himself ready to give. It was somewhere he didn't care to go in his mind.

"I had lost a lot of important things and too many important people in my life. I was mad at the hand I'd been dealt. And I was angry that I was different; so different that even the people whose lives I saved couldn't look me in the eye. And I was mad because that was all my life was, and, as far as I could tell, all it would ever be."

Beast Boy could feel himself resonate with each sentiment.

"I couldn't help but wonder, 'isn't there something better for me?'" Cyborg added.

"And then you met the Titans?"

"No, I met Raven first."

"Raven?!" Beast boy exclaimed.

Cyborg smiled wryly at the memory.

"She approached me after witnessing me rescue a runaway bus full of people. My system captures everything I see or do, so I can play back the memory database and see what conversation we had. But, what I know I will always remember -- cybernetic brain or not-- is that she was the first person to ever look me dead in my eye. She wore no emotion—no semblance of disgust and surprise, and said: 'Hey, join our team,'" Cyborg continued, imitating Raven's dry delivery.

"Ha, that sounds very Raven."

"Right? And you know what, I did. That's why I was there that day we all met Starfire for the first time. And, here I am today."

"So joining the Titans helped you be better? Haven't you ever wondered what you would be like if you never had?"

"I have, and I tell you what, the way things were going for me, I'm glad I didn't refuse Raven's offer. I owe a lot to this team. This little macabre, carnival funhouse crew of ours made me realize that our differences are far less amazing than all the things that connect us. It hasn't always been easy, but I'm better for it."

Beastboy pondered over his words in silence.

Cyborg took this chance to continue.

"B, don't get it wrong; I know Robin can be a pain. I get it. But, from my brief stint leading Titans West, I'll tell you this: Leading a team is not easy. Not at all. As far as leaders go, Robin's not half bad. So, you know, whatever you're feeling, don't take it so personally."

Through a herculean effort, Beastboy was able to subdue a growl. It was impressive, all things considered, how he was able to school his face.

"Ok, Cy. And thanks, I'll give some serious thought to what you said."

"Not too serious now. It's not good to do things you're unaccustomed to too fast."

Transforming into a ram, Beastboy gruffly shoved his metallic friend to the entrance of the roof.

"Ha ha! Ok, ok greenbean. Sheesh, have a heart to heart with a friend and get shoved off the roof." Cyborg grabbed the door post, halting his progress. "Oh! By the way, holler at Raven when you get a chance, she was looking for you earlier."

Beastboy was afraid to transform back to answer his friend. Being a ram allowed his face to disregard the tightness forming in his stomach at the mention of her name. So he tapped his hoof twice—tap tap—to show he understood.

"Ha, weirdo," Cyborg said jovially, and took his leave from the roof.

Alone now, Beastboy returned to his human form, sitting Indian style on the floor. He rested his weight on his arms and peered into the blue sky, his thoughts in a tumult.

Cyborg thought the team saved him from his own demons. Was it the same for himself? Did he need the Titans and not even realize it? But Cyborg and he are different, being cursed with extraordinary powers at totally different ages. Did Cyborg have more opportunity to discover himself beforehand?

He sounded like he was making excuses for himself, and he didn't like it.

"Ugh…" Beastboy moaned.

He wasn't sure what he was feeling right now, but finding an answer now was not going to happen. And avoiding Raven wasn't going to help either.

So, with incredible reckless abandon, he sought her out.

It was unbeknownst to him that, in the process, he would be initiating a series of events that would change his life forever.

[Next Scene]

He could feel his knees wobble with every step. He trudged through the hallways of Titans Tower; his feet were navigating to Raven's room in complete defiance of his thoughts. How he concluded it was a good idea to go to Raven's room, the way he'd been feeling , was anyone's guess.

He could smell it all; every musk or pheromone, any week old spills of foods and drinks, hair gels and colognes, all of it invaded his senses. They were out of control, heightened to a dizzying extent. Why?

Because, against his will, his nostrils were scouring the air for any morsel of Raven's scent. It'd been that way since that day, the first time, those weeks ago.

He couldn't seem to fight it, and it was getting worse.

He rounded the corner and had Raven's door in sight.

He had to bail.

He turned sharply around to make his escape, but too late—Raven's door hissed open.

"Beastboy?"

Had Raven hearing like Beastboy's, she would have detected the curse whispered under his breath.

"I've been looking for you," Raven accused, putting her hood up and making her way over.

Beastboy could barely hear her over his own heartbeat.

"Y-yeah, I just heard you were looking for me from Cy," he replied, trying to steady his voice, "what's up Rae?"

She stood in front of him with her arms crossed.

"It's odd I have to look for you at all. I usually can't blink twice before you're bouncing around in my face. So you can understand my worry." With actual concern in her face (not her voice, of course) she added, "what's up with you?"

His senses bombarded him.

Like honey, her breath was sweet; it smelled like flowers and mint. For lunch, she'd had a cup of tea accompanied with only a toasted baguette slice, dressed with a square of Irish butter. She never ate much, he knew, but he'd always wondered how she managed to do so much on so little food. With another whiff, he could tell that after breakfast she had brushed her teeth, but he could still pick up the remains of powdered sugar. Did she actually have a donut for breakfast? Raven? Another smell and he could tell—

"Beastboy!"

"H-huh?"

"I asked you what's wrong. You completely phased out on me while I was talking."

"I did? My bad," he offered, sheepishly rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "I didn't realize."

"Is your head alright?"

"Geez Raven, I just dazed out a little bit, you don't have to…"

"No, dummy, that is what I was saying before you blanked on me."

Reflexively, he rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

Taking two small steps towards him, she pressed her delicate hand to his forehead; it soothed him… and it fired him.

Discreetly he took one small step back.

"What makes you think something is wrong with my head." It was too late for him to realize his mistake.

"Really? You're going to make it that easy for me?"

"I figured you'd do the noble thing and overlook that…small…slip-up."

"Do I look all as noble as that?" Her smirk was devilish.

"As noble as they come," he offered.

She scoffed at him, but decided to overlook the remark.

"The other day, while we were fighting Cardiac, you took a bad hit to your head. I know you have a thick skull, but I was worried you'd lost any more of the precious few brain cells you have left. As the unofficial 'medic' of this team, I'd thought to check up on you."

"Your concerned insults are touching, but I'm—," he wasn't allowed to finish.

"-- but, then, you've become unusually hard to stumble across in the Tower, and when I finally catch you, you faze out in the middle of conversation. Can you see the cause for worry?"

"Let me reassure you: my brain has never been more incredible than it is now."

"Well now…that's no assurance at all," she responded.

In an unusual turn of events, Raven decided to rest her back on the wall, and she slowly slid into an Indian-style sitting position; she looked somewhat like a teepee, her cloak draped over her legs and falling to the ground. Beastboy could tell instantly there was something more on her mind.

Ignoring the tightness in his stomach, and pushing aside – with great effort—the large influx of information he was getting from is haywire senses, he joined her on the ground. Raven's door was a mere few feet away.

It was the late afternoon, nearing evening. The hallway near Raven's quadrant was tranquil; its location lent it a peace the rest of the Tower lacked. Beastboy was not sure if Raven knew this when she picked her room, and he was not sure if it was because Raven resided here no one dared to hazard.

Right now, he was happy it was theirs alone.

"To tell you the truth, I barely remember getting hit at all," he confessed, "Cardiac is such a 'B' list villain, y'know?"

"So what does getting beat up by a 'B villain' make you? A 'C' list hero?'" she countered with a coy smile.

"Yeah, no. It just makes him lucky."

"It seems like a lot of bad guys have been getting 'lucky' shots on you lately."

"Yeah, well maybe instead of robbing banks they should go play the lottery."

"Beastboy, what I'm trying to say is you've been distracted and--"

"And 'the team has been feeling it'?" Beastboy interrupted, "yeah I know, Cy already gave me a talking to."

"That's not what I was going to say," Raven stated with a huff.

"Oh...you sure? Cause then that would make me look like a jerk."

"Well, if it quacks like a duck, walks like a duck…"

"You know, one would think that I could relate to that saying more…but…"

"Whatever. Listen…you've been distracted, and I've been giving some thought to your situation."

Beastboy was pleasantly shocked.

"Oh yeah? Ok, let's hear it."

As was typical of Raven, Beastboy noticed, whenever she felt insecure about something she said, she tucked herself just a little deeper into her cloak, turning into a slightly smaller teepee.

"It's no major breakthrough, I was just thinking since you're feeling restless, why not take it out on something. Find an outlet," she said, casually (read: nervously) tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"An outlet? Like what?"

"What, I have to think of everything?"

"Vague advice is vague."

"Excuse me?"

"It means…what kind of an outlet did you have in mind?"

"Well not playing those dumb games. They only seem to make you more frustrated."

"So it may seem to the uneducated."

"Y'know…since you lose so frequently…"

"Ok, moving on now."

It was then, hypnotically, Raven, with a grunt, untucked her crossed legs to stretch them. Like carved marble, they emerged from her cloak, revealing themselves to Beastboy's hungry eyes.

She groaned as she extended them, entering a deeper stretch.

They curved. They glistened.

They were inviting.

They were perfection.

Her legs were tinged slightly pink at the knee, evoking warmth even from her pale skin. Alluring, they radiated even in the unflattering florescent light of the hallway. Beastboy's eyes ran the gambit of them.

He could feel his jaw creep open. He licked his fang.

He was deciding where to bite first when she spoke.

"I was thinking something…physical?" She innocently contributed.

His eyes snapped to hers. He tried to make them appear less crazed.

Physical?

"O-oh yeah? You mean…like…something to get the blood flowing?"

Regrettably, and fortunately, she brought her knees to her chest, returning to their haven under her cloak.

"You sure your head is ok? I'm getting some odd vibes from you."

His chest tightened.

"N-no, I'm ok, no problems." The nervous chuckle made it even more convincing.

She eyeballed him suspiciously, but continued. She could never really figure out what's going through his head anyway.

"Maybe some time in the gym would be good for you. I know Robin goes there all the time…whenever he isn't locked up in his evidence room anyway."

Beast Boy got up so fast it startled her. Startled as far as Raven gets startled—which amounts to a slightly raised eyebrow and a gentle flaring of her left nostril.

He spoke, making sure his back was to her.

"Y'know what? That's a great idea! I think I'll go right now!" he exclaimed.

Hastily, he took his leave. He had a slight waddle to his walk, she noticed.

It was never more than in this moment that Beastboy wished he wasn't always wearing spandex.

"Oooook. Nice talk?" Raven said, speaking to an empty hallway.

[Next Scene]

One. Two. Bam! Boom!

He delighted in the sting of his knuckles. Anything – anything -- to take his mind off what just happened.

Left. Right. Combination. Bam!

If it had been the feelings incidental to being a teenage boy, he wouldn't be so concerned. In fact, he was pretty sure if he talked to any other red-blooded teenage boy, they'd laugh and tell him to stop being such a wuss.

No, what he had felt was anything but normal.

It was primal.

His punches grew more intense, more hurried.

Left! Right! Hook! Hook! Uppercut!

The bag shook violently at his assault; each hit sent out a clear, crisp sound. Wack! Wack! Wack! Wack!

He wanted to absolutely dominate her. Right then. Right there. And what scared him…it excited him—deeply.

He thought he could force himself to work through these feelings, that he was handling things. It was how he always did things; it was how he lived.

Apparently, he was out of control; and everyone else could see it.

It was only himself that he was fooling.

More hits, each one louder than the last. The chain the bag hung from groaned. His fists were tinged red with abuse. He ignored it. In fact…

He was only growing angrier.

The hairs on his neck stoop up. He snarled his face.

Jab! Jab Jab! Jab Hook!

With a growl he pushed the bag. Foolishly, it returned to him; it was met with a fierce elbow. It buckled under the force.

"Not bad. Nice intensity."

Beastboy's blood ran cold. The reason for this surge of aggression walked into the room. His senses unconsciously detected him before he'd even realized.

The last person he wanted to see.

He turned to him, determined to keep a neutral face.

In between breathes he managed, "Hey Rob, didn't see you there."

"I'm supposed to be meeting Star here in a few. That's when I heard someone hitting the bag, and pretty hard. I've got to say, I didn't expect it to be you."

Robin approached him. Unwittingly, Beastboy's hands clenched. He prayed it went unnoticed by Robin, but he knew very little ever did.

Robin wasn't in his usual attire. He wore a pair of somewhat loose, black sweat pants and a form fitted black tank top that showed off a physique crafted from a life of hard work. He forwent his usual elbow length, green gloves for black, fingerless workout gloves. The mask, of course, remained.

"Meeting Star, huh? Going to get in a few…rounds?" Beastboy couldn't help but suggest. He could use any distraction.

The comment went ignored as Robin ran his gloved hands over the heavy bag. His gaze was intent on it. When he spoke, it was in a faraway voice.

"Yeah…good power, nice sound—clean and sharp. It's surprising."

There was an accusation there, Beastboy chose to ignore it.

"Well, I'm full of them."

A pause. Robin turned his gaze to him.

"To say the least."

Robin turned face to face to Beastboy. Their eyes met.

In the past, Beastboy would avert his eyes whenever their eyes met. It was one of his basic instincts. But now…

Beastboy's chest tightened. He made sure to steady his breathing, to keep his fists unclenched, to keep his nostrils from flaring. So he did what he always did in these situations.

He smiled.

"Do my handsomely elvish ears deceive me? Would that actually be a compliment I'm hearing?"

"It can be one, if you'd like. Really, though, it was more of an observation. I'm none too fond of surprises. I blame my pride as a detective."

"Well, don't sweat the details. No point in trying to figure everything— or everybody -- out. "

"True, but I believe one can never know too much either."

Robin sank into a basic fighting stance. It was one he taught to all of the Titans, green shape shifters included.

It was a declaration of war. All kinds of alarms went off in Beastboy's mind.

"Sounds pretty self-defeating to me," Beastboy concluded, trying to smooth things over.

"How about we find out what else I'm missing? Friendly spar?"

In recent memory, Beastboy could not recall hearing a worse idea. This includes the time he tried to create his own pair of 3D glasses out of used candy wrappers; it also includes what is now dubbed "The Great Stankball Incident." That one he doesn't talk about anymore, especially since they could never prove it was him.

"I can't remember you ever offering before," Beastboy noted.

"All the more reason then."

Every alarm, every cell, all brain function demanded he refuse this proposal.

"Sure, why not."

How easily his brain was overruled.

"Before we start, I wanted to ask you, anytime I have an intense session on the bag; I visualize someone I want to pummel. Slade, Red X, people like that." Robin added with a pause, "Who did you have in mind?"

Beastboy couldn't help the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"That's not really my style," he said. He gingerly sank into his fight pose.

"Hm." Robin acknowledged.

They stood but three feet apart, a distance that either could close in tenths of a second. But they stayed. Beastboy could feel the muscles in his legs coiling, ready at the slightest invitation. His eyes drank in his opponent.

Beastboy had to admit, Robin was impressive. He was calm, yet intimidating. If it was one thing that impressed him the most, it was Robin's fist. Though gloved, he could see years of power and technique beaten in them. Perfectly still, and slightly opened, the mark of a warrior. Also, his center of gravity was impeccable, expertly centered, giving him the freedom to respond in any direction; lending him the ability to control the full scope of his power, or that of his opponent.

His opponent, in this instance, was Beastboy. Robin had observed that the honed and refined qualities of his own stance were not found in Beastboy's.

Beastboy had the stance of an amateur. It seemed as if he were imitating the hero of a martial arts movie. It looked good to the observer, but unnatural, uncomfortable, like a suit you wore only for special occasions.

If any criminal or wanna-be martial artist had taken this stance, he would automatically write them off as a joke. After years of fighting real martial artists, real warriors, and after being trained by the best there is, he would know that they were nothing to take seriously.

Then why did Robin sense so much danger from him? He had to find out.

With a powerful kick from his weight bearing leg, he was upon Beastboy in an instant.

It was the opening strike.

It was the most important moment in any battle. Thousands and thousands of times, Batman drilled him in the art of the first strike. He had him run katas and patterns that left the balls of his feet bloodied and callused. He remembered the broken toenails he'd endured, or the nights Barbara would help him limp off to bed. Why? Because you had to be fast and you had to be fluid.

Fast—faster than the enemy…faster than everyone.

Fluid—so seamless it was as if you never moved at all.

Why? So you take the initiative, and take away any advantage they may have.

So you can stay alive.

This was no battle to the death. Beastboy was his teammate, and regardless whatever pressure he was feeling from him, he didn't want to hurt him. He made sure his strike was less powerful and less potent.

The eloquence and the speed of his attack caught Beastboy off-guard. Not the eloquence in of itself; not the speed in of itself. What dizzied him was that he could see it. He could see everything.

He missed nothing, not the ruffling of Robin's clothes, or the sway of his gelled hair. He could hear the leather stretch around his gloved fist.

Beastboy was entranced by it all. He barely had time to register what was happening when, out of reflex, he brought his forearm up to parry. It was a tick too late, and the punch grazed his cheek, causing him to stumble backwards.

Pressing the advantage, Robin tested the waters with a low kick.

Off-balance, Beastboy blocked it with his shin, the force of the block throwing him further off. Robin moved to follow up with two sharp right jabs.

Before Robin ever formed his fist, Beastboy could see the muscles tense in his forearm; he noted how the tight skin rippled. He saw the beginning signs of perspiration as the pores opened. He could hear him draw his breath to fuel the blow. He could see his nostrils flare and did not miss the slight pressure from his clenched jaw. It was all too much for him to process. He was also still staggering from his previous attack, still not quite in a position to respond.

He tried to think of what to do, but he was too distracted from all the information he was getting. It flooded his brain and disoriented him. He was being pressed, and he couldn't get a thought in edgewise.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He stopped thinking.

Still teetering on one leg, to avoid Robin's jab, he simply fell backwards. He then kicked his other leg straight out. Though not powerful, the unexpected move connected with Robin's midsection. The stiff appendage had enough force to stop Robin's momentum, repelling him a good distance away.

Beastboy stayed lying on the ground. He needed a second.

Robin was reeling from the blow. Not from pain, but from shock. He had expected Beastboy to put up a sloppy guard, or try to flip away somehow. He even thought he might morph out of the way reflexively; he had a reprimand prepared if he did. What Robin did not expect was an attack remarkably similar to a drunken master. It took years, decades, to master that discipline, much less use it effectively in battle. This had to be a coincidence, right?

Beastboy, for his part, was staring at the ceiling, replaying what had happened in his mind. Could he do that again if he even wanted to? He shook his head sharply to clear that thought away. He didn't do that because he wanted to, it happened because he let it happen. He wasn't sure why his senses were working in overdrive, but he knew it was too much to figure out now. So, maybe he should take a back seat, and see where this ride takes him.

"Shall we continue?" Robin insisted.

In his contemplations, Beastboy had been on his back for the better part of a minute—an eternity in any spar.

"Ready when you are dude."

Robin frowned at the provocation. Approaching someone lying flat on his back was a very disadvantageous position. To the inexperienced, it wouldn't seem so, but it severely limits your options in hand-to-hand combat. It is a fact that any seasoned warrior would know, but was Beastboy aware as well? It seemed unlikely, even still, Robin was taught to tread carefully.

Robin jumped high into the air. With a forward flip, he tumbled towards Beastboy's prone position, bringing his heel down in a well-executed axe kick. It was a strong attack, but he was sure Beastboy could avoid it; its purpose was only to force his hand.

Beastboy, for his part, resolved to do whatever felt natural to do.

So he closed his eyes.

In darkness, he could feel things he could not see. A curious sensation covered his body. It was like the feeling of gliding your hand over an old CRT television monitor just after you'd turn it off. There was a gentle static, a slightly repulsive force. His extremities tingled with it. The depth of his muscles surged with this force.

The moment Robin entered into this aura, Beastboy's body moved on its own.

With the grace of a break-dancer, Beastboy swept his leg in a windmill, avoiding the impact. In one fluid motion, balancing on his hands, he came full circle and swept Robin off his feet, he being unable to react in time. Robin's back had barely touched the ground when Beastboy, from a handstand, performed a split kick, attempting to assault Robin with his own heel strike.

Robin had no time to ponder this unorthodox counter, instead choosing to roll out of the way of the blow. He sprung up on the balls of his feet, just barely noticing from the corner of his eye Beastboy's fist upon his temple. He didn't have time to block or dodge. Reflexively, he rolled with the blow, sharply reducing the impact, but not without some damage.

Following the momentum, he spun around and attacked with the back of his fist, only to strike the air. Beastboy had crouched low, unnaturally low by Robin's standards, to avoid the attack. Robin's mind simulated what would happen next. Preemptively, he steeled himself for a rising uppercut. From that position, he also knew it was possible to throw out a vicious spinning roundhouse, from which he was prepared to dodge. Robin strongly contracted his core for any body blows Beastboy might dish out, ready to send a strong cross-counter in return.

Sadly, none of that happened. What did happen was far outside Robin's expectations.

Beastboy jumped up in a backflip, and at the same time tucked himself tightly in a ball. For a moment, he seemed to hover before Robin's wide-eyed mask. As his feet came around in his spin, Robin's mind shot violently awake.

This was not good.

However, Robin was the protégé of Batman. He was leader of Teen Titans for a reason. That he has lived this long doing what he does was not a fluke.

What happened next was a performance.

Like a bullet, Beastboy shot both feet out, his body fully reclined in mid-air.

Robin flowed around his legs, avoiding the thrust by a fraction of an inch. His strong hands clasped tightly around Beastboy's ankles. Beastboy could not help but exclaim in his shock. Without missing a beat, Robin jerked Beastboy's body into a circle throw.

"Raaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Robin grunted as he spun him around and around and around.

The blood was just starting to rush to Beastboy's head when Robin released him into the air, powerfully and recklessly.

Beastboy tried to right himself, feeling his body automatically orient itself to the ground, but didn't have the chance. His back painfully struck the heavy bag he had been pummeling only moments before. He managed to land sloppily on one knee, his breathing labored from the ordeal.

Robin's breathing too was labored, having exerted much effort to throw his surprisingly heavy teammate.

Then, there was a small ceasefire. The only sounds heard in the gymnasium were their breathing, and the cacophonous sound of the swinging heavy bag chain.

Creak.

Creak.

Creak.

Beastboy rose to his feet. In an overly casual manner, he walked over and stood but three feet in front of Robin. Looking into his eyes, Robin could see this was not over.

Robin assumed his stance. It was not the same as he had used at the onset. It was different, but one Beastboy was familiar with. It was the stance he took when he fought seriously.

Robin's rear leg was bent supporting his weight. His forward leg perched only on the ball of his foot. His left fist was tucked closely to his side, to defend against attack. His right hand was open palmed, ready to intercept.

It was the stance of a man.

This time, Beastboy didn't use the basic fighting stance that Robin had taught all Titans. He crouched down, his head descended well below his waist. His feet were wider than his shoulders, and one tense hand was placed far in front of him—he was balanced on three points. His free hand hovered just under his chest, his palm open and upward in a claw. His eyes peered up to his opponent.

It was the stance of an animal.

Creak.

Creak.

Creak.

The chain was beginning to slow down. Without confirmation, the combatants knew that when it stopped, the battle would wage on.

Gradually, it slowed.

Creak…

…Creak…

..Cre..

"FRIENDS!"

Both fighters jerked from the interruption.

"How glorious! Is Beastboy to join us in our training? I hadn't known!" Starfire gleefully said.

When exactly she had entered the room, neither could tell; nor did either of them move to respond to the orange visitor.

Instinctively, Beastboy knew if he didn't back down, neither would Robin. However, the same instincts told him to back down first would be an unforgivable show of weakness. Though he had relied on them in the fight, Beastboy resolved he was more than just instinct.

Claws he wasn't aware had made an appearance sheathed; he relaxed his shoulders with a large exhale and stood. It wasn't until he was fully upright did he see Robin follow suit, the cautious man that he was.

Their eyes never left each other.

"No Star, I was just leaving."

"Oh, I wish you would stay. As they say, 'the more, the more merry,' yes?" Starfire pleaded.

Beastboy snorted in good-humor. He, being fond of her peculiar speech, turned to reply, but his words hitched in his throat.

Starfire was never one to be called modest. Over the years, he'd come to understand Tameranean culture was free-spirited and relaxed on the subject of clothing and decency. When they had just formed as a team, it wasn't strange to see her saunter the halls in nothing but a clingy wet towel. So in comparison to outright nudity, her form fitted workout ensemble was steps above in social acceptability.

Her pink leggings were low-cut and, because of their see-through nature, tinged orange at the most…convex places. She wore a matching sports bra that both supported and…lifted. She had her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, held in place by an adorable, oversized, pink polka-dot scrunchy; her feet were also adorned by complementing cross-training sneakers.

Beastboy could not help but to raise an eyebrow.

"So, uh, what kind of training was it?" Beastboy ventured.

"Boyfriend Robin will be tutoring me in the martial art of grappling. He has informed me I rely much on my strength and blows and that I should be doing the 'rounding out.'"

Robin had the decency to clear his throat.

"Friend Beastboy, are you certain you will not be joining us?"

Beastboy was suddenly faced with a moral dilemma. A powerful urge attacked his better reasoning. He thought of rubbing all over Starfire's comely frame, under the façade of "training," to rub away Robin's mark from her. He would rub his smell right off; he could erase his claim to her. Then he would be her owner, and she would be his. The idea was intoxicating.

And it scared him to death.

"No, you two kids have fun," Beastboy stated dismissively. He made his way to the door and added, "And do try to keep things above board, will you?" Then he left, and no one but he knew the storm of doubt waging within him.

"Robin?" Starfire started, "is all well between you and friend Beastboy?"

Robin then turned his full attention to Starfire. He hadn't realized he'd stared at the door, though Beastboy had been long gone.

"Sure, everything is fine. What makes you think otherwise?"

"It is unusual to see both of you engaged in combat. Certainly, it is very odd."

"Just a friendly spar," he replied, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Winsomely, she bit her lip and cast her eyes down with uncertainty.

"I must confess… it is not solely the 'friend spar' that concerns me. I entered shortly after the last confrontation. The way I saw you stare each other down…it did not look to be two friends recreating in sportsmanship."

"What then?" Robin asked with a grim expression. Her green eyes, filled with concern, bore into his.

"It appeared to be two warriors engaged in combat."

Two warriors? Robin, of course, considered himself a warrior—he'd proven it. Beastboy had amply proven himself a hero…but a warrior? That remained to be seen. But could he be one?

"Don't worry Star. I admit, things got…intense, but we're no worse for wear. Everything is fine," Robin soothed her.

"Oh, are you certain?"

He kissed her cheek in a show of affection. Starfire beamed at the attention.

"I'm sure."

For the moment, this put her at ease. Robin's mind, however, was fully engaged.

Beastboy…a warrior? Admittedly, he had surprised him more than once in their engagement. He had exhibited prowess he hadn't seen in him before. But a warrior? If there was something there, it could be worth it to find out.

Indeed, Robin fully intended to find out.

[End Scene]

Time until explosion: 1 year, 11 months, 16 days