never too late.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Titans (Animated Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Garfield Logan/Tara Markov, Beast Boy/Terra Characters: Garfield Logan, Tara Markov Additional Tags: Apologies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Rain, Post-Episode: s05e13 Things Change, Love Confessions, Angst with a Happy Ending, Promises, Reconciliation

Summary:

The sound is hard to name. A gasping, stuttering cross between an inhale and a whimper as the mask finally slips free from Tara’s face and shatters across the darkened concrete at their feet.

She sinks to her knees. Gar follows her.

Chapter 2 of 3(?)

So Tara gets better.

She learns Kodi's tricks, all the little things that add up to much bigger things, like his crying fading faster. And he lies heavy in her arms like he doesn't fit, like she and he can't quite get their pieces to match, but he's not crying. At least he's not crying.

Tara buys things like vegetables, and jars of spaghetti sauce, and books with names like Cooking for Morons, and hey. Turns out she's not so useless in the kitchen. It's not terrible, anyway, and it's something she can try to coax Jinx to eat.

…Her chest just hurts. When Tara looks at her, it's all right there, crowding up the space in her head. The black morass of messing up, thick on her tongue. Aching in the hollow behind her sternum.

But it's Jinx's right, isn't it? The distance? If that's what she wants, then she's… then Tara will…

God, she never thought it would be like this.

Chapter 1 of 2

Hushed breath in the warm hollow of their bed, tracing hands. Tara's knuckles brush against the curve of Jinx's belly, over tight skin as she reaches for her hip. Jinx pulls her closer, cupping the back of Tara's neck. Bottom lip between poignant teeth.

Tara's left gasping, always left gasping, her heart pounding under an open palm.

Jinx traces her cheek. Tara slides her hand down, between thighs gripping her knee. Jinx's hold on her neck tightens.

It's like being handed your favorite soda without knowing it's a new flavor. It's like ordering that dish at the restaurant only it's spicy, all of the sudden, like walking into your room but someone put strange new posters all over the walls and you can't figure out how to look away.

Tara's seen the files. Robin's files. She's studied and reviewed and pored over them, up at night when she can't sleep, during the day when everyone's out. Every villain in the Titans' rogue gallery, burned into her head.

So, the HIVE Five. Tara's fought them, she's fought all of them, but not together. Not as a team, she…

…she wasn't around for that.

But she knows that they formed after the Titans took down Brother Blood and watched HIVE fall with him. Mammoth, Gizmo, See-More, Private HIVE, with Jinx as a sort of battlefield leader, banded together in response. A sort of anti-Titans, kicking over trash cans and robbing whatever stores caught their fancy. Then Private HIVE left, for reasons not in the file. Kyd and Billy joined. HIVE Five only in name, now, for a few months.

Until Jinx left.

Some guy named Kid Flash showed up, there was this whole mess with the Brotherhood of Evil, Tara still doesn't really get it, and for a while Jinx was something in between definitions. But the point was, she left. She wasn't with the HIVE Five anymore.

Her hair is longer, now, shaved in this punk-looking haircut where one side of it is short and the other doesn't quite touch her shoulder. She's wearing eyeliner. Her top is just as much buckles and leather as it is fabric. Her skirt is black, purple, and red.

The HIVE Five went on without Jinx for a few months, dropping from B-listers to D. Then they just… dissolved. The files note Mammoth in Montana, See-More in Texas, Gizmo in Tennessee, Billy in Mississippi, and Kyd god knows where, all doing their own thing. And that's it. That's where the records end.

But one of the Billies is hollering and tossing his arms around See-More's neck from behind, and See-More is pushing him away with a laugh the way you would a hyper dog, almost affectionate. Mammoth scoops up a dresser and Jinx says something, already walking ahead and spinning to shoot them all a grin, teeth flashing in the streetlights, and everybody scoops up their steal like it's a Sunday evening and they're on a nice walk. All swagger and ease, moving as one pack with heavy footsteps and clacking spider suit and a dozen identical strides and black black boots clicking against the pavement. Mammoth sets the dresser on his shoulder. His words come out an inaudible rumble. Gizmo squawks back, indignant. Tara's hands are shaking.

They're coming her way and she flattens her back against the wall, inching deeper into the alley, her breath catching in her chest.

She holds it between her ribs. They pass close enough to hit her with a club of strong cologne, something floral, and Axe body spray.

Long, long seconds. Fading footsteps until finally Tara inhales, fighting to muffle her coughs. Forcing her shoulders to straighten, she watches the police pull up, a minute later. A barrel-chested man stumbles out of his car to gape at the razed ground.

They're back. The HIVE Five is— just like that, they're back. New and improved. Updated. Already back to their regular programming of chaos, damage, and theft, but they…

The police officers are panning flashlights across leveled concrete with open mouths. There's this saying, Tara can't remember where she heard it. But it's something like not leaving one stone sitting on top of another. Scorched earth.

A rock from the wall jabs insistently between Tara's shoulder blades. If she closes her eyes, she swears she can still find the flowery scent. It's similar to what Jinx used to wear, but stronger, with an almost orange-y tone… Gardenia. Tara thinks it's gardenia.

They're not quite friends. Or— weren't, anyway. They didn't know each other that long, or that well, but they met at this thing that happened near the… end of Tara's time with the Titans. Some sort of tournament, or something, and she was there, and Starfire, and Raven. And Jinx. And they had each other, right, the three Titans, but apparently it was a girl's only event and all Jinx's HIVE friends were guys.

Starfire whispered this to Tara as Jinx eyed the group and lifted her chin. Arms folded and toe tapping like this really wasn't worth her time. Like she wasn't scared.

They all accepted the challenge. May the best heroine (or villain) win.

Starfire went easy on Jinx the first round, and maybe she shouldn't have, because she got her butt handed to her. Collapsing column right as she was flying by. Raven was ticked. Tara was watching Jinx's shoulders relax, just a touch. Raven and Tara both won their rounds, Raven against some telepathic redhead and Tara against a girl with water powers.

Tara buried her.

At the time, Tara thought she was just upset over Star, but Raven kept insisting something wasn't right. Even though their quarters for the night had hot tubs. And room service.

Tara followed Raven into the dim halls anyway. That's what you do for your teammates. Skip sleep and food and wander the flickering, half-lit black.

Right?

They split up at a fork, and it turned out they weren't the only ones investigating. Or so Jinx said. Her eyes glowed eerily in the dark.

Tara shouldn't have let her come along, or turned her back, though, because the second she did the ceiling was caving in. A shield of rock shot out of the floor to protect Tara. By the time she crawled out, the hall was extending unnaturally long in both directions, and Jinx was twisting glances over her shoulders like she expected some third party ambush.

"I was going to give you the night to rest." The Master of Games chuckled, unseen, his voice echoing slightly. "But if you're so eager to get started, then let's. Round two: Terra versus Jinx."

Their eyes met. Jinx grinned. Tara was momentarily distracted by a set of very sharp, very white fangs, before the floor was buckling underneath her and she had to dive for solid ground.

Her heart pounded as Tara shoved back to her feet, but she was smiling too, now. Cement, brick, concrete, on her left, and right, and under her feet. Rock. It was all rock.

Two could play at that game.

They tore the hall to shreds between them, smashed all the lights in a musical shower of glass. Tara had to use the golden glow of her own powers just to see three feet in front of her.

She almost tripped over Raven's cloak.

"Wait!" Tara jerked her head up in time to see a streak of neon pink coming at her. She flung up a wall. "Wait, there's something wrong! Raven—"

In a flare of light, Jinx spun and struck the wall with the edge of her hand, hitting a weak point that wasn't there seconds before. Pebbles and rubble went flying.

"Jinx, come on, I—" Tara stumbled back, ducking a kick aimed at her neck. Her footing slipped and she fell on her butt. "Listen to me! We need to—"

Jinx wasn't listening, she was advancing like a tiger on its prey. And look, Tara didn't really know anything, not about this place and not about Jinx, but she knew Starfire and Raven were in trouble. She knew she had to get back to the Tower soon, or Slade would come looking. And she knew that her chances of getting out of this situation alone weren't great. So Tara did the only thing she could think of.

Tara flung out a hand and the ground rippled like a stone tossed in the pond. In that split second, while Jinx was focused on keeping her balance, arms out and attention on her feet, Tara sprung up. And pinned Jinx to the wall.

"Hey." They were close. Close enough for Tara to see Jinx's wary pupils, blown wide with dim light and surprise. Close enough for Tara's low voice to just fill the slim space between them. "Listen. I need your help."

"Why would I help you?" Gaze flicking to where Tara's hands gripped her wrists.

Tara was suddenly very aware of Jinx's heartbeat under her palms and she jerked her hands free. They hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment before Tara stuffed them in her pockets. "Because call me crazy, but I don't think this Master of Games is going to give any of us a new car."

"You're kidding. No gold or jewels? No riches beyond belief?" Jinx rubbed the skin just below her sleeves and a pang of fear shot through Tara. Did she hurt her? No, focus, focus.

"Raven wouldn't be caught dead out of the Tower without her cloak." Tara tossed a glance over her shoulder, where the deep blue fabric lay crumpled. Dread crept slowly up her neck. "Something's wrong."

"What have we here?" the sourceless voice boomed. "Stopping for a chit-chat? Sorry, ladies. There are no timeouts in this tournament."

With a roar, the floor cracked beneath them, dividing into rocky, circular platforms. The platforms drifted apart from each other as the walls and ceiling swept back, revealing a steaming sea of lava beneath their feet.

Jinx's eyes met Tara's, across the bubbling magma. She nodded, just barely, and Tara wound her fingers into fists. Good. They were doing this. Okay, they just had to find a way out of…

Twirling on her heel, Jinx faced their original direction from when this place was still a hallway, and took off.

Tara fumbled to follow, feet dangerously clumsy as she leapt from platform to platform. "Wait, what are you—?"

"Try to keep up, Titan." Jinx tossed in a cartwheel, her feet launching from one rock and her hands landing on the next like it was nothing. Like they were chasing each other around the playground.

"It doesn't—" Tara dodged an honest-to-God fireball leaping up out of the lava. Good grief, was this Super fucking Mario?? "The arenas aren't attached to the main hall, we can't just go from here to—"

Jinx's boots skid on the blackened rock as she whipped around. "Give me a boost."

Tara finally landed next to her, head reeling along with her balance. "Give you a—"

"Ladies. I'm not seeing much fighting going on here. It looks more like teamwork."

Flickering orange danced in the blacks of Jinx's eyes, reflected. "You're not very good at following orders, are you? Get me up high."

Following orders.

Hands and staff and low voice.

"Terra."

…

"Can you do something for me?"

Tara jerked her head and shoved her open palms against the rock beneath her. She'd show Jinx following orders.

With a groaning rumble, the slab tore free from the smoldering lava current beneath it. Tara and Jinx soared toward the ceiling, hot wind whipping at their faces.

From her position on one knee, teeth gritted and anger pounding in her pulse, Tara almost missed the moment Jinx reached up and the world around them shattered under her electric touch.

A blink and they are falling, tumbling and spilling across the floor of the white marble hall.

"And neither of you are very good at following rules," The Master of Games said, low and threatening.

Tara scrambled to her feet. On her right, Jinx smiled.

"We really aren't."

It wasn't a long battle. The Master of Games had taken the powers of the defeated contestants, as well as Raven's, which would normally be a massive freakin' problem. But Tara and Jinx proved to be a really… unstable combination.

Water pipes breaking to spray him in the face, wires snapping and shedding sparks. Stone columns punching out of the ground and rocketing down from the ceiling. The entire structure shook, and shattered, and collapsed around them in patterns of convenience, like the whole place was a symphony Tara and Jinx were free to conduct however they liked.

The Master of Games didn't really stand a chance.

The match ended with him on his knees, shuddering with electricity. He didn't even look up when Jinx approached him. She snatched the gem off his neck and crushed it under the heel of her boot.

Raven and Starfire materialized on the far side of the room, and a heady wave of relief washed over Tara, putting out her fears.

"Uh…" Raven's eyebrows almost disappeared beneath her hood as she and Starfire gaped at Jinx and Tara standing beneath the sopping, sparking wreck of what was once a really nice hall.

Jinx swept the gem off the floor. It was somehow still intact despite shedding all its prisoners, and she shoved it against Tara's chest. "Don't get the wrong idea, newbie. This isn't how I normally do things."

Tara took the gem, reflexively. "Thanks."

"It's just being held prisoner in some loony tournament isn't my idea of a good time."

"Right."

Jinx's eyes flicked to Tara's, then away across the hall. "Are you going to beam us out of this dump or not?"

"Sure." Tara let her eyes flutter closed. She'd never held anything magic or powered before, but the gem seemed to know what it was doing all on its own.

When she opened her eyes again, Tara was back in the Tower, boots sinking into the red plush carpet. Raven was staring at her like she'd grown another head, Starfire was already peppering her with questions, and the boys hovered in the background watching them with comically wide eyes.

And Jinx was gone.

It didn't make any sense to Tara, when she read about it. That some guy showed up and Jinx just… left. It still doesn't. Tara pictures the hunted tension in Jinx's shoulders when she realized she was alone at the tournament. The easy way she and Tara moved in tandem against the Master of Games. The way Jinx smiled and narrowed her eyes when she called a battlefield maneuver. And just now, she— she looked happy, with the HIVE Five. Didn't she?

It's beast boy's turn!

The world fractures. The solitary, brief moment stretches like putty into a plural of humid, dragging seconds as dread locks fingers around Jinx's spine.

No.

She stares down at the sky, past their feet dangling in the coaster car. It's neon pink, clear, not a cloud in sight. It's also traced in jagged lines, a mess of shattered pottery. Jinx cranes her neck to watch the ground, looming and twisting closer as time slams back into place and they fly forward, ever forward.

The coaster exits the loop and pain blooms in the back of Jinx's skull, pooling like a bloodstain, and she grits her teeth, closing her eyes.

No. Not here, not now. No.

Jinx opens her eyes. They are sideways. Tara's hair whips across both their faces. She screams, hands in the air, and the moment it takes to register that it's thrill, not fear, could stop a heart.

Not here. There is so much that could go wrong. Every structural support groans with potential disaster. There is so little Jinx can do. The sky is broken. The tracks are interrupted.

Not now.

Jinx closes her eyes and draws in a breath.

With a jolt, the coaster shudders around a final curve and slows. The loading bay slides into view, and Jinx almost breathes out. Instead, she keeps her knuckles wrapped around the handles on her lap restraint and mentally flips through the handful of things that could still go wrong. The ride isn't over yet. There's still the attendant, standing with hip cocked at the controls. The kids in line leaning against the gates. The tracks.

"Jinx?" Tara shoves her hair from her face, grin faltering. "Hey, are- are you okay?"

A whoosh of air washes over them as the coaster slides into the station. The clamor of gears, of brakes releasing and people talking envelops them. A click. The lap bars release.

Jinx stands. The world tilts. She curls her nails into her palms and strides robotically to the exit. The pink pulse of neon disaster drags behind her, catching at her shoulders as Tara snatches her backpack and jogs to catch up. "Hey, what's-"

Shades of pink flare. The exit gate swings wide onto a walkway quickly melting. Hordes of faces crumble, smiles breaking into pieces. The little hairs at the back of Jinx's neck lift. She is too close to the ride.

The soft tang of electricity settles on her tongue. It's the millisecond before a lightning strike. Jinx is lucky, until she isn't.

She grabs Tara's wrist and she runs.

The restroom door slams against the wall, someone jumps out of their way, and Jinx's knees hit cold tile. She throws up. The stall door jerks open and closed again and Tara is at her side. She pulls back Jinx's hair, fingers cool on her neck. Then leaning, she reaches behind them and the stall lock clicks quietly into place.

It's horrible. It's always horrible, and it should be that much worse to have a witness. To be seen brought low to the public restroom floor, gripping the toilet. To be seen by Tara, of all people, her palm worried between Jinx's shoulders. But through the acid, and the blaring pink, cuts cool relief. If Tara is here, holding Jinx's hair at the back of her head, then she is not out there, standing near, or under, or riding on top of tons of twisted steel. Other people are. But not Tara.

It should be small. Please let this one be small.

It takes being empty, forcing her breath as if through a straw, for the pink to fade. For the pain to drip toward the back of Jinx's skull like water down a drain.

"Just breathe," Tara whispers next to her ear. "It's okay. You're okay," she's saying, but her eyes aren't sure. Whether it's perception, or just fear, Tara is not looking at Jinx like she got sick on a roller coaster. Tara's looking at her like something is really wrong.

It could have been.

Jinx drops her forehead to the toilet rim. Disgusting. She's already so gross. "Karmic backlash."

Tara's hand stops. "What?"

"You screw with luck and luck screws with you. I-" A leftover wave of nausea grips Jinx's world. She squeezes her eyes shut and Tara drops a hand to her waist. Through the haze, Tara's touch feels almost... protective.

"Is something going to happen?"

"Not anymore." Jinx starts to shake her head. The room spins and she grits her teeth. Irritation creeps into the space left behind by pain. The actual backlash is over, this is just the crummy aftermath. Which has no right to linger when she's thrown up everything that could possibly be in her system. "You have to be kidding-"

When the dry heaves are finally over and her stomach stops trying to wrench itself inside out, Jinx sits back and realizes her whole body is trembling. Her clothes are soaked in sweat. They're sitting on a sticky bathroom floor and Tara just watched her throw up. Multiple times. Mortification burns red-hot down Jinx's spine and she plants a hand on Tara's shoulder, ready to tell her to go.

Tara kisses her head. She pushes Jinx's damp bangs back from her forehead and presses another kiss to her temple. "I'm sorry..."

Jinx swallows then wishes she hadn't. Her face burns as she clears her throat. "You shouldn't apologize for things you didn't do."

Tara shrugs a shoulder. Her body is curled around Jinx's. Even here, even now, she leans in. Jinx's heart beats fast.

"Luck is like guitar strings and I've broken them, before." Jinx's voice comes from somewhere else, maybe thirty seconds in the future when she's a bit more conscious. "I pull them one direction, and things go my way. So I keep pulling. The farther I pull, the more the tension to snap back the other direction grows." She thinks Tara is holding her breath. "I tempt fate and it bites like a rattlesnake."

"Are you okay?" Tara whispers, breath warm on Jinx's cheek. "I mean- Does it hurt? Are you still...?" Her thumb sweeps this little repeating arc over Jinx's arm. She's 90% sure Tara isn't even aware of it.

"I'm fine." Jinx closes her eyes. She opens them. Thin, snaking pink lines traverse the roof. The plumbing. The map of Jinx's skin. The cracks do not widen. Nothing glows. "Everything is fine." Disaster averted, quite literally. This time.

Tara nods slowly. It's not much of an explanation. She doesn't push. Instead, she tucjs her hair behind her ear and drags the backpack into her lap. "Water?"

"...Yes."

Tara hands it to Jinx. Then she hesitates. Her fingertip lifts to Jinx's cheekbone. "This- This happens to you a lot."

Jinx traces the stickers on Tara's water bottle. "I wouldn't say a lot." It's if she tries to prevent the disaster, anyhow. Like jumping in front of a bloody train.

"And you... don't tell anyone."

"Why would I?"

"Jinx..."

Jinx tilts her head and takes a sip. "Yes?"

She expected a scolding. Disappointment, at least. Not Tara setting her head on Jinx's shoulder and wrapping her arms around her waist. "Thanks for telling me."

"I-" Jinx touches Tara's hair. Messy and soft. "Of course."

"You feel better, right?" Her grip goes lax. "Frick, is this too- ?"

"Stoppp." Jinx pushes Tara away. "I'm fine, it's an occasional and annoying side effect of being able to whatever I want all the time. Worth it, if you ask me." She rolls her eyes. "I'll feel three times better once we get out of here."

Tara leaps to her feet, grabbing the door latch.

"Wait!"

She pauses, watching as Jinx smoothes her shirt and fixes her hair. "You look amazing." Tara's eyes are ridiculously blue and her smile is crooked and Jinx rolls her eyes again, harder.

"Do not lie to me, Markov." She flicks Tara's arm on the way past and Tara ducks to kiss her shoulder. They both ignore the lady with painted eyebrows who stares at them in the mirror with horror and confusion as they walk by.

Outside, Tara bursts out laughing. "Did you see her face??"

"Maybe she's mad because we didn't wash our hands." Jinx fishes a stick of gum out of Tara's pocket.

"'Harold, they're lesbians!'"

"I think you should win me something."

Tara looks at her solemnly. "Whatever the fuck you want. What do you want?"

"Well, what are you good at?"

"Not baseball." Tara winces, rolling her shoulder. "Or anything where you throw a ball, really."

"Hm." Jinx tips her head to a booth set up around a tower, target, and a comically oversized mallet. "How strong did you say you were?"

Tara flicks deepwater blue eyes from Jinx to the game. Her smile skips several heartbeats. "No clue. Wanna find out?"

"Let's." Jinx slips past Tara and sets a dollar on the counter.

The booth manager gestures grandly to the mallet. "Step right up!"

Jinx mimics the gesture, and Tara laughs softly.

Her long fingers wrap comfortably around the handle, lifting the mallet to her shoulder. She scuffs at the ground with a dirty sneaker, then sets her feet.

Jinx takes her in. Head to toe, every line of Tara's frame speaks to lean power. She holds her head like a hero. Jinx lifts her fingers to her lips and lets out a long whistle, the kind that makes Tara jerk her head up and send Jinx the look. The 'oh my gosh not in public' flattered and flushing look.

"Encouragement," Jinx calls, leaning up against a neighboring booth.

"Riiiight." Tara ducks her head back to the game, ears still red and a smile tugging on her lips. She takes a couple practice swings. Rolls her shoulders.

The man at the booth is trying not to roll his eyes.

Jinx is constructing a snarky comment to put him in his place when Tara winds up and drops the mallet.

Well.

Jinx will just let the bell at the top speak for them. It chimes high and clear and final, and there is pride in Tara's shoulders, and Jinx takes note.

It's a good day. Thank god it's a good day.

"The answer?" Jinx loops her arm through Tara's, squeezing her bicep. "Off the charts."

Grinning and ducking her head, Tara looks everywhere but at Jinx. "Kory could do better. And Vic, or honestly, even Vic."

Jinx captures her gaze. "I don't care."

Tara's blinks quickly.

The booth manager props his elbows on the table. "What would you ladies like?"

"Hm..." Jinx makes a show of studying the options, her hands on her hips. Plushies, inflatables, and motorized toys blur together. They're the last thing on her mind. She's too busy being so very aware of Tara standing just behind her. "Winner's choice."

"Uh..." The gravel crunches softly as Tara steps forward. Her chin rests on the top of Jinx's head, leaving Jinx fighting a smile. Tara is exactly the right height for this. Their bodies fit like the bars in a lock. "I like the giant snake."

"You would."

"Do you want something else?"

Jinx leans back into her. "Just you."

Tara's hand tightens on Jinx's hip. "Uh, we'll take the snake."

~~~

The music is low, reedy violins, and Tara tastes like cotton candy and sweat. Jinx drops a kiss below her collar and Tara takes in a sharp breath.

"For the record, this is sappy." Letting her head fall back to the seat, Jinx lifts her eyebrows at Tara. She takes a moment to notice the level of tension in Tara's shoulders. Whether there's hesitation in her body language, as she straddles Jinx on her hands and knees.

Tara smiles, eyes a little distant. "I mean, these things are supposed to be." She lifts her head, gaze wandering over the sea of pink, white, and red decorations. "Nobody actually comes here for the ride."

"Take many girls down the Tunnel of Love, heartbreaker?"

Tara looks down at her. "No... Just- just one."

How... How is she supposed to respond to that? How is Jinx supposed to say anything at all when Tara holds her hair back, and kisses her forehead when she's all gross, and pretends that the extra water bottle clipped to her bag is there for no reason in particular, certainly not for her girlfriend who can go entire days without drinking anything.

What is Jinx supposed to do? What is she supposed to say? She's running out of ways to play this casually.

...She's running out of reasons to want to.

Jinx threads her hands in Tara's hair and tugs her down. A muffled sound of surprise escapes between their mouths, but Tara moves a hand to Jinx's waist. Her touch is warm, her fingers long and sure in the way that makes everything they do look sexy, but Jinx wants more than that. More than catcalls and clothes on the floor.

She breaks off the kiss. Tara laughs, forever a fan of her impulsiveness. The sound dies out as Jinx pulls her in again. But not for a kiss.

Time slows and Tara holds very, very still as Jinx holds her head to her heart.

The heart-shaped boat bobs around a curve in the heart-shaped path, gliding under a heart-shaped arch. The violins croon. Jinx has forgotten how to breathe.

This is horribly uncomfortably, she can feel her face getting redder by the second, and why on earth did she do that?

The boat bumps the edge of its narrow channel and they both jump, and that settles it. Jinx is out of her mind. Why couldn't they just swap shirts like normal people? She loosens her hand from Tara's hair.

Except that as she does so, the boat settles back into its normal path and so does Tara. It's instant. In one moment her shoulders drop, muscles melting like golden honey into Jinx. She winds her arms around Jinx's waist and, turning her head just slightly, touches a kiss to the notch between Jinx's collarbones.

Tara is impossibly warm. Jinx's head swims. She counts four more turns. The music fades and the light begins to change, and as they sit up, Tara smiles almost shyly and there is something suddenly very wrong with Jinx's insides.

They step into sunlight. They're holding hands, and they're wearing the same clothes they were when they got on, but Tara is all over Jinx. Her breath covers Jinx's skin, her smile is in her bones, and Jinx can still taste the way Tara's hands slid over her curves.

She did this.

Jinx is flushed, hair splayed electric pink against the white pillowcase, in the dim of the room, and she's laughing, fangs out. Laughing. Tara made- Tara made her laugh.

Laughing, so it must not have hurt, so she must not be upset, so Tara must be doing things okay-

Tangling her arms behind Tara's neck, Jinx pulls her close. Warm chest to warm chest. The heat rushes straight up to Tara's ears.

"You're marvelous." Jinx kisses the tip of her ear and tugs on it, just once, with her teeth. "Penny for your thoughts."

"You're good? Are you- you're doing good?"

Laughing again. It's short and so- just so full of happiness, like she's really at ease here, like she's having a good time and maybe there's nowhere she'd rather be? "You're checking in on me? Sexy. And sweet."

That shouldn't make her choke the way it does, but it does. This isn't Tara's first time, not at all, but it's her first time with her, and she just wants to... it should be... Is she doing this right?

"The real question is..." Tucking Tara's hair behind her ear, Jinx settles back against the pillow to look at her. "How are you?"

Tara's heart drops. She's doing something wrong. Something tipped Jinx off, something's making her think... "Great! I- No, this is- It's great. I'm having a great time. Here. With you. Did you-?"

Jinx grips her hips firmly, fingers spread, and fear flashes in Tara's throat but then Jinx rolls them over and Tara's shoulder hits the bed. The mattress bounces slightly. It's like wrestling, that was like when she and Kory tussle on the living room carpet except... except she and Jinx have very minimal clothes on (is Tara supposed to take those off? She thinks she's supposed to take those off.) And they're in bed. And it's completely different, actually, that was a horrible analogy, but what would it be like to wrestle Jinx, sometime...?

Jinx shifts closer and Tara stiffens, ready.

But she just tucks an arm under the pillow and lifts her eyebrows at Tara. They're lying eye to eye. "Pillow talk." She smiles and it's so gentle it hurts, it might as well be those sharp teeth to Tara's carotid. "Did you like that?"

"I- Yeah."

"Do you have any idea how pretty you are?"

Are there right answers? "I- Probably not?"

There. There, she's... laughing again. That's good. That, above all else, has to mean everything's been good enough up to this point. That it's okay. "I like you. A lot. And the answer is no, you have no idea how pretty you are."

Jinx taps Tara's nose. Tara blinks. "Is it- Wait, how much?"

"Hm, what units do they use for attractiveness? Let me think..."

"No, the-" Tara catches her breath. Should it be this hard to breathe, right now? She's not used to feeling this way, but she's never done anything like this with a girl before. This is... she's not sure how it's supposed to feel. "The liking. You said a lot? It's a lot?"

She shouldn't have asked that. Why did she ask that? Because now the teasing, and the smirk playing at Jinx's lips are gone, and she is watching Tara with beautiful, serious eyes.

"I like your smile," Jinx says softly. "And the dirt under your nails. And the way you squint half the summer because your sunglasses never last more than a week."

Her fingertips are tracing Tara's wrist, slow circles. Tara wants to cry.

"I like you too," she manages.

"Is it too soon? Did we rush this?" Jinx searches her face. "I feel badly that you didn't know how I felt yet. Tara, I would never sleep with you..." Hand on Tara's low back, stealing her breath, but she forces herself to inhale. To let the warmth slow her racing heart. "...If I didn't care about you. Deeply."

"I know that." She didn't know that. "I- I'm the same, actually." She isn't. "So, it's fine? I did okay?"

Jinx is looking at Tara like she can't quite figure her out, and hell is she pretty, furrowed brows and careful eyes and locks of loose hair that don't quite curl, and it's all a color that makes Tara feel like she has a fever. Like she could touch the tip of her tongue to Jinx's eyelashes and taste bubblegum candy.

"I liked it," Tara says. "Let's do it again."

And it takes earnest eye contact, the right jokes, and exactly the right words, but finally Jinx rolls over her and runs light, testing kisses along Tara's neck.

Tara closes her eyes. And now she's the one laughing, relief flooding her head, her hands moving with confidence and direction now.

If she's on the bottom, it's so much easier, so much more okay. She's not hurting her, then, Jinx wants it and she's leading and Tara isn't doing something wrong because if she did Jinx would just get off. Lean back. Push Tara away. Leave.

Tara presses her palms into the hallows of Jinx's curves and closes her eyes, tilting her head to take the kiss.

Tara stops at the kitchen threshold, the book folded in her hand and her chest under thin t-shirt breathing hard through fierce lungs, fierce wonder. She looks upon god, bathed in late morning sunlight, pursing her lips and bowing her head over some academic publication. Everything smells of coffee and butter.

Tara lets the yearning in her ribcage win, crossing the vestibule between her and the altar, their breakfast bar, setting aside her book and wrapping both arms around Jemma. She would kneel, if she could. It's enough to bow her shoulders, arch her body around her and kiss her soft neck.

Jemma tilts her head, welcoming the embrace. Touches Tara's arm where it cradles the firm, prominent swell of her stomach, as if Tara's trying to do her part in carrying their unborn child. "There's coffee beside the fridge."

"I love you," is Tara's whisper, raspy in its just-awakened honesty, rough in its emotional depths.

And Jemma's smile is soft. Her fingertips the whisper of hazy summer breeze winding through Tara's hair. "I know."

She takes Jemma's wrists in cool, long fingers that Jemma has heard called those of a guitarist, or a pianist, when they have touched neither.

Rather, the hands of a surfer, boarder, drummer, lover, take her wrists and angle them to her mouth.

Jemma twists to face Tara. "Come here." A thrill jars her as Tara leans into her outstretched arms, slides her fingers under Jemma's thighs, and lifts her onto the counter. She's dizzy with it. Exhilarated.

Impossible to tell whose mouth makes contact, only that it's made. Jemma cups Tara's jaw, just dipping her own head to bridge the narrow gap between them. Tara keeps her hands on Jemma's thighs, gripping and pulling herself in, craning her neck to catch Jemma's mouth.

A laugh breaks sudden into the air, Jemma's as Tara tugs her off the counter and onto her hips. The impulsive motion jumps her heart into her throat like the drop on a roller coaster, dragging a delighted gasp from her throat. Tara grins, flipping her hair and stepping back from the counter, hands clasped under Jemma now. She goes smiling into the next kiss.

Jemma presses in, trusting Tara's capable hands, strong enough to pull her from the edges of self destruction and certainly strong enough to hold her now. She fits their bodies together as close as the curvature of her stomach allows, locking her ankles behind Tara's back. Winding her arms around Tara's neck, one hand fisting in her hair and eliciting a muffled whimper.

Tara has taken them all the way to the wall, Jemma realizes at the slight impact of her lover's slim shoulders against it. Barely worth noticing, until Tara frees her mouth with a gasp. Smiles up at her. "Hey." That crooked smile, the darling chipped tooth. "Good morning." Thumb rubbing circles on bare thigh.

"Oh, I'd already gotten the message." Jemma brushes Tara's hair out of her face, and watches her laugh. Sunshine. Pure sunshine. She is such a softie, when you get down to it. Startling, really, how so few seem to realize.

Tara relaxes, leaning against the wall, as though this were a comfortable, everyday sort of position. Far from Jemma to complain, though. Not when they are so close Tara's breath lifts her ribcage gently, firmly, against Jemma's stomach on every inhale.

Jemma shifts her hips, on a hunch it may make her easier to hold, and Tara's body language dips into concern.

Her grip tightens, one palm traveling to support Jemma's low back. "Um. Are you comfortable?"

Jemma cradles her face. Kisses her mouth long, hard, marking Tara's lip lightly with her teeth as she leaves. "Yes."

Tara's runs her tongue over her mouth, erasing the pinprick of blood. Using the wall at her back, she lowers them slowly to the ground, apparently unconvinced. Her other hand drifts to Jemma's back as well, short nails scratching lightly.

Jemma purses her lips and studies her. The careful neutral expression. The tell-tale ghost of a line between her brows. The way she focuses on the motion of her hands and not meeting Jemma's gaze. Jemma taps two fingers twice against Tara's chin, jerking her attention back.

"Tara. What is it?"

She flushes. Sort of shrugs, eyes already beginning to wander.

Jemma reaches behind herself for Tara's hands and moves them to her middle.

She freezes, attention cemented in place now, her emotions pulled out of hiding to swirl, vibrant and anxious, behind her deep-water blue eyes.

Jemma closes her hand over one of Tara's, flattening them both against her stomach. "Talk to me."

Tara stares at their hands. "I-" She squeezes her eyes shut. Blows out a deep enough breath to drop her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

Jemma runs her thumb over Tara's knuckles. "Mm."

"It's... I thought I was ready."

A slight stirring flutters deep in Jemma's belly, the sort only she can detect. The sort she rarely notices anymore, thanks to all the stronger, more focused movements that have mostly replaced them. A stray thought passes through-- she wonders how likely it is that their daughter could decide to kick at this precise moment, under the precise location of Tara's hand, and whether that would prove helpful or difficult. "Are you scared?"

That lovely half-smile, sheepish now.

Jemma squeezes her hand. "Good."

Tara's smile turns a bit more real, the corner taking on the same confused tilt as one eyebrow.

"Do you think I'm not?" Jemma asks gently, lightly. She runs her free hand over where her formerly toned midsection --which she had frankly been quite proud of-- has instead considerably rounded out. A small price, in her opinion. "This is... It's terrifying."

As Tara watches, a flicker of something like disbelief crosses Jemma's face. Something like wonder.

Tara is in wonder too, and she bends to prove it. She presses a kiss to Jemma's belly, to where the love of her life's body protects, grows, and carries their kid, and I am in awe of you, of this, is what the kiss says. You amaze me. In so many ways. In all the ways.

Jemma clears her throat. "I love you too, you know." And sometimes her voice comes out brittle around the edges. A little fragile. And the crazy thing is no one else could tell. No one else could feel how much she means what she says, how it is bravery, and going against every protective instinct she has to say it and mean it.

It's Tara's freakin' honor. To be the one who gets to hear that and understand it. She sits up and opens her arms. And as though she has anticipated this, Jemma is already moving her legs out of the way so she can sit sideways on Tara's lap, where she can rest her head on her shoulder.

Tara wraps Jemma up in her arms and kisses her temple. Jemma closes her eyes, and exhales, and washing over her is this sense that she doesn't have to be strong right now. She doesn't have to defend herself here. She can... She can be...

Well, she can be the one who's... who's protected. It's...

“Hold him still.” Tense. Roped together with sheer grit, iron netted under every square inch of Robin’s skin. “Cyborg, I said hold him–”

Victor curses, hands floundering. Drowning in an attempt to find a hold beneath it. Beneath the blood. “I’m trying, man, I’m–”

Garfield screams.

The sound sends birds from the treetops. Squirrels across the crackling forest floor. Animals, everywhere, fleeing the screech of his pain.

It shudders through Raven’s bones. Up her arms. Rattling in her skull. Bouncing between red-fleshed walls of pain. It’s borrowed pain.

She bites into her tongue as Garfield’s back slams into the jagged ground. His head lolls. He moans. It’s almost a word. Almost a gasping, desperate name.

Raven lifts her head. Her eyes wander the wall of splintered trees. They fall on the gap between trunks, the figure standing at the entrance of the clearing. At the foot of the path that leads out of this little pocket of horror.

Tara hovers halfway between here and nowhere. Between falling to her knees at Gar’s side in chest-heaving sobs, and… Turning around. Fading into the woods.

Raven sees the thought cross her hazy eyes.

“Dangit, we’re losing him!”

Beneath Raven’s hands, Garfield’s limp body rocks with their effort. With the force of Robin wrenching the tourniquet until it cuts creases into green skin. With the thundering impact of Victor’s massive, wide spread hands pumping a shallow, narrow chest.

Raven closes her eyes.

“Dangit, dangit, no!”

She reaches into his mind. Plunging into an arboreal growth of a different kind: The jungles of a childhood in Africa.

“Come on, man, don’t do this to us, don’t you dare–”

Raven stops in front of a tree. You know you can’t stay here.

The boy nods. He swipes a soft brown hand at his nose. I know. But it hurts.

Raven holds out her hand. Leave that to me.

He reaches for it. And as her fingers close around his, she flips the switch.

Heal.

Garfield’s eyes fly open and his back arches, hips bucking and– A wet sound fills the air.

An awful, wet, squelching sound.

Victor flinches from the spray of blood, wordless, garbled horror escaping from his throat. His metal clangs as he scrambles across the ground.

Robin’s on his feet. Blood drips from his cheek. His chest heaves, his hands crimson and hanging still at his sides as he stares. At the end of the tourniquet, lying limp and torn. “Raven.”

She blinks. The carnage fades to black. Her hands are still on Garfield’s leg. Warm with blood. She opens her eyes. His shattered body reappears. “Richard.”

Robin’s words catch in his throat. “What did you do?”

Raven follows his gaze. From the midst of the blood, deep within a stump of shattered bone and crushed flesh… Something emerges.

Garfield’s body twists as he lets loose a sound that is not a scream, not a wail, not any sound that a human throat is capable of. Something animal and primal that mangles his throat and goes on and on and–

The alien heat of Kori’s arms snags Raven by the waist and drags her clear. Robin fumbles with his belt, shouting for the extra sedatives in the car. Horror drops Victor’s jaw and peels his eye back to the white. Sticks snap behind Raven.

These are quiet. Quieter than Raven’s heart beating steadily in her neck as her eyes trace the long, unfolding tendril whipping at the shattered tip of Garfield’s elbow. Growing. Thickening.

A spatter of blood hits Raven’s forehead. Kori’s arms tighten. Raven’s breath rushes in and out of her body in steady, tangible waves. She can picture the air in her lungs. In… Out…

Straightening. It’s straightening, now. Branching out, smaller tendrils sprouting from the end…

Crack.

His cry cuts out.

Raven’s eyes close. She sinks back into Kori’s grip as silence takes over.

Ten seconds before the crickets remember their mantra.

Twenty before Robin thinks about moving, the leaves shifting under his boots.

Thirty before–

Raven opens her eyes in time to see Garfield’s chest flood with breath like it’s his first.

A short, ragged, unmistakably human cry slips from his throat. He struggles to sit. Gasping for breath, as he digs his fingers into the soil. As he turns massive eyes to his lifted, quivering hand.

His right hand. The one Cinderblock just ripped off.

Crick-crick…

The back of Raven’s head vibrates as Kori clears her throat. “Friend Gar?”

His sideswept hair and the angle of his head shadow Garfield’s face. His hunched shoulders ripple as he turns his hand to check the other side.

It’s pale. A nearly translucent green. A bleached, hairless alien limb a dozen shades above normal, with deeply wrinkled fingers.

The hand quivers. Moves.

Every knuckle of every finger cracks in a cascade like gunshots as Garfield folds them into a fist.

“Are–” Kori draws in a breath. Preparing to plow ahead, even as Robin stares stock-still and revulsion flickers in Victor’s eyes. But not Kori. She peers directly at Garfield, head slightly cocked. “Are you well?”

Garfield laughs. Raven can’t help flinching as it breaks the air, thick and wet and choking. There is a purple-mottled bruise growing over the center of his throat.

Unfurling his fingers, Garfield watches them peel away from the wrinkled skin of his palm. A long string of clear mucus follows, clinging to his fingertips. Garfield doesn’t look up as he nods, slowly.

“And I was just going to ask someone to give me a hand.”

Raven closes her eyes. Opening them, she turns her head.

The path is empty.

~~~

“Hey–” Garfield holds up his hands and laughs. A splotchy, jigsawed line marks the connection of his right forearm to his elbow. His arm looks grotesque and stitched on. It seems to be functioning normally. “–I’m just glad I didn’t grow another head.”

“Indeed,” Kori agrees quickly. Robin and Victor exchange glances.

Tara stares at the floor and rubs the back of her neck. She hasn’t moved from the chair in the corner. Not when Garfield was lying limp and unconscious in the med-cot. Not when he woke up complaining and whining for a drink of water. Not a word, not a spark of interaction from her since she returned from her hours-long ‘run’, soaked to the bone and gasping for breath. The walls shake as the storm continues to rage overhead. Neither she nor Garfield have looked at each other once.

“I mean, this is a good thing.” Garfield twists his hand in front of his face, eyes darting across it. “I didn’t lose my hand! Okay, I lost it, but I got it back, anyway.” Something flickers behind his gaze, then vanishes.

Raven narrows hers.

“We’re glad you’re okay, too,” Robin finally says. He gestures vaguely and uncomfortably. “How does the… rest of you feel?”

Garfield blinks wide eyes. “Huh? Great!” He bubbles into another laugh. “Come on, you guys, this is good news! I didn’t die! My hand is literally good as new. Stop acting like it’s a funeral.”

Tara’s fingernails tug at the stitching in the hem of her t-shirt. The end of a thread slips loose. She latches onto it and pulls.

“Man.” Victor breaks the silence –and the mood– with a chuckle of his own. “How did you do that? Grow half an arm?”

“Dunno.” Garfield flashes his teeth. “Guess it’s just basic biology, huh?”

“No.” Raven can’t help herself. “It’s not.”

“Bones, muscle, organs. Blood.” Garfield ticks them off on his fingers. “Humans got ‘em, animals got ‘em. And I change my bones and muscles all the time. So why not grow them?”

He has no idea what images that brings to mind.

“It is truly renewed?” Kori drifts into the air, leaning forward to hover over the cot. “Returned and restored and operative?”

With a smirk, Garfield offers her a handshake.

A gleeful squeal bounces off the walls of the small room. “It is completely normal!” Kori jams her fingers between his and Garfield’s teeth snap into a smiling grimace.

“Uh, Star, it’s– it’s still new, y’know–”

“Excellent.” Kori spreads his fingers to align with her own slenderer, longer, and more elegant versions. “Most impressive.”

Garfield laughs awkwardly. Tara watches a spot on the tile.

~~~

“You, uh, think it will always be– splotchy, like this?”

“I don’t know.” Raven tosses the sleeping bag on the floor.

“Bet it’s just ‘cause it’s new.” Garfield’s teeth gleam and his eyes flick across the wall, seeing something distant. “In a week it’ll be good as new. Heck, it’s already good as new, it just doesn’t look good as new.”

He laughs, that hesitant half-chuckle everyone has been hearing constantly since the incident. Since he got his arm ripped off and grew a whole new one.

“Hey.”

Raven sighs and lifts her head to meet Garfield’s baffled gaze as he leans over the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing?” His eyebrows wiggle and furrow. Beneath them, he pointedly flicks green eyes from the books stacked beside the sleeping bag to the pillow in her hands.

Raven tosses the latter at the head of the sleeping bag. “Setting up camp. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Well, duh.” Garfield rolls his eyes. “But, uh…” He refastens them on Raven. “Why?”

“You nearly died.” She sits back on her heels and reaches to detach her cloak. “We are not going to leave you alone all night.”

Garfield’s eyes wander away again. “Where’s Tara?”

Raven’s hands slow. Folding the cloak, she sets it aside and traces Garfield’s gaze to the window. It’s opened, inviting in the cool breeze of a quiet night on the bay. The sweet smell of after-rain seeps damply into skin and fabric alike.

The low hum of a passing motorboat fills the space between them.

“Out. She left for some fresh air.”

Garfield nods slowly. The lighthouse beam trolls across his blank expression. “And she’ll be back when…?”

“I don’t know.” Raven shakes her head. “She didn’t say.” She slides her feet into the sleeping bag. “But as soon as she gets here, you’re her problem.”

Is it mercy? Or just willing ignorance, dragging the lie out of its box time after time. Day after day. Ignoring the way Tara slows on every open road, turns her eyes to the sky at every plane. The way there is something in her smile. The catching, flickering expression every time Garfield reaches for her hand.

The way her every disappearance could be the last.

“Yeah.” Garfield smiles. He sits back against his pillow. “Dude, am I looking forward to that. Sleepover with Tare, getting rid of you.” He folds his arms behind his head and closes his eyes. The jigsaw gleams stark and glossy in the gray light. “Win-win.”

“Don’t make me change my mind.” Raven lifts her hand and across the room, the lamp’s colors invert. She closes her fist and the light vanishes. “Would you like to be alone when you grow your second head?”

The call of tired seagulls. Low and mournful. Garfield shifts in the hospital cot.

“No,” he doesn’t quite laugh, and Raven closes her eyes.

Breathing out, she lifts her hand and finds his waiting. His fingers lace between hers in half a heartbeat, tightening flush against the back of her hand.

Raven lowers her fingertips to rest against his knuckles and complete the grip.

Garfield curses softly. “Dude, you’re colder than death.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Y’know, maybe you should be the one hooked up to a heart monitor.”

Then he shuts up.

Their breath stays regular and shallow. The gulls keep crying outside.

“She loves me, you know. I– I know she does.”

Raven watches the spiral shadows of the ceiling fan.

“It’s not that.” Awkward laugh. “It’s not that she doesn’t love me, it’s– it’s something else, and–”

He trails off. Water swells in the pipes, then fades.

When Garfield speaks again, his voice whispers rough-edged with emotion.

“An arm. An arm, Raven, what’s wrong with me? What am I– what the heck am I made of?”

“Bones,” she answers. The fan keeps turning. “Muscle and blood. Same as the animals, same as the people.”

“Right.” He laughs. Bitterly. Raven closes her eyes and lets the honesty of it wash over her. “You’re the one who said it’s not basic biology, that this isn’t…”

There it is. There is, finally, the break.

“It isn’t normal.”

“No.” The slick polyester material squeaks under her hair as Raven shakes her head. “It’s not.”

“Gosh, Raven, you suck at pep talks.”

“And the rest of us are all so normal, too.” She sighs. “You’ll never fit in again.”

The shadows turn in twenty minute circles as the lighthouse peers in, then turns away. Garfield’s choking laugh turns ragged. Raven’s arm falls asleep.

“She loves me.” He sucks in a shuddering breath. “I thought she loved me.”

“She does.” Raven drops her gaze to the chair in the corner. Near invisible in the dark. “It’s something else.”

His sobs quiet, eventually. Around the same time his fingers slip from hers as he slips into the silence of sleep. Raven watches the black shift past midnight and, eventually, lighten toward gray dawn.

To something.

Cool grey light from the windows washes over the old furniture. The middle of the afternoon. They'd spent all night at the biggest, most important library in Europe, Dick's fingers gliding longingly over ancient spines, even more ancient titles, and he hadn't read more than a paragraph. Breathlessly. Hidden in the corner, knowing every second he wasn't keeping watch was a second they were in danger. He couldn't tell you a thing about it now. The paragraph he'd read. The book title.

He just remembers the ten year old euphoria of getting lost in a place you just belong.

His throat burns and Dick coughs. Gripping the left side of his ribcage, he steps into the bathroom and spits blood in the sink.

The sink cold and unyielding beneath his grasping fingers.

Tara wraps her arms around him and presses her forehead to his back. "Don't get blood in our sink," she murmurs.

Dick swallows. "I won't." Her grip is too tight, fingers digging into his bruises, but when he reaches for her hands, she is gone.

Footsteps into the next room.

He drops his hand back to the edge of the sink and sighs again. The sound of his forehead against the mirror reverberates gently across his skull.

"It's fine. It's just a little bit. I'm fine," Dick announces to the apartment when he steps back out.

Tara barely nods. Fingers curled around a bundle of curtain.

Dick holds his breath, heart beating in time to his own footsteps, as he crosses the room to join her.

There is nothing to see outside. Nothing, besides quaint, old-fashioned downtown streets. Kids running around and parents patiently, or not so patiently, shopping. He can almost hear the Jingle Bells blaring. Christmas. As seen from three stories away.

He lets out his breath and it fogs the window. "Do you remember when we were fourteen?" (When she was fourteen. When he was sixteen. When she almost brought down a cliff killing a massive scorpion that was hunting her. When they first met.)

"We never were." Tara's eyes flicker across the scene from a dream. Because it is. A dream. A movie. They're spectators. "That was someone else."

"Yeah..." Before, before everything. Before impossible choices and an endless parade of death. Before he broke Batman's solitary rule. Before falling and hitting the ground so hard he broke every bone in his body. Before his body, faced with no other option but stubborn life, healed into one he didn't recognize.

Before he ever would have thought to touch her.

"We grew up, broken, together," he wants to say to her, sometimes. "I think the threads of you are laced into me now. Like vines up a house." He'd never say it. He dreams about it over and over. Those exact words.

"Do you regret it?"

It wouldn't have taken him by surprise, three years ago. Two. It does now.

"I... No. Yes." Dick swallows a mouthful of blood. "I don't know."

This is what being laced together means. Knowing the exact pattern, the way her shoulders and chest move as she breathes. You are supposed to use your diaphragm, down in your stomach, not your other muscles. That's what natural, relaxed breathing is. He could name the muscles she uses when she's scared. When she's angry. When... when it's now. When it's... he doesn't know what to call this.

His ribs ache and Dick grasps the windowsill. Leans into it, closing his eyes into the pressure up his shoulders. He is here. He is here.

The sun is not shining and they are not arguing about whether they should decorate a palm tree or a plastic evergreen. Or maybe they are. But he isn't. They aren't here.

He is.

Dick inhales and straightens. He slips his fingers into Tara's hair, hand resting on her cheek. "Hey. Come on."

An hour ago, he watched her slit a man's throat. One arm trapping him against her chest in a chokehold, one hand gripping the blade. Dick helped her get rid of the body. They got down on their knees and scrubbed the floor, shoulder to shoulder. Not a single patron heard. Not a one knew. He watched her hit a concrete wall. The second time that day blood ran down her wrists. He wiped them clean with his wet shirt in the bathroom because she wasn't going to.

She tears her gaze, slowly, from the window to stare at him like he's crazy.

"Tara?" Voice quieter, almost pleading. His hand is cold and her skin is warm. He can never get the thermostat high enough, can never keep his bones from filling up with ice. He could. Technically, he could crank it up. He could say to hell with it, and knock the temperature up to seventy-five.

But He would know. Somehow, He would know.

That's the part that Dick hates. The knowledge that's it's not the cold. It's not living in basements and cabins and constant winter. He could be in Miami.

...He could be in L.A., and he still wouldn't be warm.

Tara closes her eyes and lets out a breath, harsh in the silent space, and she is here again. For a little while, she is here again.

"Hey." Dick can feel himself smiling. "Hey," whispering into her hair.

She shakes her head and presses against him. Leaning forward, so she doesn't have to step closer.

Please be here, he tries to make his hands say. I want you here. I want you.

"Come on," Dick asks one more time. There's a great big chair in the room, not a recliner, but some old fashioned swivel rocker, with an old fashioned pattern. He laces his fingers through hers and tugs them toward it. There's reluctance in her step, like waking up from slumber.

Dick lets go, sinking into the deep chair, something small and childlike in his chest flaring to life in joy, simple amusement at a simple comfort. There was a chair like this in Alfred's study. He would spin, and spin, and spin for hours.

Tara hovers, one hand on the arm of the chair like she's trying to figure out what it is. Her shadowed eyes find Dick's.

He's smiling again. Like he just can't help it. "Tara."

And it's exactly true, what she said. That they were never fourteen, never sixteen, that those were two different people, because Terra and Robin are not the same as Dick and Tara.

She sinks into him and he wraps her up as best he can, covers her in as much warmth as someone freezing to death alongside her possibly could.

Robin never would have held her. He never would have stood at the window with her and looked out at a world they didn't belong in, and understood. He never would have understood. Robin would have smiled the winning smile he gave every girl and told her she was great to have on the team.

And Terra would have believed him, for twenty minutes. And she never would have wanted to kiss him.

"Don't leave me," and it's a plea. She's begging.

"I couldn't," and it's honesty. "I don't even know how."

Robin would never know how this felt, and more than that, he wouldn't get it. He wouldn't see the importance. He wouldn't even see the appeal. He knew what he wanted, and it was right there in front of him, a path he was sprinting down in full confidence that it would take him exactly where he wanted to be.

It wouldn't. He'd never get that, either.

Dick loops his arm behind her shoulders and kisses Tara. Their lips are both chapped, but hers are peeled white and red, from an entire night, week, existence of picking at them, stripping the skin off as fast as it returns. 'I love this, too,' he wants his mouth to say. 'Even this. Especially this.' He can't tell if the tang of blood is his pain or hers.

But they are laced together. Vines up a house. There was one wall, and they had to climb it, and if they were going to climb it they needed two threads, not one. They needed...

He could leave, and he'd still need her. That's the horror, that's the beauty, that's the fear. He could leave and he would be halved. He isn't whole alone, not anymore. Leaving wouldn't be cutting off his arms, his legs, it'd be cutting off his skin.

He's crying now. Things are getting out of hand, he's crying now, a mess of salt on his face, on hers, on her hands and her mouth, and this is where things get hard to understand. Because he is too much. He cares too much, and she doesn't know what to do with that. He doesn't know what to do.

He isn't Dick alone. There is no Dick alone, there is just Dick and Tara. Vines up a house, so tangled and snarled as to be inseparable, if you took her it would kill him.

It would kill him.

Something would live on. Survive. Transform, again, become someone else. But Dick would be dead. And he's grown to really like Dick.

He doesn't want to die.

Robin was fine being alone but Robin had a choice. Robin didn't... Robin has no idea what he's been through. Not a clue.

He can't be that close. No one can be that close. They can share beds, and share lives, and share bodies, but he will never be allowed into her pain. She keeps them separate. His hurt here, in this box. Hers there, in that box. The boxes are made out of the same wood, at least in parts, they sit right next to each other on the shelf, nearly touching. But they stay latched and locked. If his fingers brush the box on the right, if he dares to OPEN his box on the left...

He can't. He just can't.

Tara plants her hands on his chest and pushes him away. Her feet hit the floor with a thud and she walks out.

Down the hall. Out. The apartment door slams under its own weight behind her.

Dick sits in the chair in the silence. The dark had already begun falling, sunlight giving in and giving up so early, but he... he hadn't noticed, until now.

It's always there, nowadays. Always on the tip of his tongue, and he thinks she knows. He thinks she might know.

It's the only time they're separated, really. They go to work together, go to bed together, operate around each other in the same space like two satellites in orbit. Until they get too close to touching. Because to Tara, it's a collision. It's a thundering crash, the smell of smoke and fire and wreckage and the dust of something that used to be but isn't anymore. It's a death sentence.

I love you.

He keeps almost saying it.

She keeps leaving.