Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans

A year and a couple months late. -_-

Some of the scenes are inspired by events from real life, some are totally fiction. I've tried to tie them together, hopefully it turns out well.

She looked upward.

From the sky, barest white morphs to crystalline droplets, changing again to buds of verdant green cast on cooling winds. Clouds streamed past in rapid motion, accelerated by the flow of time, the cycle of the sun and moon passing swiftly, each day fleeting among the transforming heavens. The clear drip drip of the rain and the soft flow of the wind breathed new life into frigid winter. Cold, perfect ivory gave way to budding green and a new cycle began anew.

Still, she waited.

The march of time continued onward, still in quickened motion. The sky wept its frozen tears, giving way to rays of golden light, then veiled again beneath the grey procession of endless clouds. Day, night, sun and moon, the cycles persisted ceaselessly. It continued, streaming hastily past the violet garden, never waiting, never slowing. Time never waited.

But she did.

They bloomed quickly. Green buds blossomed to violet flowers of myriad hue amidst the bright grass and emerald leaves of ivory. It was a perennial sight, the same year after year when they opened their hearts and graced the world with their color. It had always been the same - it was something she had come to rely on out of habit - but it had never quite felt like this.

Before, they had marked the onset of spring, the world coming to life while she watched and waited. Her dark eyes had always been the observers, and her hands the caretakers, but it had never been her, entwined with the spring and the flowers, blooming in the rain. It had never been about her.

She looked down. Water dripped from her messy locks of dark hair. She closed her eyes, lips held neutral.

Her eyes opened. She looked up again. Her lips curved.

She breathed.

Time stopped.

Dawn.

In the midst of the cycle, with the sun and moon in the sky, it suddenly froze in place. Darkness met light, the heavens a patterned patchwork of cloud and sky, night and day joining as one in the tranquil hours of the morning.

Her lips parted. She breathed. There was a spark in her breast, and suddenly she was aware again, of the warmth flooding through her cold fingers, bringing color back to her face and sensation back to her body.

Her eyes drew back down.

It stared at her, the only one out of place. Once nearly the color of blood, it had since brightened to nearly rose pink, flushed cheerily in a sea of luscious mauve. She breathed. Her breast rose and fell, fluttering with the irregular beat of the rain.

Her lips closed. Her eyes followed suit.

She stood, went inside, and closed the door.

"Rae? Rachel? Hello?"

Garfield waved a hand at the girl across the table, who was currently stirring her pasta with a glazed, unfocused look. She did have a tendency to zone out a lot, but today, it seemed like it was happening more than normal. Something was off about her. Or just... different?

I wonder if something's wrong. She doesn't look sad or anything, but with Rae, you can never tell.

Violet eyes shifted back into focus. Rachel looked up, mouth twisted sheepishly.

"Sorry. Was just thinking about how the food wasn't to my taste."

"Heh. Is it ever? You're the pickiest person I've ever met!"

She rolled her eyes. "The sauce is watery, the pasta is mushy, and the chicken is dry."

"Yeah, I know! Meat's so awful, isn't it?"

Rachel snickered. She held a hand over her mouth.

"What, did I say something funny?"

"Nothing." Her eyes were pools of mirth. "You only heard the last part of my sentence."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. You know, vegetarian, sometimes get carried away."

"It's fine. It's... actually kind of cute." Her voice trailed off.

"Come again? I didn't hear you."

Rachel wiped her mouth. "Nothing, nothing. I was just thinking that the pasta you made the other day was better than this."

"Hey, I take pride in my cooking. No need to be so surprised."

"I'm not. I'm more surprised that this is so bad."

"Send it back, then."

"They'll probably just mess it up again. Besides, I can just get you to make me a snack when we get to your place."

"Alright, alright. Hey, wait a sec-"

Rachel's lips curved. "I'm just kidding. I'm not that hungry."

"You barely cleared a third of your plate. I thought we went over this. Eating gives you the energy to function like a normal person. You can't just not eat and expect to feel good."

"Then I'll steal some waffles from your freezer."

"But- oh, whatever. Nothing I say ever gets through to you."

She tapped her lips, eyes muted, but not unhappy. He knew that look.

You know that's not true.

I'm grateful for you. I really am.

There was something else in it, shimmering deep within her eyes, but he wasn't sure what it was.

"You're not going to get sunburned?"

"Probably not. I do gardening all day in the sun."

"Completely covered up, no skin exposed. Nice tank top, by the way. Solid black, just like the rest of your wardrobe."

She raised her arms and tied her hair back into a ponytail. He stared a little, then turned when she caught him looking. Her face flushed a little as she realized why he had been staring. "I've always been afraid of razors since, you know..."

"Wax?"

"You don't even want to know what people can do with hot wax."

Garfield blanched. "You're right. I don't. Sorry I asked."

"No, sorry, I... this is exactly why I don't like wearing this type of clothing. I mean, just look at my arms..."

He held her wrists. There were marks going everywhere up and down the pale skin, mostly on her upper arms where they would have been easier to hide, though some had still found their way down her forearms and near her wrists. He wondered how many had been self-inflicted.

"Relax. You're not gross, or disgusting, or a freak, or anything. You're beautiful."

She wrinkled her nose. "And you're sappy."

He opened his mouth in retort, but the little smile on her face shut it quickly. He let go of her wrists and reached down to touch his toes. She touched his shoulder lightly.

"Truthfully, there's also never been anyone who has looked at me the way you have."

He stood immediately. "The way I have? Rae, we're just friends."

She tapped his shoulder. "I don't mean romantically. I meant acknowledged as a person. And as, well... a girl."

"Oh. Yeah, I get what you mean. It's 'cause of your dad, isn't it?"

She nodded. "I've always felt like my body was something filthy."

"It's not. Believe me, it's not. I know I've said it before, but I'll say it as many times as you need to hear-"

"You don't. Garfield, I was really surprised, you know. When I first showed you what they did to me, you weren't judgmental about me at all. Most people would at least be a little disgusted, wouldn't they?"

"Come on, Rae. Nobody would be disgusted if they just knew what happened to you."

She frowned. "But at first glance, you'd think-"

"Since when have you cared about stuff like that? What makes you you isn't your body. It's you as a person, Rae. You know that."

Her finger trailed off his shoulder. "I know that," she repeated softly.

She closed her eyes and tilted her face up. Tension ran through her as she stretched, heat added to the warmth of the sunlight beaming down around her. The light itself was unpleasant - she wasn't used to it - but with her eyes closed, she focused only on the warming energy pulsing through her body. Mild heat grew slightly, warm, but not uncomfortable, then to the slightest bit of hot. She relaxed as soon as it reached there, then opened her eyes.

"I could try shaving if you wanted. I might need your help, though. I'm dead scared of blades."

"Then you shouldn't. You don't need to be so hung up on everyone else's idea of beauty, ya know. I'd rather you be yourself. So if you want to, fine, I'd be happy to help. If it's uncomfortable for you, then please don't."

Rachel bent her head down. "You're a good friend." Her voice trailed upward on the last word.

"I try."

It was supposed to be a compliment. It hurt a little, that she only thought of him as a friend, but he could not, would not ruin it by being selfish. If he had to be truthful with himself... I want it. I really do. But she needs it more. She needs time to heal and I'm the best person to help her, so I can't ruin it.

Garfield shook his head. It was hard in some ways, but it would have been extremely insensitive for him to ignore her needs for a fleeting want of his own.

"So, want to get going?"

Rachel tapped her lips, eyes unreadable. "Sure."

He was the better sprinter, but she was by far the better long-distance runner. Despite his best efforts, she was still two blocks ahead of him, moving swiftly and gracefully beneath the shadows of the leaves and patterned sunlight. It seemed like she was barely even trying, only the barest sheen of perspiration covering her shoulders and neck.

She glanced backward, then adjusted her pace a little, allowing him to catch up slowly. He felt his legs protest, but pushed himself anyway, working through the burning sensations in his muscles and bridging the gap between them. Up ahead, the traffic light turned red at an intersection and she paused. He caught up shortly after, putting his hands on his knees and panting heavily.

"You're soaked."

Green eyes lifted. "You're... barely sweating at all. You're barely even trying," the words came out between gulps of air. "How do you... even run so fast?"

"Practice."

The light turned green. Rachel started running again, but stopped when Garfield followed too slowly. She turned back and helped him across the street, then knelt down.

"You're really tense."

"I know, I can feel it," Garfield winced as she prodded his calves. "I may have pushed myself too hard."

"I was going too quickly. It was inconsiderate of me."

"Nah, you were fine. It's not your fault I wanted to try catchin' up to you. And I don't wanna make you slow down just for me."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You're always like this." She stood. "You can't run like that."

"I can hardly walk."

"Sit, then. I could use a break too."

"You don't look that tired-"

"Garfield."

He sat down gingerly on a nearby rock and she followed suit. The blonde haired boy glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, unsure of what to expect. She was looking downward, her face an expressionless mask, eyes a little weary, but without any other sign of sadness. It occurred to him that with her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, he was able to see more of her face than he ever had before - all the finely structured contours of her pale skin, the ridges of her brows shadowing her eyes, the sallow curves of her cheeks flowing down to her lips and pixie chin.

Garfield looked downward. He had never seen her wear such form-fitting clothes before, but perhaps this was her way of trying to open up a little more. Her torso was sleek and slender, her breasts perhaps a little small, but not unattractive. Her arms were surprisingly well-muscled; perhaps she looked the same underneath.

He shook his head. Green eyes stared toward ivory skin.

The scars came into focus. Again he was reminded that the healing process was slow, and perhaps some wounds were irrevocable, that they would never disappear, that they would always lurk inside her no matter how much time passed. Each scar was a story, each ridge a lash of the whip or the slash of a knife. Some were the result of blows of clubs, and still others were burn marks. It made his blood itch, thinking about the branding iron he had seen in some of her paintings.

He looked a little upward again, to the slope of her shoulders. It had been his own hands, squeezing her, bruising her, hurting her...

Garfield looked away. She was right about herself after all. It was a little disgusting, looking at her like that. Not because of the way she looked - a little plain, but not unattractive - but because it was an exhibit of all the nightmares physically carved into her flesh that she had to carry forever.

I can't look at her like that. She's pretty, but... I just can't. It feels awful. Rae's not just a body to be used or abused. She's a person. A damn good one at that. It's about what's inside her, not what's on the outside.

She looked up. "It's okay to look at me like that, you know. I know I chastised you for it before, but even I like to know that I'm not completely revolting."

"It wasn't because of that," he replied quickly - a little too quickly.

She raised an eyebrow. Garfield held his hands up.

"I like checkin' girls out, you know that. Only problem with you is all the scars. It's just really unsettling."

She looked down again.

"No, no no. That came out wrong. It's not like it's something wrong with you. And it doesn't make you ugly either. I think you're cute, I really do. What I meant was I just can't help but keep thinking about, you know, what they must have done to you to leave those marks on you."

"A lot of things." She sighed. "See, I told you. I'm revolting."

"You look fine-"

"You know what I mean by that."

"Yes, but- well..." He looked at her again. "Yeah. When it look at you, it makes my skin crawl. You know why."

She nodded.

"But you also remind me that people like us... we suffer, and we get hurt, and sometimes the universe is just out to get us... but we keep fighting back. We never give up."

"I've given up plenty of times."

"If you really gave up, you wouldn't be here right now."

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She shut it. He continued.

"So when I look at you, I'm also reminded how strong people can be. You're the toughest, bravest person I've ever met."

She smiled. It touched her cheeks, but didn't reach her eyes. "I have to confess, I wore this outfit today because I'm tired of feeling disgusted by my own body."

She's changing the subject, like usual. Oh well. "You're hardly showing any skin. That's a normal outfit for jogging. Actually, no, most people wear shorts."

"It's a lot for me. You know it takes time."

"It takes a lot of little steps, I get that. I'm just glad that you're trusting me to help you with those steps."

"Who else could I trust?" She intoned breathlessly. "You talk about how I'm so understanding and empathetic, but what about yourself? It's not every day that someone else is sensitive and attentive enough to really get me. You've even learned to read a lot of my mannerisms. Nobody's ever done that before."

"Like how when you stay silent, it means I get to keep talking? Or when you look at me, it could either mean go on, or to shut up? Or like how you fidget with your hair when you're nervous, and if you have a finger anywhere near your face for a while, it means you're thinking."

"You know me."

"Don't get me wrong, there's still a lot of stuff that I can't tell about you. But I've been through something like what you went through. I didn't have it nearly as bad, but I can sort of understand how you feel. That's why I try so hard with you."

She bent her head and smiled. It still didn't reach her eyes, but her face was a little brighter than before. "Garfield, can I be honest with you?"

"Of course you can."

"Do you know why I try to wait for you?"

"To torture me by staying just within my line of sight, but just far enough so that I have to strain really hard to try and catch up?"

Rachel snickered. Garfield laughed too.

"Nah, I don't really know. Share your thoughts?"

"You haven't realized it? I wait for you because I like your company, Gar. It makes me feel a little less alone."

"Really? I thought you liked being alone."

"Not every waking moment of my life. That gets lonely."

"And out of everyone in the world, you chose me to spend time with."

"It's more like you chose me."

"True that."

Rachel's lips curved. This time, her eyes sparkled. It was fleeting; he didn't catch sight of it, but something about her face and posture was different as she stood. She rolled her shoulders and breathed slowly, carefully. Her skin glowed, not the pasty alabaster it had once been, but flush and gleaming with color in the patchwork shadow beneath the trees.

"How are your legs?"

"I'll be fine if I go slow. You go on ahead for now."

She shook her head. "Let's go slowly then. I don't want to leave you behind."

"But- oh, whatever. If it's what you want."

She nodded. You stayed for me. You showed me that friends look out for each other, right? So I'll do the same for you. Besides, I rather like your company. So don't look at me like I'm always doing you favors, Gar. I'm willing to do all these things with you because... I actually do like you.

Rachel frowned and put a finger to her lips. I do, don't I?

"What was your relationship like with your parents?"

"Mom and dad? They were alright."

The dark-haired girl knelt and lifted a flower off the ground. She smoothed out its petals gently, put it back, then added another pair on top of it. "Just alright?"

"I mean, they were my folks. Not the greatest people in the world, not my greatest role models or anything, but still my family. It'd be weird not to care about your family, right? Well, maybe not your dad."

"Or your uncle."

"Yeah. Him." He knelt as well, placing the usual white rose at the feet of two gravestones. "I miss them. Don't get me wrong, we weren't that close, probably not the way you and your mom were. Still eats me up inside all the time, though."

"That's only natural. You'd have to be pretty emotionally detached to not feel anything at all toward them."

"Are you sad that your mom's gone?"

She fixed her dark eyes on him. "A little."

"Only a little?"

She walked away. Her footsteps trailed toward her mother's grave at first, then she decided better of it and shifted toward a tree near the center of the graveyard. She sat at the foot of it, gazing at the clouds drifting through the sky.

"I don't know how I feel sometimes. Emotions are complicated."

"You're telling me. I'm surprised you feel that way, though. You always seem to be able to read me so well."

"It's not that I can't read them. It's just that I can't put how I feel into words. I can't express it."

"You do seem to have trouble expressing yourself most of the time. I worry about that."

"I wonder why." Her tone was biting, acrid, but trembled with mirth too. "Lighten up a little. We didn't come here to have another therapy session for me. I'm not a porcelain doll either. You don't need to worry about every little thing that might be wrong with me."

"Just sayin' that I care."

"I know you do, Garfield. But please understand. My whole life, I've always been trapped. First it was my father, then it was the masked man... then they left, and I guess..." her lips parted - she ran a finger over them. "I guess I never even tried to recover. I just holed myself up and let myself go. I don't want to be like that anymore..."

"But you've always had trouble changing on your own."

Rachel nodded. "So I need your help. I really appreciate that you care about me, but I need your help, not only your worry. Please, Gar."

He was beside her in a moment. "I'll help. I promise." Garfield held a hand out to her.

She took it - they rose. They walked together.

Violet eyes fixated downward, toward the engraved stone wreathed with a crown of mauve petals. There was a pang in her heart - she clutched it with one hand and squeezed with the other. Dark eyes fluttered as she felt a squeeze back.

She breathed a long, low breath. Her chest rose. She let go of the hold.

Around them, the stagnant air breathed as well. She held her arms out and let the wind stream through her clothes, her hair, all around her body. Up in the sky, clouds surged by as well, sweeping across the vast, endless expanse of the clear azure of the heavens. Between, a mix of radiant sunlight and soft mist fell downward, the oddest mixture of cooling water and warming light precipitating toward the earth.

Her face came to life. Sensation returned to her - it had never been so vibrant before.

There were so many colors. The sky was a patchwork of blues between the ivory clouds - emerald and verdigris leaves floated on the wind - mauve-toned petals joined them in their aetherial dance. It smelled of spring, the fragrance of fresh buds and flower scents mixed with the musk of rain. The texture on her skin was cool and warm at once, rain mixed with sunlight, the cold petals contrasting with the heat radiating from the person beside her. The water tasted clear and fresh, cleanly falling in small drip drips between the leaves and the dark frond of her hair. She listened. There was the wind, the softly singing wind as it streamed past her ears, but there was something else. A rhythm? It fluttered as well, more rhythmic than the temperamental flow of air around her, but slightly off-beat, as if it were unsure of itself.

She put a hand to her breast.

Why do I feel like this? What am I feeling?

Her face dropped again. I'm so confused.

Her hand moved. She sought something - it took her a moment to find it, but it was there. He was there.

She let out her breath. Her chest fell.

She frowned.

It's not just me. It's him too? He's confused?

No... he's conflicted. He's... not sure how to feel about me. I understand...

I'm selfish. I'm too selfish.

I need to care about myself sometimes.

He wants more.

I can't do it, though.

Why not?

I'm... not ready.

Why? You like him.

Not like that.

Are you sure?

Rachel frowned. She turned. "Garfield."

"Yes?"

"I just had a thought. I want your opinion. What's the difference between close friends and people in a relationship?"

His eyebrows rose for a fraction of a second. His grip tightened a little bit as well.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"No, I do, I just have to think for a second. I'm not really sure..."

"There is a difference, isn't there?"

"There is. I'm not sure how to explain it. It's not something I can just show you. Like not something I can grab, or..."

"Not something tangible."

"Right. Good friends are like, you know, people you can be open with, people who are willing to support you no matter what happens, people you can say almost anything you want to. Of course, if you're just an asshole, obviously you won't really be making friends like that-"

"Mhmm, we're talking about people like us. I should hope that we're not 'assholes'. Well at least you."

"You're not either. A bit difficult sometimes, but we've all got our faults."

"Yes, let's not get into that now."

"Yeah. So, friends. There's even the whole friends with benefits thing, so it's not really that either. I guess maybe the difference would be commitment?"

"That doesn't sound like it's quite it."

"It's not," he nodded. "I might be like this. So say there's this line, and if you cross the line, you're in a relationship, and if you don't then you're just friends. I was thinking, sometimes, it might that you crossed the line, but you don't even know it. Your relationship doesn't feel any different than before, but one day, you look back and think about it, and suddenly realize that you actually did cross that line a while ago, and that it's not just a friendship anymore. It's something even more special. Thing is, you don't know exactly where that line is. You only know after you cross it."

"It doesn't always work like that."

"Right, sometimes people just announce that they're dating or whatever, and that's that. I guess I'm talking more about when you meet someone that you really click with but you aren't sure if you're just going to be friends or not. Or, basically, if it's going to be something special, or it's going to be that kind of special relationship. You get me?"

"You aren't sure if you're going to be friends or a couple."

"Right. So I'm thinking that you'll know if you're at the 'couple' status, but you won't know exactly when you reached there. I know it's got to be something more special than a friendship, but I don't it's as cut and dry as flipping a switch and saying 'now we're a couple'."

Rachel frowned. I think he's right. Then...

"Where do you think we're at right now?"

"... what?"

"Or, maybe..." her voice was incredibly soft. "The better question might be, where do you want us to be?"

"I want us to be friends."

"You can't lie to me, Gar."

"I'm not. I'm telling the truth and you know that."

"You are telling half of the truth and omitting the rest."

He groaned. "Well, what do you want?"

"I asked first."

The blonde-haired boy raised a finger and opened his mouth.

He closed it.

"I want us to be friends."

"I see. Suppose I wanted more?"

"Then I'd be okay with that."

She stepped closer. "You'd like it a lot."

"I would."

She drew yet closer. "You've been thinking about it."

"I have."

Face to face, if he leaned forward just a little they would have touched. "Garfield. Am I hurting you?"

"No?"

"But I'm frustrating, right?"

"No. I want us to be friends. Romantic relationship stuff complicates things anyway."

"Does it really? Then why do people get together-"

"Because they want to enjoy the company of someone they care about. Because... they want to be together." His answer was quick, too quick.

"They want to see each other and they don't want to be apart."

"Yeah."

She stepped back, folding her arms over her chest. "And are we at that stage?"

"Sorta. I mean, I know I want to see you. It's not just to help you, I really think you're just an awesome person in a lot of ways. I can't speak for you, though-"

"I don't want you to leave me," Rachel replied breathlessly. "I want to keep being surprised by you. I want to talk to someone who understands. But I also don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me."

"You don't have a girlfriend-"

"Rachel." His voice was firm, but gentle. "Some guys, or, I guess, most single guys our age are lookin' for girlfriends, yeah. And when we meet someone we really like, it only makes sense to go after 'em."

"I know that. But as for being single?"

"It sucks. It's not just the, well, things you do in bed and stuff, it's just... you know, being alone. At least for me, my other friends aren't exactly the same. Like Vic and Rich, they're great guys and they're always lookin' out for me, but we just don't talk about our feelings with each other. Not the same heart to heart stuff I have with you. Other part of it is like, everyone else has girlfriends, and if I'm here, just sittin' around, still single, I have to wonder if there's something wrong with me. Am I ugly?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Then stupid?"

"A little absent-minded, but no."

"Do I smell bad?"

"Only if you forget deodorant."

"Heh. But yeah. It sucks."

"I'm sorry."

Garfield shrugged. "Don't apologize. I said all that, but this is different. Me being single doesn't take priority over your mental health, Rae. That would be so selfish. I can't do that to you."

"If it doesn't work out, we can just go back to being friends."

"Trust me. It doesn't always work out that cleanly. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined our friendship."

"But what if I want it?"

"Then I would be happy to oblige. But only if you really feel like you're ready. Just please don't feel bad if we're just friends. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that."

Rachel nodded. "I know what you're going to say. I've had many counselors tell me this too. I need to be selfish too. I need to care for my own well being."

"You really do."

"I've been told that before, but you're the first person to make me really want to put my life back together. Gar, I just..."

"Shh, shh, you don't have to say it. I know you don't like touching, but want a hug?"

She shook her head, but inched her hand toward his. He obliged and she interlocked her fingers with his, squeezing lightly. He squeezed back. He looked at her. Her eyes were half-closed in a content lull, face utterly expressionless. It seemed like she had withdrawn herself into the confines of her mind, not as a defense mechanism, but in quiet repose, almost like she was meditating.

Around them, the sky darkened. Warm sunlight gave way to cool rain, the little droplets of mist turning into streams of pristine water. Rachel took a long, deep breath, inhaling the scent of the fresh rain. New life washed over them, green leaves and violet flowers, blossoming buds and grey headstones.

She let out her breath. A moment later, her hand twitched at the sound of distant thunder disrupting the pitter-patter of the rain. Their eyes met.

"We'd better head back."

"Okay."

They sat on her couch by the window, staring out at the deepening twilight. The soft, slow rhythm of the rain rang gently against the glass, broken only by the occasional clap of thunder in the distance. Rachel's eyes drifted around, from the dimly lit paintings scattered around her living room, to her hands, to the greying skies, to the finely carved features of Garfield's face.

She looked down, then back.

He was utterly focused on the rain, his usual bubbly energy now held in trance by the droplets suspended on the glass. He was so still that he might have been a statue, but the occasional stroke of his fingers over her hand told her otherwise.

Ordinarily, she would have pulled away and chastised him for it, but he was hardly even paying any attention to her - it was a reflexive movement, no more. Somehow, that thought was comforting. She leaned in.

He really is full of surprises, isn't he? One moment he's full of energy, dragging me here and there, constantly talking and trying to cheer me up, and the next moment he's just sitting here quietly, admiring the rain. He turns it on and off so quickly. He changes so quickly... I really never know what to expect from him. It's quite refreshing. It... helps me change as well.

She shifted over. He still didn't move.

He's warm. He's always been warm, even though he has been through just as much as I have. He's always been warm to me... even with my attitude toward him. I should be grateful. I am grateful. It's just...

She hesitated. It was unfamiliar territory. Even when she had escaped, even after Trigon had been locked up for good, it had never felt natural for her to have any physical contact with anyone else. Even touching other people... ugh. And forget about emotional intimacy. I've never broken down like that before, not even when mom... when she died... or even when Slade used me, I never left myself vulnerable like that.

But with him..?

I left myself completely open to him, and he didn't take advantage of me. He really, really tried to help.

We've already gotten there, so what's the problem with being a little closer?

She inched her way toward him, but still hesitated. It didn't feel natural. Of course it didn't. It was weird the first time he came to me, asking for flowers. It was weird when he came back to help me. It was weird that he kept pursuing me persistently, and strange that we got closer after we had that little fight.

This isn't that weird in comparison. Besides, I have to learn to change, just like he does.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

Surprised at the sudden contact, Garfield tore his stare away from the window. He looked down, met only with Rachel's mop of dark hair and the sleek curve of her chin beneath the silken locks. He reached a hand toward her head, then stopped.

"It's okay. You can touch me."

She's acting weird. She was so stubborn about me not touchin' her before... oh. Is this her way of sayin' she trusts me?

He put a hand on her head and ruffled her hair, marveling at its softness. He felt her pull away a little on reflex, but she caught herself in the movement and leaned in even closer. He put an arm around her shoulder and flinched - she was cold, as usual, but he had plenty of heat to share.

Her eyes were closed beneath the delicate curve of her brows.

"He likes me," her lips barely moved.

He heard it, but with how soft her voice was, it was impossible to tell whether she was expecting a response or not.

"He's waiting for an answer. Yes or no, both are fine. He is willing to accept either." Her eyes opened a sliver, violet sparkling in the grey-hued ambient.

She's thinking aloud on purpose.

"I don't know how to feel. I've never changed so much in such a short period of time. It's... frightening. But also stimulating. I feel strange. I'm not an open person, and I'm not expressive either."

He nodded very slightly at that. Her chin pressed into his shoulder a little more.

"I thought that leaving myself open to him would end up breaking me. Letting him into my mind, letting him know how I feel, actually showing it to him... it felt so weird. It was so stressful. I thought I would lose my mind. I was afraid... I've never been able to really trust anyone..."

She sighed.

"But after it was done, I did feel better. I left myself open for once, and it felt good to be comforted. It's like now. Being close like this. Part of me feels revolted. Part of me is deathly afraid. But once I forced myself to get over it... it's actually fine. It feels nice."

Her eyes opened. She put a hand on his chest.

"The last person that... that I actually cuddled with like this... was my mother." She let out a long, low breath. "And now here you are." She shook her head. "I never thought I would be able to trust someone like this ever again."

"As cheesy as it sounds, I'm tellin' ya, you can trust me. But, Rae, you should take it slow too. I know you wanna change and get over what happened to ya, but it won't come quickly. You can't just rush into it."

She nodded. "I know. I'm forcing myself-"

"I know you need to. But you can't force yourself too hard either. You say you like being close to me, but I can still feel you trying to pull away sometimes."

"It's a reflex." Rachel sat up, brushing her hair out of her face. "Physical contact has always been revolting to me, but it's a big part of how normal people communicate."

"You don't need to be normal. Not for my sake, not for anyone else's. You should be only if you want to be."

"I don't want to be stuck the way I am."

"I get that, believe me I do. But you gotta take it slow. You say you trust me, and I'm tellin' you you can, but you gotta let it happen little by little."

She nodded. "And you're okay with that."

"I can be patient."

"Really?" Skepticism.

"Really. I have been so far. I've proven it to you."

She pursed her lips. "I don't like to rush things."

"As much as you might not believe me, I don't either."

"No, I do believe you. You're headstrong and impulsive, but when it comes to these things, I really do believe that you don't like rushing blindly into friendships and relationships."

"I've been burned too many times to keep being like that. You obviously get that."

"So you'll be patient with me?"

"I will."

"You... will wait for me?"

"I... what?"

"My answer."

"To?"

Rachel wrapped her arms around herself. She chanted a few meditative words under her breath, keeping her eyes closed.

"He likes me."

She held his hands, squeezing a little.

"He wants it to be more. But, he is okay with whatever my answer is."

Garfield swallowed hard.

"He is okay with waiting. But I don't want to keep him waiting too long."

"Take... your time." His voice wavered. He cleared his throat. "I said I would be patient. I want to be patient."

"I have been indecisive and cold for so long. I can't be like this forever."

Her eyes opened.

"I need to give him an answer. He said either answer is fine."

"I meant it."

"Did you?"

"I still mean it. I told you it before, and I'll say it as many times as I need to. Your mental health is more important than something silly like our relationship status. I want... no, I need you to be well. I can't watch you suffer, and I definitely won't be a cause of it. So please, Rae, be selfish and worry about yourself first."

She smiled. It reached her eyes.

He's waiting for me.

The days passed quietly between sunshine and rain, scattered thunder and flowing clouds. The flower buds bloomed and wilted in one cycle, grew again, then wilted again as spring ran its course.

She drifted around her garden, still garbed in solid black, still hidden away from the world, still cold and inexpressive, but no longer alone.

Life marched on. He passed by with friends, short-lived dates, sometimes alone, and each time, she either wasn't there or would only offer a few, brief words in greeting if she was working in the garden.

He cast a longing glance each time, and each time, it was harder and harder to tear himself away. But she needed time.

Time.

It ran its course, and with the brightening days came the most vibrant of colors from her garden, from delicate lavenders to luscious orchids and vibrant fuchsia. In the midst of it all, the one red flower raised its head, painted brightly with scarlet and rose, full with life and vivaciousness.

He waited.

He waited.

...

They waited.

...

Time ran its course.

The other flowers bloomed and wilted, then bloomed again. She waited and waited. No more words were needed. It was only a matter of finding her heart. It was only a matter of knowing what she wanted. It wasn't something that could be forced.

Turmoil and chaos were the memories of the past haunting the dreams of the present. Indecision, uncertainty, change. She held them all in her breath, then let them go. But, in the second breath, they returned.

I just... don't know. It hasn't clicked yet. I still don't know what I'm doing.

She pruned the violet and green leaves, the motion robotic and perfunctory. Mauve eyes drifted toward the center of her garden, but drifted back swiftly. She left it alone. It was still there, standing proudly as a point of bright carmine amongst a sea of amethyst and emerald. Still, the petals were closed, sealed tightly against one another.

...

She breathed, and the heavens shifted. Hot sunlight met cold rain. Day and night passed with the blink of an eye.

She breathed and the flowers bloomed. She let it out and they wilted. Time slipped through her fingers.

He passed by, alone, and they exchanged a few words. He never stopped caring, but she needed time and space.

The pieces of her shattered psyche came together with each breath, and slipped through her fingers with the next. Time and space flowed by her in plenty, each day passing with each fleeting thought, the heavens and earth flying past her in perpetual, unrelenting motion.

She closed her eyes.

It stopped.

She breathed. The familiar images formed in her head. The masked man, poised on canvas, half orange, half black, part rage, part death. All dead.

The demon's eyes, slits of crimson framed by shaggy, white hair. Trigon, the devil in a man's skin, seething wrath and twisted pride personified. As far as she was concerned, gone as well.

They faded.

Dark hair and white cloak, the slim form of Arella. Mother.

She held her hands out, eyes still closed. The figure did the same.

Rachel. Be free. Forgive, and be free.

Forgive?

Forgive. Yourself. Forget them. Let it go.

The image swirled in her head, white and black melding together. Arella's face disappeared behind the hood and suddenly it was distorted, cloak spreading into wings, hood forming the gentle slope of a beak. It split and spread, ravens taking flight into a boundless expanse of white. They floated away, rising and rising, flying, soaring into the white heavens.

She breathed.

She opened her eyes.

She stood.

She moved.

It bloomed.

Violet eyes regarded the bright flower curiously. She knelt beside it, a pensive smile working its way onto her face. Forgive and forget. Move on.

The march of time stopped. She held it still, keeping the flower in full bloom. It was a perfect shade of rose, deeply hued, but bright simultaneously, glistening with moisture between the intricate patterns and delicate textures.

...

She clipped it.

Twilight encroached upon the fading sun. He looked out the window, alone, then put his chin on his hand.

Patience hurt like a salted wound, but the alternative was far worse. So he waited, staring at the dying sun. On the horizon, it dipped halfway below, colored with marigold and cherry, gloriously hued on the day's eve. Night approached quickly.

He shook his head, half of mind to go out and join his friends, half of mind to stay put and think. He breathed fully and deeply as the sun dropped below darkness's border.

...

The doorbell rang.

He frowned, confused. Richard, Victor, and Kori had just left, but maybe one of them had forgotten something?

He shuffled toward the door and opened it.

She was standing there, violet eyes sparkling. Her voice was breathless as she called his name.

"Gar... you know what this means, right?"

He looked down - in her outstretched hands, a flower gleamed back brightly at him.

"Well?"

"Rae..." he shook his head, laughing softly. Tears streamed down his face. "Yes. Yes to that, and yes to what you're about to say."

She carefully set the flower aside, then wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. He kissed her on the forehead, heart soaring into the heavens as he held her close.

Above, in the night sky, the rising moon cast ivory light on the rose petals of the red carnation.