'A' For Effort

Red X had, in the short history of his love-life, been notorious for standing up the most unlikely dates in favor of – let's say – a sandwich at home, or a toaster that needed to get fixed. The few friends he did claim to have all agreed he was off his friggin' rocker. Why would he turn tail and run when he had beautiful, personal-trainer crafted rich girls courting him shamelessly? Who cares what kind of dark ulterior motives she's got up her dress, enjoy the view at least? But X, rather Bannon, couldn't get up the cajones to sit across the table from such girls for more than twenty minutes, lest he stopped listening to their conversation and start paying careful attention to the thirty-thousand dollar diamond anklet she was wearing.

After a while it became something of a game. Every rich daddy's girl was encouraged to somehow get in good graces with the junior Mr. Sasaki, therefore getting her father in good graces with his father, so on and so forth. Dodging their advances had become something of a rude art that he liked to perfect daily at required dinner parties and public venues. He was an expert, a damn professor of advanced romance obliteration, the king of broken dinner-dates and the only male teenager in his social circle not chasing diamond encrusted booty. This instinct about ducking out of dates followed him into the streets, unfortunately, where he ruined a couple really good relationships in the course of his new life. Red X could not, even if he wanted to, meet for a prearranged appointment unless you promised there would be free money and doughnuts.

Since Blockbuster wasn't probably going to give him money or doughnuts, Red X wasn't going to show up.

The thief had, instead, gone out and bought a broken battery powered toaster oven, a box of doughnuts and a sandwich at the local deli. Then he went home and ate his sandwich and fixed the toaster oven while Shi-Shi sat on the cabinets overhead and eyed him beadily. The cat tended to find his scheming things reprehensible somehow and would not leave him alone for a moment of peace. He toasted a bagel experimentally while the cat glared at him, tail lashing disapprovingly back and forth as he pulled the old toy factory construction blue prints, laying them over with the new ones from the recent renovation of said factory. He chewed his pencil, glancing at his watch while the smell of toasted bagel drifted through the air.

"This is a good idea," he told his cat plainly.

"Reow," Shi-Shi said unappreciatively.

"What do you know?" he muttered. The bagel popped out of toaster. He glanced at his watch. "Seven minutes and forty-five seconds. This toaster sucks." Bannon crammed the bagel in his mouth and proceeded to dial the phone. He waited a moment while it connected, humming to himself and swinging his foot back and forth under the lip of the counter, chewing thoughtfully.

"Reow."

"You'll see in a second you dumb cat." He chewed and swallowed. "We can't be flashy all the time."

"Reow…"

-heist-

"Delivery for Commissioner Jones?"

Jones looked up from his paperwork, fuming, mustache bristling magnificently over his fifth cup of coffee. Those damn kids! He wasn't getting a wink of sleep over this ridiculous Red X case and the stack of villains and villainesses were piling up in the jail house like catching them was only just so much irritating work on the way to the top. Frankly, the man hadn't ever considered this Red X character much of an over all threat save to the bank accounts of the wealthy and well-to-do and no one liked the wealthy and well-to-do, him least of all. However, over the course of these last couple days – good grief, only days, days! – he had begun to slowly begrudge the burglar something almost like respect.

You couldn't really respect any man who ran around in a hopped up Halloween get-up, but you could at least be wary of one who killed a man, fought with Robin, then single-handedly jailed three criminals in the span of a single night. This spoke of a man who was probably insane and outwitting the entire city crome-force in the state of being insane. You have to get points for that, just a couple.

The botched robbery attempt the following night aside, this guy was shaping up to be one of single most irritating felons to date. What kind of criminal worked like this? A perfect record of barely provable high-profile crimes, professional, clean-cut and quiet then has a sudden explosion of public violence and twisted vigilantism? It made it look like the work of two completely different people from the commissioner's point of view, or at least a very extreme case of split personality. One the conscious thief, the other the ruthless murderer, clashing and crashing against one another, punching the other in the face in a blow for blow struggle for supremacy...

"Commissioner?" Jacklyn Tate, his new desk jockey, was glaring in at him. "The delivery boy is making me want to hurt things. Namely him. Sign for his damn package or I'll have to beat him down and get laid off the force." Tate looked peeved, but than again, she usually did. She'd just recently been put on probation for pistol-whipping a suspect in a cross-city chase that the Titan's couldn't be spared to worry about. While the Justice League Vigilante Protection Laws provided heavy lee-way for the official members of the JL, ye olde beat-cops were still subject to very harsh law-suits. Tate was one of those unfortunate and disgruntled mortals and for the last three weeks she'd been taking out on anyone who got within snarling distance of her.

Jones groaned, getting to his feet. "And what ever would we do without your glowing and sunny disposition around my paper work?"

"Milk will curdle at the sound of your screams if you call me sunny or glowing again."

Yeah. Disgruntled.

The man rotated his prickling shoulder as he pushed his way into the office bustle, street cops hauling pick-pockets and car-jackers into holding, citizens lining up to file complaints, shouting, chatting, and all the other cop-shop noise. Amid it all a nervous looking Latino kid was fidgeting with a large brown paper wrapped box and a plain white envelope. He straightened at the sight of the commissioner and stepped forward quickly, thrusting the package at him like a hot potato. The clipboard was piled on top for signing, preferably with speed.

"Hurry man, I gotta get outta here," he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Your secretary is giving me this crazy look…"

"Tate, be nice!" he snapped, signing. "Who sent this?"

"I dunno, some guy." He snatched the clipboard back fast as humanly possible and took off.

"Charming," Tate growled, "Do they pay him in money or dope?"

Jones ignored her as he came back to the front desk, shaking the box and placing his ear against the side of it. He tossed the envelope at the woman. "Get that open for me will yu'? I'm trying to decide how paranoid I want to be about getting a mysterious box from unknown origins and under-aged civilians." He frowned, listening to the inside as he shook again. "That sounds familiar." He started untying the string. "Tate. What's the letter say?"

"Oh." She laughed and slung her boots up on the desk, brows flying up her forehead. "Oh, this is good. Hey, commissioner how often do we get felons who think canning their own is a kickin' past time?"

Jones froze. "What?"

"It's another Red X letter. This one's really to you though. Says 'Enjoy the doughnuts, fuzz-boy. They're a gift, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd stake out the park tonight, say, round one AM. If you do, I promise some one will show up. You should arrest them as they are the real deal scum-bag murderer and a psychotic big-time crime lord. His name's Blockbuster if he tries to cop out and if you keep an eye on him I promise to send in the evidence soon.' This kid is scream huh? 'PS: You can tell the Titans if you like, but Robin will pitch a hissy fit.'" Tate dropped the letter with a laugh. "Commissioner, how long are we gonna let this guy tug our chains? As it is, he's just throwing felon after felon at us when he's done beating the crap out of them for whatever pretty crime war they've got going."

"Isn't that the best kind?" he said, opening the box. The doughnuts were powdered, he wondered if that should worry him.

"Sir?"

"Tate." The older man kicked back on the desk. "You've gotta learn to lighten up a bit. If the thief wants to play hero, let him and if the Titans want to chase him, let them. I'm sure they'll sort it out amongst themselves and in the meantime criminals are behind bars right? When all is said and done and if the Titans don't mess up, then we'll just take care of the clean-up." He frowned, mulling over his impulsive philosophy. "Huh…well, look at it this way actually, we can't stop any of them either way so just play along. We don't wanna get mixed up in the weird cases anyhow."

"Right. We stick to murder and tax skippers." Tate folded her hands on the desk. "So this…Blockbuster. I've heard of him, but there's nothing we can touch him with. Red X is fooling himself if he thinks we're gonna pounce on this guy just because he gave us a not-so-anonymous tip."

"Hmm…" said Commissioner Jones, stroking his mustache.

Tate made an appalled face. "Don't do that. It's stupid looking."

"No doughnut for you," he said, jerking the box away from her. "I was thinking we should hand all this over to the Titans. Take him up on his advice."

"Sir? The Titans? I thought you hated them?"

"I do, but they get to do things like detain people on mere whim. And besides…" He chewed his doughnuts. "X and Robin deserve each other."

"You're not…a very nice guy, sir."

"I know."

-heist-

"How can that possibly be true?" Black rage. Fear.

"It's the truth." Nothing.

"What am I supposed to believe, Raven?" Desperation, doubt, fury.

"Me, Robin. You're supposed to believe me," Raven answered. There are black needles behind every icy word.

The Boy Wonder stopped short at that, sharply coming to a halt as he moved to pace the length of the carpeted hallway. The pallor of his bare skin beneath the mask had drained of all hue but the sickly pale color of paper and a slightly nauseous green. His gloved hands had snapped back into themselves, shrinking into frightened furious fists almost as fast as he recoiled from Raven's blunt declaration. He didn't turn around, refused to look at her as he stood rooted there; adhered to the carpeting.

Through out the entire conversation Raven hadn't so much as flinched, even at her own horror concerning what she'd seen. She was unmoved even when forced to admit that she couldn't prove it anymore than she could prove a thought crossing her mind. This didn't frighten her so much as the though of Robin not trusting her enough to take her word. She folded her arms over her breasts and thrust her shoulder back against the wall, listening intently to the thundering of her own heart against the back of her ribcage. In the back of her mind she felt darkness stirring restlessly, slithering like oil across her thoughts and coloring them dark.

Slade.

"What do you want, Robin?" snapped Raven finally as the silence betwixt the two Titan's lengthened uncomfortably. For a moment it was obvious Robin couldn't understand what she meant. She broke the splintering silence, tugging the pain of choice from Robin's hands. "What do you want? For me to pretend I didn't see anything so you can keep pretending Red X is the prime target here? If Slade is still alive then Red X was telling the truth all along. Even last Christmas and furthermore…Slade could be involved in this murder. Heck, while we're speculating here, he could be involved with this WAYNE Enterprises thing too. If he had beef with Red X before, maybe he still does. Maybe he's the third party."

The line of Robin's spine down the back of his uniform remained absolutely rigid, fronds of wavering fear and indecision tickling the edges of her mind. He didn't seem capable of turning and facing her. She just gazed at the back of the Titan's neck, staring at the taunt lines of his arms locking up beneath his cape until they could take no more and like tension let out of a wire, his shoulders sagged and he let his head fall back finally. He stared up into the unlit ceiling.

"Raven…he was there."

"Who?" Now he'd wandered. Raven stood three feet away from him and four-thousand miles away from whatever enigmatic 'he' that Boy Wonder now referred to. Robin sighed and unclasped the cape, tossing it against the wall where it, with a light cough, hit the paneling and slithered to the ground. He beat his cape to the floor, already having dropped with his back against the opposite wall, head rammed up against it, knees at odd angles, arms draped without thought.

"The guy in the e-mail."

"Robin. Slade might still be alive. You have to focus –,"

"Just listen to me for a minute."

Raven fell silent. Robin ran his fingers through his hair, hunching over, face drooping toward the carpet, every lines of him emanating desperate anxiety. The broken pieces were dislodging all around her, all the fractured bits of their team falling apart and Raven had not even been to see Beast Boy or Starfire. She, maybe, was frightened to see what their reactions were.

"He was there that night," he repeated, his voice raw and scraped. If he opened his mouth Raven expected blood, bubbling up from the open internal wound, the one that never healed. He looked up at her and she didn't need to see his eyes to know absolute despair. "At Haley's circus. Raven…the guy I've been talking to for the past three months watched my parents die." A strangled laugh. "He was probably in the stands, probably right next to me, probably close enough to see. He was there and you know what else?"

Raven didn't know what else.

"Every time he writes me…he sounds more and more like Red X!" Robin bit his lip a breath…then burst out laughing. He keeled over laughing, laughing and nothing about anything struck her as even remotely funny. He clenched his fist against his mouth to calm himself, stifle the hilarity and spared her a cursory glance over his fingers. "And what's worse? What's worse? I think that maybe, Cyborg was right leaving. I mean, hell, I am a God-awful leader, look!" He waved a slightly shaky hand at nothing, gesturing at the ribbons of moonlight. "Look at this. Lousy hypocrite is what I am. Won't let him go after Blood, meanwhile I'm all wrapped up in Red X and Slade…"

The sorceress gave the boy a vaguely horrified look. "Robin…are you…okay?"

"Sure I am."

"Did you take something?"

He looked affronted, his old sharpness snapping back into his expression. "What? No. Jeez, Raven. No."

Weary hands rubbed his face, clearing sleepiness from his masked features. He looked more human this way, the rumple teenager with no cape, no shoes (he'd abandoned them somewhere with his gloves at his utility belt) or other semblance of heroicness about his person. Raven tried to see him without the mask, tried to imagine the eyes, the face as a whole. He made a strange photograph, this wiry, skinny boy in mask and bright colors with his knees drawn up sitting on the hallway floor, just taking up space, staring and confused. She sighed and joined him sitting down next to him and folding her legs.

"I'm sorry, Robin." They stared at the wall. "I'm sorry for all of it."

Somewhere down the halls Beast Boy snorted loudly and banged as he rolled into the wall. Starfire sneezed explosively –

"Do you think I'm wrong?"

– and they sat on the floor together.

"No. I don't. I might have before today, but now I don't," she replied evenly, lifting her brows. "You've been talking to Red X over the internet for three months. Good job, Mr. Ace Detective. I give you an A for effort."

Still patches of dark and quavering strips of light filled the hall. Raven felt something bump her. She glanced over. Robin's slight frame shook with silent laughter beside her, jerking with bursts of it and he buried his face in his hands. She studied them absently, the hands. Worn, scarred and calloused, but they really weren't much like Red's were they? Robin's hands were tougher; they had more edge, more strength if nothing else tangible. She though about the criminal and the hero, thief and Titan, X and Rob. Comparable, polarized, reflective – She stopped thinking because Robin started talking.

"Red X is still our objective," he commented, leaning back against the wall. Warm serenity pooled where she'd felt only chaos seconds before. "If anyone will know about Slade, it's him. So we stick to the plan."

Raven frowned, wary of that tone. "What plan?"

"The plan where I tell you guys how I've been tracking Red X myself using the Xynothium tracer Cyborg designed before he left." Raven felt like one slapped. In the back of her mind something leapt up, flinging a finger dramatically – 'so that's how you did it, you clever bastard!' She managed not to say it aloud. Robin went on after she declined the chance to chew him out for his little treachery, knowing it was forgiven. "It can trace it in bursts, released energy. So when he strikes, we know where."

"You should get some sleep."

"But…"

"Trust me when I say Red won't be murdering anyone tonight. Just get some sleep."

"Alright. Night, Rae."

-heist-

Author's Note: Yeah okay, so I've not done anything for like months. Sue me. I got wrapped up in Kingdom Hearts and had amnesia about anything else. Then, like a sign from heaven, I was sitting and suddenly the episode 'X' started playing and I was struck by a thunderbolt – My Lord! I haven't written my Red X story in ages! I want Red X! Thus: renewed faith in my character. Yay. If you want to blame someone, blame my muse. She got off on Riku and Nobodies so I couldn't focus on Bannon, little slut.

Cheezit: You know I'm just a subconscious alter ego of yourself, right?

Cloud8.9: So secretly it's all your fault.

Me: Neh…Warning. There may be a revamp of this story, edit this thing and make it not so crap-like. But I'll give some warning. Until then, tootles!