Author's Note:

I was debating with myself for several days if I should go ahead with this story or not. It is kicking me out of my comfort zone in several ways. There are no superpowers, all characters are normal humans and they are a lot older (late twenties or so). Also, it is the first AU I'm doing, and I'm not a big fan of that particular type of story.

But as before, there is something that forces me to explore it, whispers why not? and pushes me over the edge, like Poe's Imp of the Perverse. So I took the plunge, hoping for the best. I will be grateful for any well-intentioned criticism.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.

Convergence

Prague, Czech Republic, Two Weeks Ago

The middle-aged woman was tall and skinny, probably pretty many years ago, now desperately trying to recover some of the glories of her past with way too much makeup. Walking quickly through the light rain, she shivered slightly at the cold dampness of the early afternoon and went into a corner café, folding and shaking rain droplets off her umbrella.

Her cool eyes swept over the half-empty café until she found who she was looking for. She approached the booth where her companion was awaiting her and sat down across him, not bothering with greetings.

Her companion could never be accused of being handsome, that was certain. The low, heavy brow, deep set eyes, jutting chin and hairy arms gave him an ape-like appearance, almost that of a gorilla. And yet there was a sharp intelligence in those bestial eyes, even though it was easy to dismiss the man as barely above an animal intellectually. He did not mind; it made his opponents underestimate him, to their deep regret.

They sat and spoke quietly, their eyes sweeping around the small, cozy café constantly, alert to any possible signs of danger. Both glanced at the entrance as the small bells hanging over it chimed, announcing that the door was opening to admit a short, slim figure in. It was wrapped in a wet yellow plastic rain cloak against the drizzle outside, the hood up over the face, obscuring the features. As the newcomer walked in and came abreast of their booth, one gloved hand poked out from the rain cloak holding a phone, manipulating it in the familiar manner of a person frustrated because the phone would not react to fingers covered by gloves.

The deception was masterful, the slight movement under the voluminous cloak unseen by the alert couple. They were both good; one did not reach middle age in their line of work without being exceptionally adept. A sixth sense made them react, the ape-faced man's hand sliding under his jacket, the woman's hand groping behind her back. But they were too late.

The barrel of a Walther OSP appeared, barely protruding out of the rain cloak, barking out two .22 rounds with a sound not louder than a hard clapping of hands. They both dropped down, their legs still jerking and spasming, the heels scraping against the hard wooden floor, obeying contradictory signals coming from already dead brains.

The assassin took a step closer, avoiding the legs kicking ever more feebly and shot each one of them again through the eye, making sure that the job was completed fully, then turned around and calmly left the café as the other guests only just began realizing what was going on. Followed by a rising volume of shouting and screaming, the figure in the rain cloak quickly mingled with dozens of similarly clad people on the street, effectively disappearing from sight.

Jump City, California, Present Day

Garfield Logan cursed. He was already running late, and now this unpredictable hold-up in traffic was making him even later. He craned his neck trying to see better what was going on, but the evening drizzle obscured everything beyond a hundred feet ahead.

"Fuck this!" he growled to himself, turned on the blue beacons and gave a couple of whoops with the siren, pulling his car out of the line and driving alongside it. Soon he was stopped by a cop in a wet slicker, his face frowning. Logan powered the window down and waved his Lieutenant-Detective badge at him.

"Gar Logan, Homicide. What's going on?"

"Guy lost control and drove off the cliff" the cop said grumpily, obviously pissed off at everything and everybody for being out in the rain when he could be warming himself both from without and from within in a much more pleasant environment. "The lab folks are looking the place over."

"Can you let me through? I'm late for a meeting."

"No can do, Loot. But you're welcome to try going over my head."

"If that's what it takes…"

The cop shrugged. "You'll have to see Detective Madariaga for that."

"Which one is he?"

"Guy with the pink umbrella" the cop snickered.

"What, he had to use his wife's?"

"That's what he says!"

Logan rolled his eyes at the cop's attempt at humor and left the car, opening his own umbrella and walking briskly over. He paused at the POLICE LINE – DO NOT CROSS tape and shouted at the closest lab technician.

"Hey, bro! Over here!"

The tech glanced at him and sauntered over. "What?"

Logan waved his badge at him, making the man's scowl soften into a frown. The damn thing is sometimes almost a magic wand, he thought. "Gar Logan, Homicide. Wanna talk to Madariaga."

"Over there" the tech jerked a thumb back. "Guy with the –"

"The pink umbrella. Yeah, I know. Where do I walk?"

"Just keep off the oil slick. We're still taking pictures of it."

"Will do" Logan said and ducked under the tape, heading towards the pink umbrella, careful to skirt the large slick glistening in multicolored hues under the harsh spotlights placed by the lab crew.

"You Madariaga?" he asked. The man turned around, his eyes quickly taking in Logan's short stature and slight frame.

"Yah. And you're…"

He waved the magic badge again. "Logan. Homicide." Maybe I should put a neon sign on my forehead so I don't have to repeat it every two minutes. "What's going on?"

Madariaga's eyes narrowed. "Not a homicide" he answered in a hard, cold voice.

Logan sighed. "I'm not muscling in. I'm late for a meeting and I need to drive through."

"Should've said that first" Madariaga grumbled. Logan let it pass. Madariaga looked to the side and shouted.

"Sorella! Hey, Sorella!"

The cop with the slicker appeared from the drizzling mist. "Yeah, what?"

"Let His Lootness drive through and make sure he doesn't fuck up any evidence! Sooner I can see his tail lights, the happier I'll be!"

Sorella gave an exaggerated military salute. "Aye, aye, sir!"

"Moron!" Madariaga growled in a low voice.

"It's all love and pink unicorns with you guys, I see" Logan smirked, unable to resist. Madariaga gave him a murderous glare, then waved his hand. "Just fuck off."

Logan looked around. Perversely, Madariaga's attitude only increased his interest. Shrugging the feeling off, he decided that he forgot to bring any fucks to give and almost turned around and left, anxious to meet his appointment. Instead, he heard himself asking the question.

"What happened?"

"Oil slick on the pavement, probably from a truck leaking. U.S. Army staff car came into the curve too fast, lost control on the oil, crashed through the railing and dropped couple of hundred feet down. Driver and occupant dead. Meat wagon took the bits and pieces away a few minutes ago."

"Skid marks? Paint transfer between the vehicle and railing?"

"Lab guys already measured and photographed the skid marks" Madariaga replied, his voice getting colder while his face was getting redder. "They're taking samples of the paint from the railings and the car."

Logan cast an automatic, practiced look around the scene. One thing struck him right away.

"That's a big slick."

Madariaga stared hard at him, his face flushed. "Maybe it was a big truck."

"It's almost circular, Madariaga. If it was oil leaking from a truck, it would be splashed in a rough line over hundreds of yards, not in a circle twenty feet across. And there's simply too much of it."

"Is this your idea of 'not muscling in'?"

"I'm giving you a free lesson on how to do your job, detective!" Logan barked at him, his interest in the case now fully aroused. And much of it just to spite you, Madariaga, he chuckled to himself. He noticed several small pieces of plastic on the pavement. He bent and carefully studied one, without touching it.

"Is this evidence?"

"Help yourself, they're all over the place. Must be from the same truck. Maybe they're pieces of the oil barrel it carried" Madariaga said acidly.

Logan looked at him, annoyed. "Were you born stupid or do you work hard on it? Look at the size! If a barrel of oil fell off a truck, it had to fucking explode for the pieces to be so small!"

"Get your fucking ass off my fucking scene" Madariaga hissed. Logan ignored him. His trained eye looked for and found the center of the oil slick, noticing the pattern of the plastic pieces around it. He took out a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket and put them on, picking up the small, inch-and-a-half wide plastic shard and looking meticulously at it, turning it around to examine it from every angle, finally giving it a quick sniff.

Semtex. How about that. It did explode. Probably just the lid. No need to wire all of it.

He straightened up, placed the plastic into an evidence bag and fished out his phone. He selected a name and dialed. While he waited for an answer, he glanced at Madariaga.

"Tough luck, detective. It is a homicide."

A voice came up on the phone. Logan turned his back on Madariaga and listened.

"Whassup, Shrimp? You coming?"

"Give the Captain my regrets and get your ass over to the Bridge Road now, Cue Ball. We have work to do."

"Oh, no, you're not, Tinkerbell! You tell'im yourself. I ain't gonna let my ass be raped just to cover yours."

"I'm on a murder scene, Eggshell. Start earning all that money they pay you."

"I hate you, Shorty. In this rain?"

"What, afraid the rain'll make you sprout hair?" Logan jested.

"I'll be there. And when I get there I'll tie a dime around your skinny feet and throw you into the ocean to drown."

Logan chuckled and cut off the call, turning back to Madariaga.

"My partner's on his way. We're taking over."

"Fuck you!" Madariaga snarled at him, turned around and strode away.

Langley, Virginia, Present Day

Richard Grayson typed the number he wished to call on the terminal, activated the encryption and picked up the handset. After a couple of rings, a female voice replied.

"Hello, Dick. It is always the pleasure to hear you!"

He smiled in spite of himself.

"Hi, Kori. How are things in London?"

"There is too much of the rain."

"Here, too."

"You did not call for the weather report, Dick. How may I be of the assistance?"

"Mallah and Rouge."

There was a slight pause on the other side of the line. "That was more than two of the weeks ago. What about them?"

"I know. I've been working on it ever since and I am hitting my head against a wall. Did MI-6 order their execution?"

A pleasant laugh rang through. "Oh, Dick, you are always so much of the direct!"

"It's part of my charm" he said, grinning, even though she was not able to see him.

"You know I cannot give the answer to the question" she chided him.

Her avoidance annoyed him slightly, even though he was expecting it.

"Kori, it was her. The Raven. Five feet four, slight, not more than a hundred pounds. Short .22 rounds, probably from a Walther OSP. Coup de grace in the eye. To say nothing of the sheer audacity to do it in a café in broad daylight. All the hallmarks are there."

"I will not be giving away the secret if I say that your evaluation is in the concordance with ours" she said, a playful tone in her voice.

Where does that accent come from? Where does she come from? he wondered for what was easily the thousandth time. He pushed it away from his mind, wanting to concentrate on what was urgent.

"Kori, if the Raven is starting to work freelance we may have a big problem on our hands!"

"In this we are in the agreement."

"So?"

There was another, slightly longer pause. "It was not us."

"Any idea who?"

"We are pursuing several of the possibilities" she said, her voice turning colder. He knew he had pushed her as far as he could.

"So are we."

"Have you asked Leonid?"

"I'm calling him next" he replied.

"Let me know of the result of the inquiry" she said, her voice warming up again. "You do owe me the favor now."

"That I do, Kori. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Dick."

The line clicked dead.

He placed his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers, thinking. He finally decided that she was not lying and that her denial was genuine. It was time for the next call.

He selected the numbers on the terminal and waited for the reply.

"Richard Ivanovitch."

"Hello, Leo. Good morning, or whatever it is in Moscow."

The voice on the other side sounded cold and tired. "It is late night and you know that very well. I have been working long, Richard. I am exhausted and do not wish to speak. It was not us."

"How did you know what I wanted to ask?"

"It is obvious."

He is tired and making mistakes. I could push him and get the information, but if I do that I'll lose a valuable connection. I should be honest with him.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Leo. I called to ask you about Mallah and Rouge."

A pause. "It was the Raven."

"I know that!" Richard snapped. "We are not that hopeless! I want to know if the FSB ordered it!"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"That is stupid question, Richard Ivanovitch. If you do not think I am sure, you would not call me to ask."

"You've got a point."

"And we have problem."

"Yes. If you did not order it, and we didn't…"

"What about Korrina?"

"I just talked to her. She denies it. I believe her."

"And I believe you. That means the Raven is selling her… services… on open market. It is dangerous."

"More than that. What should we do?"

"It may be necessary to require her to be… What is expression in English? Curtailed."

"I don't like that idea, Leo. She has been a useful tool before. Maybe we should look the other way for now. After all, Mallah and Rouge –"

"Da, Mallah and Rouge were two top lieutenants of Brotherhood. World is better off without them, nyet? "

"I agree with that."

"And what about General Ortiz?"

What is he talking about?

"They have not briefed me yet" he said evasively.

A tired, dry chuckle came through the wires. "That is your problem, Richard Ivanovitch. Too many three-letter agencies. Too much of 'left hand does not know what right hand does'."

"I see. You thought I was calling because of that. As I said, I was not yet briefed –"

"Richard, my friend, I will give you information, and you will owe me favor. General Immanuel Ortiz was murdered in Jump City last night. Made to look like accident, oil on pavement caused his car to go out of control and crash."

"What does that have to do with Mallah and Rouge? And how was it discovered it was not an accident?"

"Your own file on Ortiz should be better than ours, Richard. It should answer your first question. And Jump City Police apparently has good detectives, nyet? You should talk to them. You will find the modus operandi very familiar. Very… disturbing."

"Are you telling me it was the Raven again?"

"It is wrong of me to pre-judge you. Look at it from your side and let me know what you think. If you agree that it was the Raven…"

"Then we will have to think of curtailment procedures" he said coldly, hating himself for it, knowing it had to be done.

"Tak tochno."

"I will check with the JCPD. Who are the detectives on the case?"

Leonid chuckled. "No, Richard. You do your own legwork. I already helped you too much."

"That you did, Leo. Get some rest!"

"I will. Good luck."

The line went dead.