Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans. Sniff.

He fell in love with her the very moment his eyes saw her walking into his workshop.

The small bells over the door chimed softly as she opened it and leaned hesitantly in, her head and one shoulder poking through as she examined the small workshop with a quick, interested glance, a delicate hand pushing the heavy metal and glass of the door back all the way to allow her to step quickly, almost shyly inside.

He turned his head and his eyes widened. He recognized her immediately. Oh, he had seen her before many times, on the covers of magazines and on TV, to say nothing of YouTube and other Internet sites that were abuzz with news about the star violinist that burst meteorically on the stage, enchanting public and critics alike with her uncanny combination of faultless, nearly robotic precision and the deep passion that she could wrench out from the strings.

But photos lied; her eyes were a deep amethyst, impossible to capture and reproduce by artificial means. Videos deceived; they could not register the almost glowing quality of the ivory skin. Words were not enough; none that he had ever heard came even close to describing her stunning beauty. He must've stared at her for at least a full minute, paralyzed, eyes wide and mouth open, forgetting even to breathe.

Her face flushed slightly at his reaction to her presence. She was still uncomfortable with her new role as superstar and it always made her feel uneasy when people pointed their fingers and accosted her on the street, demanding her autograph and asking all sorts of intensely personal questions, questions that they wouldn't dream of asking even their best friends, let alone a complete stranger. And the journalists… She shuddered.

But his staring continued and her blush deepened. There was much more in his eyes than simple amazement at a celebrity walking into the small, tidy but cramped workshop.

"Garfield Logan?" she made herself ask, trying to channel the situation back into a more common groove. He did not reply, but at least his mouth closed.

She tried again. "I'm looking for Garfield Logan, Steve Dayton's apprentice…"

The mention of his mentor's name finally made him snap out of it.

"Yeah… yeah, it's me! I… Sorry! You're Rachel, Rachel Roth, right?" he said, finally recovering. "I'm sorry, I was just… you surprised me! I never figured…"

Her blush faded as his reaction returned into more normal and expected territory and allowed her to pull out of her confusion. Her severe eyebrows came a little closer together and her full but pale lips curled ever so slightly downwards.

"You are a luthier, right? At least that's what they told me, and what's written on the sign outside."

It was his turn to blush, which he did abundantly. He sprang up from the workbench, his hasty movement scattering all over the tools and pieces of wood that he was working on, his hands trying unsuccessfully to catch the falling objects and failing miserably, the noise they made crashing to the floor registering only as a vibration against the pounding of his heart in his ears.

"I… I'm sorry, it's just… Yes, of course I am…"

His addled mind somehow found a way out of the situation. He pounced at it, dropping down on his knees to pick up the fallen items and making full use of the opportunity to wrench his eyes away from her, taking deep but silent breaths to control his sudden disquiet.

"I'm… I apologize, I… Just a second, please. You… startled me. I have to clean up."

"Sorry about that!" she said, her eyebrows coming together just a bit closer and her lips curving just a little lower. Is he suggesting that this was somehow my fault?

Her low, slightly hoarse voice must have revealed some of her annoyance, because the moment he heard it he tried to straighten up, forgetting that he was under the workbench looking for the strewn tools and working materials. His head struck the bottom of the heavy wooden surface quite hard, the thump loud enough to make her cringe, the few items remaining on the workbench catapulted to fly all over the shop.

Her expression changed immediately to one of concern. She knelt beside him and grasped his arm gently, helping him retreat from under the workbench and get up.

He rubbed the back of his head, wincing painfully. Seeing he was all right, her concern vanished and a tiny, impish smile appeared on her face.

"Are you sure you're a luthier? You seem a little… clumsy."

He grinned sheepishly. "I guess I'm leaving an unconvincing first impression, right?"

Her smile widened just a little. His heart leapt and soared, trying to escape from his chest through his throat where he finally managed to catch hold of it while it still hammered crazily.

"I suppose you are," she said with a small trace of amusement in her voice. "How about you get a hold of yourself and we start all over again?"

He chuckled, forcing himself to calm down. "Good idea. Garfield Logan. Friends call me Gar," he said, extending his hand.

She took it and shook it. Her grip was warm and strong. "Rachel Roth. Pleased to meet you, Garfield."

Again he tensed, this time because of the two opposing feelings that rushed suddenly through him. On one hand, he wished she didn't use his full name; he strongly disliked it and much preferred the shortened version. But there was something in the way it rolled off her lips that made him heat up from inside and filled him with desire to hear her say it again and again, his eyes glazing over as he imagined…

He shook himself like a dog, tearing his mind away from those thoughts and making her raise a slightly puzzled eyebrow.

He turned around to hide another fierce blush and spoke to her over his shoulder. "It's really an honor to have you here. Please, let me get you a chair. Can I offer you anything? Maybe a cup of coffee?"

"Thanks! I'd prefer herbal tea if you have it," she said to his back as he brought up a small collapsible chair, opening it and placing it beside the workbench for her to sit down.

"I have some wild thyme kicking around. I drink it when I come down with a cold."

She nodded, lowering herself into the surprisingly comfortable seat. "That would be great, Garfield."

He grinned at her and slid back a curtain to reveal a tiny niche with a cupboard, a hot plate and a toy-sized sink. He took a small kettle from the cupboard, filled it with water and placed it on the hot plate. He stepped back into the shop and sat down beside the workbench, facing her.

"So, what brings such a celebrity into my humble shop?"

She frowned slightly at his flattery, then picked up the violin case she was carrying with her and started undoing the locks that kept it closed.

"I brought a violin for maintenance. Here, take a look," she said as she removed the instrument from the case and offered it to him.

"This is Steve's work," he mumbled mostly to himself, taking it and studying it carefully. "Number eighty-six." She just nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her.

A small smile appeared on his lips. "Yeah, I know this one. I helped make it."

She watched him closely as he spoke, his attention now completely taken by the instrument. There was a delightful air of innocence and childishness about him, so much that her fingers twitched as she fought off the sudden urge to pull his head to her chest and to run them through his unruly, dirty-blond hair and ruffle it, to bury her face into it and breathe in deeply, taking in his scent…

Her shoulders jerked her back, startled by her own thoughts. He didn't notice it, absorbed in the study of the violin. She let out a long, quiet, hidden sigh.

"Um… which parts?" she said unnecessarily, trying to mask her own sudden turmoil, realizing belatedly that he wasn't aware of it.

"The less important ones. I just helped with odd jobs," he grumbled, still studying the instrument. His long, clever fingers caressed the rich wood gently, his nails softly tapping on it while he listened carefully. He plucked the strings with his fingertips and frowned a little, did a quick adjustment with the pegs and listened again.

"The pegs will need to be serviced soon. It's not urgent, but I can do it for you now," he said, again pulling the strings gently and listening to the notes coming out. "I can also clean the strings a bit. They sound good, but there's quite a bit of rosin on them. You've been playing a lot?"

"That's my practice instrument. I do tend to use it heavily," she said with a little smirk.

"And which one is your concert one?" he asked, suddenly turning to face her, a smile on his face.

"Steve's one-hundred and twenty-eighth," she replied, wondering if he would know which one it was.

His smile widened into a huge grin. "Hey, I made the sound box on that one!"

Again she lifted a surprised eyebrow. "You did? That was an amazing piece of work. It's the best-sounding instrument I ever had!"

She fought hard to suppress a giggle when she saw his face suddenly turn cherry-red, his ears almost glowing with embarrassment. He looked down and cleared his throat several times, trying to speak.

"Thanks, uh… those are… kind words, but… Steve did most of the work, and…"

"I don't get it. Did you make the sound box or not?" she asked, not able to resist the temptation to tease him.

"I did, of course, but that's only a part of the whole, you know, not like I can take all the credit, Steve did a lot of work on it, and he selected all the materials and he made the –"

She placed her hand over his. "Come on, Garfield, don't short-change yourself. You did a wonderful job there. No need to demean yourself or your skill."

His eyes looked up from the floor and to her slender, pale fingers barely touching his hand, searing its skin like branding irons. She removed her hand and unconsciously rubbed the tips of her fingers against the palm of her other hand, as if they, too were burning.

The whistle of the kettle startled them both.

"Just in time!" he said aloud with noticeable relief and quickly stood up to prepare the tea and coffee. A teaspoonful of dried wild thyme went into a teaball which was placed into a mug, together with boiling water. He turned his head to her, noticing she was looking straight ahead, a small frown creasing her brow, not focusing on anything, as if she was thinking hard about something.

"Would you like some honey in the tea?"

"Hmmm? Yes, please, Gar. That would be nice."

He quickly made instant coffee for himself and brought the two mugs over.

"Here. Give it a few minutes to steep and cool down."

They sat down and sipped their brews, silent. She returned to her unfocused staring while he examined carefully the floor in front of his feet. A few minutes scurried away, quick, quiet and frightened like mice.

The silence was comforting at first, but it soon became awkward. His mouth opened but his mind was blank; no relevant words could emerge from the chaos reigning in his head and his soul. It was Rachel that finally broke the stillness, making him turn his head and look at her.

"Do you still make them, or do you just… repair…" her voice trailed off as she gazed into his eyes and the sight took up her entire attention. They were deep green, the color of forest shadows, the small gold flecks in them frolicking lazily, able to easily turn playful or even mischievous, but for now just wandering aimlessly, dazed and directionless.

He stared back, letting himself drown in those deep, violet wells, so calm and composed and serene on the surface, so turbulent and passionate and stormy beneath. He began losing himself in them, attracted ever so deeper, aching to dive into those tumultuous depths and touch her real soul, feel her inner emotions, share with her the love that swept him away so suddenly and so completely.

He finally blinked, his eyes dry from staring so wide at her. The tiny reaction pulled him back from the brink. He shook himself off, his mind furiously trying to remember what it was that she just said.

"You mean… Yeah, I still do. Make them, I mean. I just finished an on-request job, but I also make…"

His throat tightened again, choking off the rest. She didn't seem to mind, or even hear what he was saying. She kept staring at him, her deep, calm gaze pulling at his eyes like a huge magnet. He fought the urge to look at her, nailing his eyes again to the floor.

The extreme interest that he was using to study the tessellated floor tiles made him miss the tiny jerk of her head as she forced herself out of her own fascination. She opened her mouth to speak, failed, bit her lower lip and finally found her voice.

"The bow needs re-hairing, also," she said, blushing again without understanding why. It was way too much; she frowned, angry at herself for allowing all these bizarre, confusing feelings to overcome her and cause all this uncharacteristic behavior she was exhibiting.

"No problems, I can have it all ready in a couple of days. You don't mind leaving it here, do you?"

"Of course not!" she smiled at him, drained the remains of her tea and stood up. "It's really been great talking to you, Garfield, but I need to go. I'll be back for the violin in a couple of days, then."

He sprung up and walked her to the door. "I enjoyed it myself!" he grinned at her, his expression raising a warm wave that surged over and through her. "See ya then!"

He opened the door for her. She took a step to leave, then stopped, turned and looked at him.

"Gar… when were you going to start working on a new instrument?" Afraid of her sudden directness, her gaze went for the floor.

"Um… I was just getting everything ready. I was thinking of starting next week."

"I've… never seen how it's made…" she said, her voice quickly getting hoarse. She swallowed and continued, still looking intently at the floor. "Would you mind me being here while you work? Just to see the process?"

"Mind it? I'd love it!" he exclaimed, his obvious delight at her idea flooding her with tiny, sharp, burning tingles. She again rewarded him with a small, shy smile while he spoke excitedly. "I can set it all up and we can start when you come to pick your violin!"

"Well, that's certainly going to be something to look forward to!" she said, her smile moving a bit to one side of her face as her composure returned. "I'll see you in a couple of days, then."

The door closed behind her. He stood there, nostrils flaring as he unconsciously took in the remaining wisps of her scent, until they, too were gone, dissipating like mist, vanishing into a nothingness just as ethereal and unreal as his memory of what just happened.