Author's Note: Like many times before, I felt the need to explore things I'm not too comfortable with. But I hope the story is good and that you'll like it.

Disclaimer: Going through my assets I was mildly surprised to see that I do not own the Teen Titans.

-=oOo=-

Finding Peace

The corner table of the bar was shrouded in darkness, and a good observer would've noticed it was done on purpose. The power cables for the two neon advertisement signs hanging on the walls above it – one for beer, the other for vodka – were unplugged, neatly wound up and held with twist ties.

The spark of a lighter broke the shadows, dimming quickly into the soft glow of a small flame. It flickered a little as the hand that held it trembled slightly, illuminating the pale face of a young woman before it extinguished, leaving behind the angry incandescence of a lit cigarette.

She inhaled the smoke deeply and let it out slowly, tasting it, wrapping herself in its blue wisps. Lifting a dewy glass to her lips, she drained the remaining liquid and frowned at the ice cubes swirling inside. She delicately placed the glass back on the table and rapped a quick tattoo on the wooden surface with her nails.

Soon enough a large, handsome man in his late twenties appeared, carrying a fresh drink and placing it silently in front of her. He picked up the empty glass, but instead of turning and going back behind the bar he hesitated.

"That's the third, Rachel. You should slow down a bit."

The woman lifted her eyes and looked at him, meeting his gaze. A small smile appeared on her face.

"You worry too much."

He decided to interpret the smile as tacit approval. He lowered his bulk on a chair, sitting across from her, elbows on the table and hands clasping each other as he leaned towards her.

"Once or twice a month was fine," he spoke softly, looking around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "Once or twice a week was starting to worry me. Now it's every day." His eyes were affectionate but apprehensive; his voice descended to a concerned whisper. "Don't do this, Rach. Don't waste your life."

Her smile faded. "I have no life to waste, Gerald."

He closed his eyes and bent his head, his jaw muscles knotting. He looked up at her again. "I owe you too much, Rach. We all do. We're all worried –"

"I've never promised anything to anyone," she cut him off, her voice frosting. "Don't presume, Gerald. Don't judge me."

He flinched at her tone, but held his ground. "I understand that. Everyone here does. But we're not just concerned that we'll lose our healer. It's because –"

"I know," she interrupted him again, some warmth creeping back into her words. "I'm aware of it. You know who I am – what I am. You know I can feel it."

"Then why –" he began loudly, checked himself, looked around and started again much more quietly. "Then why are you doing this? People here like you. They care for you. You've done more for our small town than anyone ever has."

She took a deep drag of the cigarette and shook her head. "It has nothing to do with you, or with anyone here. You know that."

He clenched his big hands into large fists to keep his voice low. "What are you running away from, Rach? Are you sure none of us can help you with it?"

Her eyes flashed with anger and he winced, afraid he'd gone too far, but it was over in an instant. Cool indifference suffused her gaze and her voice as she answered.

"No one can help me. Those who once could… now won't."

Realizing the conversation was over, he rose up from the chair with a heavy sigh and went behind the bar.

-=oOo=-

The dark-haired youth paused at the door of the bar, letting the eyes behind the dark glasses adjust to the murkiness. A quick, practiced glance took in most of the present company, the layout of the tables, the location of the windows, the position of the back door. Not that he was expecting trouble; it was an automatic reaction.

He walked to the bar counter and leaned on it, following the large bartender with his gaze as he moved closer.

"What'll it be?" the big man asked in an unfriendly voice. The newly-arrived guest chuckled inwardly. People in small towns like this one relied on each other and usually shunned the outside world, knowing that contact with it brought bad news more often than not. It made for a perfect hiding place.

"A soda." The bartender turned around and his hand went for the refrigerator door. "And information."

The hand hesitated and the head turned. Hard eyes studied him. "What kind of information?"

This time the chuckle was audible. "I'm looking for a young woman. Have you seen her?" He produced a picture from his jacket pocket and offered it to the bartender.

Gerald took the picture and examined it carefully, keeping his face impassive. He knew the girl very well. He had just talked to her. But he knew she wouldn't be here, buried in the ass end of nowhere, if she was interested in the world outside. That much was at least clear; he'd be damned if he'd do anything against her wishes.

The young man studied him carefully. "Never seen her," the bartender grumbled and returned the photograph. As the picture changed hands the youth smiled. The hard, cold look in the older man's eyes was now downright hostile.

The bartender couldn't have been more obvious if he shouted it in his face. She was here.

"How about that soda, then?" he smirked.

The bartender watched him for a few seconds, then turned abruptly and stepped towards a pile of pallets packed with soda cans, still enveloped in thick shrink-wrap. His large hands tore the tough plastic effortlessly, removing a can and slamming it on the counter. "Here."

The young guest cast a pointed glance at the glass door of the refrigerator behind which rows of sodas were sweating. His smile widened; he was being dismissed, and not too subtly.

"How much?"

"On the house," the bartender growled. "As long as you take it with you and drink it outside," he added in a much louder voice. Chairs scraped behind the dark-haired visitor. He grinned. Things were quickly getting interesting.

A cool voice startled them all. "That's enough, Gerald. The five of you won't last three seconds against him."

All eyes turned to look at her. His chest tightened; she always had this flair for emerging from the shadows. She stood straight, watching him, head cocked slightly, face composed, arms folded across her chest, her gaze calm and emotionless, painful in its familiarity.

"Rachel?" the bartender tried, uncertain.

Her eyes turned to him. "It's OK. He just wants to talk." She whirled and headed back to her corner, the newcomer following in her wake. She spoke over her shoulder. "Bring him a soda – a cold one this time – and bring me another drink, too."

He sat down across her, taking the dark glasses off. Protecting his secret identity came second place to the wish to see her clearly right now. She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke up. He couldn't miss the trembling of her hands. Her frosty voice startled him.

"The fuck do you want, Richard?"

-=oOo=-

"I was looking for you."

"How about that. I'd never guess that would be the reason you're in Hicksville, population 241 if you count the dogs."

As much as he wanted to smile at the sarcasm, the memories it was bringing back were way too painful and way too poisonous. He felt himself overwhelmed and ground his teeth against it all, trying to focus on the present.

"Rae…"

She dragged on the cigarette and blew out the smoke, not caring that it made him cough. "Why the fuck do you think I'm here, Richard? Don't you think I'd be easier to find if I wanted to be found?"

"I have to talk to you –"

"What's there to talk about?" she interrupted him. "We both know what happened. We know what we did. What I did."

"It wasn't your fault –"

"Oh, for fuck's sakes, Richard!" she hissed at him. "For once, just once in your life stop trying to be a fucking hero and be yourself!"

"I already did, remember?" he replied icily. He could see the effect of his words as they smashed into her. She looked down, sucked on the cigarette and tried to hide herself in the exhaled smoke.

He pressed his lips together. This was going all wrong, he didn't want to bring it all back. He wanted to spare her the anguish and the pain, but he couldn't see a way to avoid it.

"Rae, listen to me. You can't blame yourself –"

She lifted her gaze. "Who can I blame? You?" She took a final drag of the cigarette and stubbed it angrily into the ashtray. "We fucked up four lives, Richard. Not one, not two. Four."

'That's not completely true –"

"No, I guess it's not," she cut him off again. She seemed intent on not letting him get a full sentence out. "My own life doesn't count, I suppose. I shouldn't have survived my sixteenth birthday."

"That's enough!" he shouted, enraged at her self-loathing. His hand squeezed the soda can and what was left of the drink spilled out of the crumpled remains. "You threw off your father's influence and gained your life back! We may have helped you, but the battle was yours! And so was the victory!"

"For what?" she shouted back. "To piss it all away? To hurt everyone I ever cared for? To break everyone's hearts and betray us all – you, me, Gar, Kori – for a night of drunken passion that I can't even remember?"

They both stared at each other, breathing heavily. A large figure loomed over them.

"Rachel, if he's bothering you…"

She swallowed her grief and her rage with difficulty. "It's OK, Gerald," she gave the big bartender an affectionate look. "If I need him thrown out I'll do it myself. Please give us privacy."

"If that's what you want, Rach. I'll be nearby, just in case."

"I know," she smiled at him and watched him retreat back behind the bar. "You always are," she whispered.

He didn't miss it. "Is something… going on between you two?" he asked quietly.

She didn't answer right away. Her hand went for the cigarette pack, the slender fingers extracting a cancer stick delicately, turning it and placing it between her lips. For some reason the sight disturbed him.

She flicked the lighter on, blinding him for a second. The red tip of the cigarette glowed as she sucked the poison in, then described intricate, mesmerizing patterns in the darkness as she gestured while she spoke.

"We're… friends with benefits. Though I can feel he wants more."

"And you don't?"

She frowned at him. "No, I don't. I don't want to get drunk and fuck someone and break his heart, too."

He sighed and shook his head. "You're being unreasonable and cruel to yourself, Rae. If –"

"I'm not cruel enough," she said softly but her eyes suddenly glowed red. He shuddered. The crimson flame in her eyes faded as quickly as it appeared. "It keeps the needs of my body satisfied."

He fought hard to keep the sorrow from his eyes and his voice. "What about the needs of your soul?"

"What about them?" she answered with such disinterest that it left him speechless for a few seconds. He tried to pull himself together.

"Rae, you have to –"

"How are the others?" she cut him off yet again. He sighed.

"Vic is with the Justice League. He's happy there, it's what he always wanted. Kori…" he swallowed.

"What's up with her?" she asked with a crooked smile on her face. He knew what she was doing, she was not making him say it just to hurt him. She wanted to see the pain in his eyes and feel it for her own, to torture both him and herself.

"She's hanging out with Jason and Roy now," he tried to maintain his indifference.

She smirked. "She was always too much of a woman for just one man."

His hands seized the edges of the table in a painful grip, cracking the wood. He rose from the chair and towered menacingly over her, a snarl on his face and fire in his eyes. She watched him calmly, her deep amethyst gaze cool and just a little amused.

Slowly and painfully he pulled himself back and relaxed into the chair while she enveloped herself in more tobacco haze. She was waiting for him to say the one bit of news that was missing, knowing that it will hurt her as few things ever did. He didn't want to speak about it. He knew it would tear her apart. But if he didn't say it, she would rip it out of him.

"Gar…"

She watched him, her eyes expressionless.

"He's with Tara."

Was it his imagination or did her eyes soften for a moment before the ice formed over the surface again?

He pushed it away from his mind and continued. "They've been together for a couple of years now. About a year ago they got married. She's…"

"She's what?" Her voice was flat, her eyes expressionless. He could only guess at the feelings that roared and raged inside her.

"She's six months pregnant."

Again she inhaled the blue smoke and blew it upwards. "Good for them."

He frowned. She sounded almost happy about it. He thought she would… He shook himself off. It was not important, he needed to get back to the reason why he was here.

"That's not it, Rae. The point is –"

"I know what the fucking point is!" she screamed and slammed her fist on the table, making the glass and ashtray fly up and shatter on the floor.

Gerald appeared suddenly and silently with a broom and a dustpan. They watched him as he quickly cleaned up the mess and left, not without sending a warning glare at Richard.

"I know what the point is, Richard," she almost whispered. "I… I'm trying to be glad for him. For them."

"Then you know we haven't ruined their lives," he said earnestly. "We hurt them, and we sent them down a different path, but we haven't ruined anything. The lives we did ruin…"

She eased off back in her chair. "Is that why you're here?" she chuckled darkly.

He nodded. "We deserve a chance, Rae. We've…" his head dropped for a moment, then he looked at her again. "We've suffered enough. We've atoned for it, both of us. Let's try and pick some of the pieces up and put them back together."

Again her hand went for the cigarette pack and his heart sank. She fished one out and twirled it in her fingers, but she never lifted it to her mouth. A small glimmer of hope shone in his soul.

He leaned closer to her, his voice pleading. "We're alone, Rae. Both of us. You're here, in the middle of nowhere, and I…" Suddenly he faltered. Her eyebrow arched, her fingers still playing with the cigarette.

He ground his teeth and forced himself to carry on. "I dare not show my face to Gar or Kori. Victor won't speak to me. The rest of the Justice League treats me like I've got the plague. Even Bruce…"

The cigarette broke as her fingers spasmed into a fist. She blinked, shook the remains off her hand and retrieved another one, continuing her twirling game.

"I want… I need to rebuild it." He stared at the table, not having the strength to lift his eyes and look at her. "I must… make it better. I… want to hope again."

She closed her eyes while unbearably heavy memories washed over her. They sat quietly, like they did so many times so many years ago. The silence between them was always comforting and soothing. Maybe…

She opened her eyes, picked up the pack and returned the cigarette inside. He watched her do it, his eyes widening.

"I suppose we have nothing to lose," she said dryly and got up. "Shall we?"

He fought the smile that wanted so hard to spread across his face. He rose and followed her to the exit. Just before they reached it, she touched his arm and spoke quietly.

"Give me a minute."

There was sadness in Gerald's eyes, and she felt a pang of regret. But she could never love him.

"I'm leaving," she told him simply. He nodded, then glanced at Richard, who was again wearing his dark glasses.

"Will you be happy?"

She smiled and placed her hand over his. "I don't know. I don't think I ever will be. But maybe…"

She glanced at her friend, her teammate, her lover for one night. "… maybe I will find peace."

Gerald nodded gravely, understanding. "I hope you do."

She opened her mouth to say something else, then closed it, turned and went over to the waiting Richard. He offered her his arm and she took it, and they left the bar together.