Summary: It's hard to tell whether Robin is observing the art, or the artist. Slight Raven/Robin.
A/N: I always figured Raven would be some sort of an artist. Without being able to physically express her emotions, art would provide another, less harmful outlet for her feelings. But anyways, this is just a bit of Robin/Raven fodder that was spawned from an unbearable Art History class and several consecutive nights of insomnia.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Teen Titans. Nor do I own Jan Van Eyck. Darn.
A Thousand Words
Robin had never thought to consider Raven artistic. In fact, he doubted any of their closest comrades would have speculated the dark-tempered empath to have any sort of aesthetic talents (though Terra had once mentioned that she had a pianist's hands, with her long, tapered fingers and graceful wrists). Art seemed useless, too inane, too senseless for a practical girl like Raven. With its free-form idiosyncrasy and emotionally raw attributes, art in any form seemed to be at the opposite spectrum of Raven's self-proclaimed emptiness. She was orderly and neat, her personality perfectly symmetrical and carefully programmed.
In his head, the two just didn't seem to mix.
Not that she didn't know how to appreciate beauty and creative genius. Quite the contrary—it had been discovered that Raven was actually very fond of observing many different forms of art. That's just it, Robin decided; Raven seemed more like an observer rather than a creator. Her analytical mind loved to wrap itself around the concepts and ideas behind the exquisiteness of the High Renaissance, the twisted messages of surrealism, the cheapened ideals of contemporary art—yet to believe that her still soul could produce such visual poetry was like trying to imagine a cat laying an egg.
He knew she enjoyed visiting the small-scale art galleries in Jump City's downtown area. Robin had assumed that she liked the atmosphere—dark and smoky, drawing in the misfits of society and calling them artists—it was an environment that he imagined Raven blending into seamlessly.
However, in light of recent events he was beginning to reconsider his original supposition.
Once, he'd seen her stare thoughtfully at a Jan Van Eyck portrait in Jump City's Museum of Natural Art for a small eternity, her frame completely still save for those quiet lips moving silently as if reciting some important information to keep from forgetting it. He'd never seen her eyes so dark with contemplation, her brow furrowed slightly in a delicately pensive expression. He could practically see the thoughts turning over in her head; he imagined those thoughts could perhaps be beautiful, romantic even.
Of course, she'd never admit that she knew more than she let on. He remembered asking what she thought of the piece, to which she replied in a slightly critical drone, "It's just a picture."
But he could not forget that image of her face, eyes drawn into such deep reflection, barely shadowing the thousands of thoughts swimming behind them.
After all, as the young prodigy of the world's greatest detective, Robin was an observer, too.
But even if no one in the entire world had ever regarded apathetic, aloof Raven as artistic, nothing could change the fact that on an ordinary day of no particular significance or consequence, she had proven the existence of a carefully hidden imagination, an unveiling which had caught her friends utterly off guard.
She had somehow managed to smuggle a decent-sized canvas into the Tower without any of her teammates noticing. Heaven only knows when she found time to herself to purchase brushes, paints, and a canvas with the other Titans constantly on her heels.
The empath's powers had been acting up as of late; silverware, lamps, the shower in the third floor bathroom, a few miscellaneous pieces of gym equipment, and the VCR were all hapless victims of Raven's sporadic loss of control. This glitch in her routine was inadvertently causing her to be crankier than usual, leaving the rest of the Titans to grimly weather the worst of their friend's telepathic PMS in an as understanding way as possible.
In the end Raven's teammates had decided the best remedy for her foul mood swings would be company, and so a chaperone was almost always hovering over the girl's shoulder, usually making a lame attempt to raise her spirits a little and more often than not getting his or her head snapped off by one of Raven's vicious retorts.
But somehow, in spite of her clingy, concerned teammates, Raven had managed to find enough time to herself to buy supplies, sneak them into her room and create… something. Robin wasn't sure just what to call it—words seemed inadequate. It was… well, it certainly was something…
Something… unbelievable.
The team stood in awe in front of the easel, their shocked expressions going unacknowledged by the artist. She simply folded her small hands primly and closed her eyes elegantly, waiting patiently for a remark she knew was yet to come.
And sure enough, within a mere few seconds the pregnant silence was shattered by a sharp gasp from Starfire as she brought a slender hand to her heart.
"Great globnorks…" she managed to mutter in amazement, large green eyes growing teary with emotion.
Her quiet appraisal was quickly followed by Beast Boy's squeaky exclamation of: "DUDE!"
Raven coughed discreetly to cover a disgruntled groan in light of the shifter's ineloquence.
"As always, Beast Boy, you have such a way with words…" she droned, though Robin was surprise to note that her usual snap was absent from her tone. Instead, the empath seemed ill at ease. In fact, if he didn't know better, he would have sworn she sounded tense, almost nervous…
Cyborg blinked his human eye, taking a tentative step forward, the astonishment clear in his expression as he raised a hand to gently glide his metal fingertips across the textured surface of the painting. "Raven, did you… did you really make this?"
Raven merely turned her head, a slight hint of embarrassment flushing out her pale cheeks.
The shy movement drew Robin's eyes from the canvas only for a second, but for some reason he could not decide which was more amazing: the fact that Raven had suddenly revealed herself as an artistic talent rivaling Monet, or the fact that her complexion was somehow complimented by that quiet blush, causing her usually-downplayed femininity to become far more noticeable.
As if sensing his appraising stare, Raven's heavy violet eyes glanced up almost shyly to meet his masked ones. Anticipating her questioning gaze, Robin quickly diverted his attention back to the easel before she could catch his eye.
"Really, girl, when did you learn to… I mean, this is amazing…" Cyborg rubbed the top of his head with a prosthetic hand. "Who taught you how to paint?"
"No one," she replied, her eyes weighing on Robin's skin as she refused to transfer that tentative stare. "It's nothing really. Art is trivial."
Robin uncomfortably shifted his weight from foot to foot, her gaze upon him feeling like that of a critic's on something untraditional—searching for the tiniest flaw, the invisible details that would hold some secret meaning. For some reason, the beginnings of nervousness were beginning to spread through the pit of his stomach and raise the hairs on the nape of his neck at the thought of Raven assessing him like a forgotten piece of art. He remembered the swirling thoughts in her eyes as she studied the Jan Van Eyck.
Snapping out of his reverie and cursing himself for losing track on his thoughts, Robin cleared his throat awkwardly and moved to stand by Starfire, though the relocation did not bring about an escape from those amethyst eyes that seemed to stare right through his head and into his mind.
"Are you kidding?" Beast Boy asked incredulously, waving his willowy arms dramatically. "You could totally be an artist, a real artist. It looks like something one of those stuffy, old artsy farts would buy for, like, a million dollars or something."
Starfire nodded sagely, "I agree. I believe Friend Raven could make quite a tidy profit from this picture of the paint if she so chose."
To Robin's relief, Raven withdrew her piercing gaze from his face and turned it on the canvas. She was silent for a moment, regarding her own creation with the blankest of expressions. Still, her stoicism couldn't fool a true observer. A closer look would show the tension in her brow betraying her conflicted thoughts, her secret attachment to something so "trivial" and her hesitance to give it away.
For someone who prided themselves on ambiguity, Raven could be read like a book if you knew how to read her subtle languages.
"It's not worth selling," she said at last. "I'd rather just give it to someone, anyways."
"Oh? Who?" The words slipped out before he could think about it.
The telepath blinked in surprise, appearing slightly startled, and Robin realized quite suddenly that it was the first thing he had said upon the dramatic unveiling of Raven's formerly disregarded creativity.
"I didn't really have anyone in mind," she replied, an eyebrow quirked in suspicion, her patented 'What-exactly-are-you-getting-at?' look.
Sensing the firmly drawn line, Robin clamped his mouth shut and said nothing more.
However, Beast Boy (unsurprisingly) seemed unable to detect the finely defensive stance in Raven's curt answer.
"Aw, c'mon Rae," the shifter pressed, pasting on the sugary grin he always wore when trying to talk his way out of doing the dishes, "If you tell us who it's for, the rest of us promise not to be sad if we don't get it as a birthday present."
Starfire seemed to wilt at the thought but smiled regardless, clasping her hands together in excitement. "Yes, please, tell us whom this picture of the paint was intended for!"
As if hoping to disappear, Raven shrunk deeper into the folds of her cloak, her shoulders curling in a slouch that further hid her form within the blue fabric, until she was nothing more than a disgruntled-looking head floating above a shapeless cerulean curtain.
"It wasn't 'intended' for anyone, Starfire," she bit out, her flat voice graveled a bit by the hint of a growl.
Cyborg folded his thick arms across the bulky chest of his metal chassis, his teasing expression causing Raven's already grouchy looks to darken considerably. "You mean to tell me that you weren't thinking of someone when you painted this?" He gestured to the focal point of the painting with a sweep of his large hand.
Robin watched as the empath's cheeks flared with her temper. It was no surprised that she was irritated, but something about her annoyance seemed… different. Robin looked harder. There was something about her that made her seem more unsettled—her face may have been red with anger, but her eyes sparked with something more…
Unknowingly, Cyborg had come close to hitting a nerve.
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I wasn't thinking of someone," Raven snapped in retort, anxiously threading a loose lock of hair behind her ear.
Even her flustered state couldn't hide the truth from Robin's sharp eyes: the empath was lying. The hair-behind-the-ear routine was a sure tell.
The half-robot seemed to accept the fib, holding up his hands in mock-surrender and smiling apologetically. "Alright, alright—chill out, kiddo. I didn't mean any offense. It's a nice picture."
The rest of the team nodded in agreement in a small attempt to placate the seething artist, turning their attention back to the object at hand and observing it silently, reverently.
After a long moment, Beast Boy cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, indicating that he was beginning to feel antsy in the uncomfortable silence.
"So…" the changeling began awkwardly, green eyes darting to the window and the sunny day within it, "… anybody up for some volleyball?"
An eager grin spread across Cyborg's face. "Sure, I'm in. What about you, Star?"
"I would love to engage in the recreational sports with you and Beast Boy. But first I would like a word with Friend Raven."
The alien princess moved to face the empath, a gentle smile hovering serenely on her pretty face. In return, Raven did her best not to look too wary or standoffish as her friend delivered a sincere word of praise.
"This picture of the paint that you have made, it is…" Starfire struggled to find Earthly words suitable for her description, "… magnificent. Such glorious images I have never imagined; it is so…" she suddenly sucked in a sobbing breath, overcome. "… so very beautiful, like something from a dream…"
Beast Boy patted her shoulder awkwardly, trying to bring her back from the verge of tears. "Hey, Star, don't cry... it's pretty, right? No need to cry…"
The Tameranian sniffled, accepting Beast Boy's lame attempts at comfort with a watery smile. "On my planet, we do not fight the tears we shed for things that truly move us."
Raven suddenly felt very small in the face of Starfire's eloquence. Modestly, the corners of her lips curled upward ever so slightly in a smile that almost wasn't a smile, but did not go unnoticed. "Thank you."
Before the words were completely out of her mouth she had to keep from wincing as the alien princess squealed with happiness and pulled her into a tight embrace that threatened to collapse her rib cage.
"Friend Raven, I cannot contain my joy for this marvelous work. Such an expression of beauty must truly be a reflection of a wondrously glorious soul, and I… and I..." she paused, growing tearful again.
"Uh, Star?" Cyborg interjected not unkindly, "You might want to give the girl some air."
Raven managed to squeak a muffled agreement.
"Oh, yes—sorry, Friend Raven."
Released from the Tameranian's iron-like grip, Raven gratefully gulped a few good lungfuls of much-needed oxygen before regaining her composure (and her color).
"Thank you for your words, Starfire," she said after catching her breath. "It… means a lot to me that you like the painting."
For a moment it looked as if Starfire was about to lunge at the poor empath for another bear hug, but restrained herself at the last moment, offering a watery smile instead. Robin noted reflexively that those dewy-eyed beams seemed to enhance Starfire's natural beauty, her bright green eyes seeming impossibly large on that expressive face.
"You are most welcome, Friend Raven," with a toss of her hair, the alien turned to leave. "And now, let us play a few games of the ball-y vol. Will you not play with us, Friend Robin?"
Caught slightly off-guard by her intent emerald gaze, Robin stumbled slightly over his words. "Uh, sure, Star, in a minute. I-I mean, I'll catch up with you guys in a bit."
"Whatever, man." Cyborg shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Hey, Raven, you up for it? We need a referee."
"As much as I'd love to watch the four of you bat a ball back and forth for hours on end in the scorching sun, I think I'll sit this one out." Her dry humor was back, her walls re-erected. "I've got some meditating to catch up on, anyways."
"Snore-fest," Beast Boy commented, back to his teasing ways. "Fine, suit yourself. If you change you're mind, we'll be on the roof." With a quick chuckle the shifter sprinted towards the door, shifting into a large green antelope as he shouted over his shoulder, "Last one there's a smelly rhino butt!"
"Oh, no you don't!" Cyborg laughed and followed in a rush. "No fair getting a head start!"
"Thank you again for sharing your picture of the paint with us, Friend Raven!" Starfire giggled and waved, floating after the boys at a more lax pace. "Friends, wait for me! I do not want to be the malodorous behind of a rhinoceros!"
The door slid shut behind her with a whooshing mechanical breath, the only sound left in the silent wake of the laughter that was heading towards the roof. Robin focused his attention on the painting, trying hard to ignore the way the other remaining Titan stood stiffly a few feet away.
Raven seemed unconcerned by the fact that they had been left alone in such a thick silence, her slender frame enviously sound as she waited enigmatically for what he assumed would be the right moment to break the stillness. After all, Raven was so extremely tactful when she wanted to be.
And then she turned to him like he knew she would, those sharp violet eyes going soft with some secret insecurity for not even a split second—if she was worried about what he was thinking, it lasted less than a moment before being covered by her accustomed veil of apathy. She waited with a blank face, imploring him in a politely detached manner.
Instinctively, he fidgeted. He—Robin, Boy Wonder—squirmed under that silent gaze, searching for the right words.
"It really is… something," he said at last, taking a few steps back to once again get the full picture in his sight.
"Hmm," came Raven's noncommittal reply, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, eyes locked on her own work in a critical way.
"We had no idea that you were so talented," Robin tried again in light of her lack of response, and immediately regretted it. Slapping a gloved hand over his face he made a show of trying to eat his own words. "Wait, sorry—that came out wrong. I didn't mean that you weren't talented; you are. We just didn't think that you could… you were capable of… oh, never mind. What I meant was: we had no clue you could paint like this. This is…"
He trailed off nervously, sick of babbling.
Raven was quiet, the look in her eyes growing thick as they fell from the painting to the ground at her feet. "It's nothing. An amateur painting is nothing to get so worked up about."
Robin blinked in surprise. "We aren't giving you some hollow compliments to just make you feel better, if that's what you're thinking." He frowned, folding his arms across his chest as his voice adopted a slightly hurt tone. "Come on, Raven. You know us better than that. Give us a little more credit."
She remained silent and still, but her eyes told him that her mind was very busy.
"You always make it so hard for us to get to know you, push us away when we try, yet you assume you know more about us than we do," he said, the words pouring forth in some effort to fill the space between them. "You know, we know more about you than you think."
"Who does?" Raven asked, snapping her eyes to meet his, sending a tangible shock to his nerves as their gazes connected with an electric jolt. "The team? Or you, Robin?"
For some reason, the words that bubbled up in his mind in response seemed lodged somewhere in his throat, cutting off the oxygen flow to his lungs and making him feel dangerously lightheaded.
Raven continued in the wake of his silence, arching an eyebrow in acknowledgement to his stunned expression. "Not everyone will be able to see all of me, Robin. They only see the parts they understand. The rest seems empty to them, like a picture of something vague." Her face softened some, and it was a long moment before she spoke again. "What do you see when you look at my painting, Robin?"
The question caught him off-guard.
"I see…" He paused, taking a second to take a deeper look.
The gravity of the composition seemed even more poignant—the dark, sketchy birds taking flight out of a mesh of shadow, leaving smoky trails in their wake against a pastel sky that seemed to swallow the whole canvas. Spindly fingers of gold and white and peach and lavender spiked gracefully across the top of the painting, tracing spirals that might have been coded, curved words written in wispy lines through the bird-filled sky. And somewhere in the heart of the darkness that engulfed the bottom of the painting like a black disease was the suggestion of two figures, hand in hand—their willowy limbs stretching towards the light.
The painting possessed a poetry that was enigmatic, its soul carefully hidden, almost sad. But beneath the darkness and tragedy was something subtly beautiful in such a quiet way that one might overlook it if they weren't looking closely enough.
But then, Robin knew how to pay attention.
"I see you, Raven."
When she didn't respond right away he feared he had said too much, gotten too close. She would probably shy away as quickly as if she'd been burned, reinforce her walls, push him away and curse herself for allowing such a slip in defense. When she felt vulnerable, Raven would run away. She was always running away.
He looked at her and saw her tense, like an animal ready to bolt. But then she did something he did not detect first—she smiled. Those pale lips pulled tight over a row of straight teeth, showing a pair of rarely-seen dimples below the sharp angles of her cheekbones. Small as it was, it was real—he could tell, because her eyes were swimming with thoughts like they had when they'd danced over paintings in the museum.
Shining eyes and quiet smile, she was as radiant as the beauty created from her delicate hand. Robin had never seen her look so perfect.
"It's beautiful," he said, wondering whether or not he was still thinking about the art, or rather the elusive artist herself.
For a brief moment, the pair stood in comfortable silence while Robin lingered in awe of Raven's transformation from plain, quiet recluse into fascinating, brilliant goddess. But as easy as it had come, it faded as Raven seemed to snap out of her daze and remember that she was supposed to be a stoic loner who wasn't allowed such closeness. Her smile ebbed away as she repaired the small breach in her walls, returning to her 'keep-your-distance' guise as easily as one slips on a mask.
In one fluid motion, the white sheet that had housed her painting became engulfed in dark energy and lifted itself into the air before throwing itself over the easel, the blank curtain a disconcerting contrast to the vibrancy that had once been displayed. His gaze flinched to the canvas as the graceless flutter of a fold of fabric settled itself over a lower corner, where his sharp eyes managed to trace the silhouetted figure of a bird before it was hidden from view. It may have simply been a trick of the light, or perhaps his mind playing a cruel joke, but the bird seemed different from its shadowy companions. Robin hastily decided that he must be mistaken—there were hundreds of identical birds strewn across the painting and no reason for a single one to be different.
And yet, he couldn't get the picture out of his mind, the image of the bird in the corner, slightly smaller than the rest, its breast glowing subtly with dark hues of red.
Robin turned to Raven, question heavy in his gaze. "Raven?"
But she was already on her way toward the door. She paused mid-step, glancing back over her shoulder. He searched her face, looking for a trace of the red-breasted bird hidden within the most delicate expression, but her features were composed in careful apathy, her eyes empty as the hollow words fell from her lips in perfect monotone:
"It's just a picture."
The door shut behind her.
The end!
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