Disclaimer:

Beast Boy: "The author of this, MY owner? You've GOT to be kidding me! No one owns ME! I'm WILD! Yeah…just ignore the tag that says 'property of Raven' it's nothing…really…they're all the rage these days…really…he…he…ha…y-you believe me right? RIGHT? NO! WAIT! YOU COME BACK HERE!"

It had taken intense planning. Well, okay, it hadn't. This is Beast Boy we're talking about here. But it had taken intense waiting. Two weeks, in fact. But, finally, the video game that was going to save his love life was here. Okay, so he had no love life and this video game wasn't going to change that. But it was going to save his sanity. If he had any left to save…

With such confused thoughts swirling around in his head he decided to think of the plan again, if only to delude him self into thinking he possessed the ability to rational thought for a little while longer. So, the plan. It was simple. And ingenious, if he did say so himself (he did.) He really didn't know why anyone else hadn't made the same brilliant discovery he had. Then again, no one in their right mind would ask Cyborg deep philosophical questions. And usually Beast Boy was no exception to the rule (even if it was debatable as to whether he was in his right mind.) But one day he had inadvertently done so while thinking about something else (probably Raven) and he'd discovered something amazing.

There was a way you could talk to Cyborg about anything, anything, and not only have him give wise advice about it but he would be guaranteed not to remember the exchange later. And, no, there was no hacking into his systems required. All it took was waiting until he was completely, utterly immersed in his video game. That was it. Finally an instruction easier then 'just add water,' and one the applied to video games, a major part of his daily life (and something that just didn't go with water, as he'd learned the hard way.)

See, what happened when Cyborg got completely absorbed in a video game was that he went on autopilot, kind-of. It was as if he was taking in his surroundings subconsciously but consciously focused entirely on the screen, so when you asked him things the words would worm there way into his subconscious and you'd get your answer back directly from his subconscious. It was also a great time to get good blackmailing material as often your subconscious knows more then you do about yourself. Things concerning certain Bees, for example…

The plan was simply this: Get Cyborg game. Ask Cyborg question. (Yes, that's it, have you forgotten that this is Beast Boy we're talking about here?)

He was finally ready to put phase one into action. It wasn't hard. All he'd had to do was knock on Cyborg's door, really, because before he'd realized the door had even been opened the game was swiped from his hands and rushed off in the clutches of an over-excited robot arm to be played posthaste.

Beast Boy blinked a few times then followed, grinning diabolically. I'm a genius! (When feeling victorious one tends to delude themselves.)

He reached the gaming room. Cyborg was already wrapped up in the game. This was it. He took a deep breath, suddenly remembering the point of the plan and feeling the confidence drain from his mildew-colored form (when one is talking about a loss of confidence of this enormity—imagine the results of a hot air-balloon omitting all it's gas in one large, sticky burp—one has to use descriptions such as "mildew-colored" to add to the over all feeling of icky muckiness. On a side note, comments about burping balloons containing the words "icky muckiness" tend to ruin the effect) leaving nothing but a queer nervousness.

"Er…Cyborg?" he said.

No response, a good sign in this case (this does not, however, apply to drowning victims.)

He took another deep breath (he'd thought he might have read somewhere that that helped nervousness and decided that he was smart to not read for the first eleven years of his life.)

"Cyborg…how do you make someone happy?" he asked haltingly.

"Depends on the person," Cyborg said, not looking away from the game and barely moving his lips. "Why?"

"Because I want to make someone happy," Beast Boy said quickly, then changing the subject even quicker, "What do you do when you want to make someone happy but they only seem to be happy when you're miserable?"

"Then I don't know why you'd ever want to make such a person happy in the first place," Cyborg said.

"No, that's not it, they're really not a bad person," Beast Boy said. "In fact they're really a great, amazingly wonderful, beautiful and deep person, they're just kind-of…well, it's like they're this amazing treasure, but the treasure part is buried under all this dark stuff and you need to get past that, and they also sort of need to get past it, and you really want to help, but every time you try they just seem to close off more."

"You want to know how to make this person happy?" Cyborg said.

"Yes," Beast Boy said.

"Tell them what you just told me," Cyborg said.

"What?" Beast Boy said.

(He didn't particularly need an answer to this outraged cry, he'd already decided that video-game-focused Cyborg was not wise, and that, in fact, his brain was as rotted as everyone said video games made brains…or maybe that was chewing tinfoil…during a lightening storm…)

"If you want to touch her—"

"Are you insane? She'd kill me if I tried to touch her!" Beast Boy said.

(He was now convinced that video games rotted brains and chewing tinfoil during a lightening storm was the harmless one.)

"I mean, if you want to touch her heart," Cyborg said, speaking slowly as if talking to a two-year-old (which was his problem right there; he wasn't dumbing it down nearly enough.)

"Why would I want to do something like that?" Beast Boy said. "Besides, I'd probably just break it!"

"Which is what I'm sure she's afraid of," Cyborg said.

"Then why doesn't she just go to a doctor for that kind-of thing?" Beast Boy said, now thoroughly confused.

"A psychiatrist can't help her with this," Cyborg said. "She needs someone who really cares about her to reach out."

"And touch her heart?" Beast Boy said, struggling to follow.

"Exactly," Cyborg said.

"So performing cardiac surgery is how you make someone happy?" Beast Boy said. His head hurt.

"Not unless they have heart disease," Cyborg said.

"But she doesn't have heart disease!" Beast Boy said, utterly bemused.

"Who said she did?" Cyborg said.

"But you…I thought…I'm confused!" Beast Boy said.

"You want to make her happy, right?" Cyborg said.

"Yes," Beast Boy said.

"So tell her what you told me," Cyborg said.

"That I'm confused?" Beast Boy said.

"No," Cyborg said. "Well, actually, that might work."

"It's better than cardiac surgery," Beast Boy said.

"True," Cyborg said. "But do you know what would be even better?"

"What?" Beast Boy said.

"Tell her what you told me earlier, about thinking she's like amazing and wonderful—"

"Amazingly wonderful," Beast Boy corrected.

"Yeah, and all that stuff about how she's like a treasure," Cyborg said.

"I can't tell her that!" Beast Boy said. "Look," he said desperately, "just tell me someway I can make her happy."

Suddenly he heard someone clear their throat and whipped around to find…

Raven.

Standing in the doorway.

Listening to every word they were saying.

"R-Raven," Beast Boy squeaked.

"Yeah," Raven said, and, to Beast Boy's surprise, blushed and looked down at her feet.

She looked up a second later causing him to blush and look down.

"Beast Boy?" she said.

"Mmm?" he grunted questioningly, sounding strangled.

"That question you were asking…were you asking it about…me?" she said.

He hesitated, then nodded, unable to speak or look at her.

"Do you want an answer?" he asked.

That caused his head to snap up. She looked away, blushing again, but snuck glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Um…yes, please?" he said.

She blushed darker, and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"You just did."

They stood there silence for a moment, Raven looking anywhere but at him and Beast Boy staring at her unblinkingly in complete and utter shock.

Then she left.

And he stayed staring where she'd just been, mouth hanging open…until a fly flew in and choked him, causing him to snap out of his reverie, spit the thing out and go running after the girl.