Cold Feet, Cold Fish

By Carnifax
Teen Titans
Garth/Roy
Rated T
General/Romance
You don't think I'm serious. You think… What, do you think I'm just playing around? That going after guys is a hobby of mine?

Part one of Carnipalooza: A new story, whoo! (More details post-chap.) These updates will be posted every so often this evening, so...

A violet-eyed Atlantean sat in the back end of an ambulance, staring out the open doors at the chaos and sirens. One leg hung out the door, the other was shifted awkwardly to the side as he attempted to clean up the cuts on his calf that the criminal's knife made.

The criminal in question, a certain Charlie Rommer, had been apprehended a mere twenty minutes ago at exactly two in the morning by none other than Roy Harper, master of the bow. And if Rommer hadn't taken out Karen at the fifth floor and tied up one of the twins on the seventh floor, he may have not reached the fourteenth floor of the sixty-floor skyscraper.

But as it were, he reached it, and that's where he assaulted Garth with a switchblade. Two slashes ran across the Titan's forearm and there was a gouge in his leg, but the most painful injury was the blow to his ego when Rommer knocked him out with a broken faucet.

Rommer had gotten two steps away from Garth's body, apparently, before a very angry Roy Harper caught him from behind. Garth had woken up to the sight of a policeman restraining Roy as Rommer, covered in blood from a nosebleed, was practically carried back toward the elevator.

Now, with the icepack still pressed firmly against his leg, Garth struggled to reach the gauze and tape without moving too much. The medics had rushed off to help the injured innocents, but hadn't left their supplies within reach.

He had nearly reached the plastic white box when a tan arm easily grabbed the handle and pulled it closer. Garth's eyes jerked to meet Roy's, though the redhead's were already focused on the wounds.

"Where does it hurt?" Roy asked distractedly, ripping open an antiseptic wipe.

"Leg, arm, forehead," Garth shrugged. "I can handle—"

Roy took the icepack from his leg and dabbed the wipe on the cuts, hesitating when the Atlantean squirmed in pain. "What did he have, a knife?"

"Switchblade," Garth hissed as pain spiked up from his calf. Then he noticed the dark bruises around the edge of the archer's mask and gasped, reaching out a hand to hold Roy's face still. "You—"

"I'm fine," he snapped, batting his hand away. "It's my own fault, don't worry about it."

"I am worried about it," Garth said, chuckling when he managed to press the icepack against Roy's cheekbone, despite the redhead's protests. "Why are you so angry? You single-handedly caught Rommer! If anything, you should be celebrat—"

"I didn't single-handedly do anything," he muttered, throwing the now-bloodied cloth aside. He folded a gauze pad and pressed it against Garth's wound, gesturing for the Atlantean to hold it. Grabbing the tape, Roy continued in a low voice. "He managed to take out all of you before—"

"Before you caught him!" The prince sighed, shaking his head. "You're so stubborn. This looks like it hurts…" He took the icepack from Roy's face, running a thumb over his cheek.

"Leave it alone, I'm fine. If I could just have paid more attention, you wouldn't have gotten hurt—"

"It's not your fault!" Garth pried up the edge of Roy's mask before deciding to remove it completely. As always, it took him a moment to adjust to the startlingly green eyes, but the darkening bruise brought his attention back. "Ouch," he said, surveying the entire thing. Roy's skin was almost black at his cheekbone, but it faded until it became a pale yellow by his eyebrow.

"Leave it," Roy ordered, "I need to see your arm."

"My arm is 'fine,'" he mocked, violet eyes sparking in amusement. "Leave it alone…!"

Roy rolled his eyes and then found the tear in Garth's uniform, ripping the hole wider to get a better look at the skin. "I was distracted; I should've been more careful, I should've watched—"

"Look, Roy, I'm not that injur—" Garth gasped in a breath when Roy grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured it on the wound, making the exposed area hiss and foam. "Can you warn me before you do that?" he asked, to which Roy shrugged. "Like I was saying, a few scratches are ultimately worth the capture of a felon."

"Nothing's worth you getting hurt," he argued, dabbing off the cuts with a paper towel. "I don't care if a felon is in jail, it's not worth—"

Garth suddenly shoved the archer away, throwing the icepack down. Roy found his balance and stared back at him, hints of injury behind the green eyes.

"Speedy," he said slowly, unintentionally putting emphasis on the publicly-used name, "Stop."

Roy blinked, opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't bring that up again…"

Comprehension crossed the archer's face, and he frowned. "'That'? You can even put a name to it?"

"We're not talking about this," Garth said loudly as he got to his feet. He wandered to the back of the ambulance to find another roll of tape.

"You brought it up," Roy murmured, more to himself than anything. Then he threw an accusing look at the Atlantean; "Didn't you say you were okay with it? That it wouldn't bother you?"

"I'm not having this conversation," Garth reminded him. "But for the record, I said I'd be okay with it, as long as you don't… bring it up."

"Bring it up?" Roy gave an ugly sneer. "You mean 'show affection.' I'm your friend, I'm supposed to show—"

"You know what kind of affection I mean!" he yelled, his voice echoing within the confines of the ambulance. Garth turned to the archer and threw another icepack at him, shaking his head. "You know I'm okay with however… with however you feel, all right? But… you can't say weird things, like 'Nothing's worth you getting hurt,' because…" He sighed and shook his head again. "You just have to stop," he finally said, setting his firm gaze on Roy. "Okay?"

"No, not okay!" Roy pressed the icepack to his face too violently for his own good, and winced at the heavy impact. "If I'm not allowed to 'show affection' or whatever, why are you allowed to go all touchy-feely on my face? Isn't that a little 'weird,' by your standards?"

Garth's mouth was open in gaping confusion. "I was looking at your black eye! How is that at all the same as you saying—"

"Because it is the same! If I did that to you, wouldn't it make you as equally uncomfortable?"

Garth shifted his weight, sighed. "But you want that kind of attention, don't you? You're okay with it—you actually want me to be 'all touchy-feely' with your face—"

Roy laughed humorlessly. "Not if you don't mean anything by it!"

The prince was appalled. "You think I'm leading you on?"

"That's not what I said—"

"That's what you meant, though…" Garth sat down at the edge of the ambulance and handed the tape to Roy, extending his arm as well. "Isn't it?"

"No, I…" Roy just shook his head and taped the gauze pad to his arm. "It's just not fair."

"Life's not fair … but I'm right," he added smugly. "You don't want me to do things that could be construed as… romantic, because if you believe them, you'll be disappointed." Garth let out a small hmph of triumph. "Trust me, I'm right, I know exactly how that feels…"

Roy lifted his eyes to the violet gaze and stared for a moment. "Who's romancing you?"

Garth twisted away from the redhead, going back into the ambulance again.

A moment passed, and then a thought struck Roy; "Wait—I am? And you don't want to be disappointed… by me?"

The shadows of the vehicle hid the red tinge on the prince's face, but nothing could hide his unsteady voice. "No, that's… that's not what I meant, I meant that—"

"You don't think I'm serious," Roy guessed, looking insulted as he leaned further into the open back end. "You think… What, do you think I'm just playing around? That going after guys is a hobby of mine? That I don't mean anything I say?" When Garth didn't reply, Roy opened his mouth to argue, but then a new voice interrupted him.

"Hey, boys!" Karen called from the sidewalk. Looping an arm around Roy's shoulders, she grinned. "Nice job up there!" When she paused, she noticed the tension in the air and frowned. "What's up? Why aren't you two celebrating? Did something happen?"

Roy only continued to stare at Garth, but the Atlantean quickly took the opportunity to get away from him. "Nothing happened, Karen, we're fine. Actually, we're all done getting patched up."

She threw a concerned look at Roy, but he simply shrugged her arm off and started to walk away. After a few steps, his vision blurred and a wave of disorientation hit him. He stumbled back, grabbing Karen's shoulder to stay upright, and shook his head in an attempt to clear the dizziness.

"Roy?" Karen asked, holding him at the elbow. "You okay?"

"By the gods—Karen, look at his glove…" Garth kneeled at the end of the ambulance and peeled off Roy's glove, tensing when he saw the slash by his hand. An open wound, more a stab than anything, ran from the heel of his palm to midway down his forearm. It cut across his veins and wasn't clotting.

"Roy," Karen reprimanded, though her voice was shrill and anxious. "You didn't notice that?"

"Adrenaline, sorry," he spat out, jerking away from Garth. "Maybe I shouldn't wear a uniform the color of blood, huh?"

"Shut up and give me your arm," the Atlantean mumbled, reaching for it again.

"I can wrap it myself!" he snarled, but Karen was too quick for him; she grabbed his arm and, enticing him with a stinger to the side, held his arm still as Garth put pressure on the cut.

"Hey, Parkson!" Karen yelled across the sidewalk, gaining the attention of the head medic. "Can you drive this thing to the hospital?"

Within thirty seconds, Roy was seated in the back of the moving ambulance, shooting looks at the Atlantean holding his hand.

This will end up being less than ten chapters, maybe eight at most. But it's just fluff...