Outside Gotham City

Starfire slowed to a halt over the big house, cocking her head to the side as she surveyed the monstrosity of gables and eaves. Yes, this was Wayne Manor, and according to Robin, Batman lived here.

She landed in the front yard and smoothed down her skirt. She did not have a mirror, but she ran her fingers through her hair before trotting up the stairs. Batman was important to Robin, and she planned to make a good impression.

She rapped on the knocker just as she had seen humans do time after time. Knock and wait for someone on the other side to open the door. Knock and blow the door apart – humans did not like that.

It opened and an older man with gray hair looked at her. "Good morning, miss -?"

"Starfire. I am here to speak to the Batman."

The man's eyes grew big, but she kept going.

"I am Robin's partner and he has gone missing. Are you the Batman? You look too old to be the Batman, but I have learned not to judge humans on age."

"I'm Alfred. Come in, come in," he motioned her hurriedly. Once inside, he surveyed her carefully. "You are one of the Teen Titans, yes? Most superhero concerns are handled down in the Cave, Miss Starfire."

"I am sorry," she frowned. "I did not see a cave. If you show me the way, I will go find it."

"Wait here," he told her.

Starfire glanced around the large room while Alfred left. She liked the height of the ceiling, and she wished she could float up and touch the Gothic arches. But she did not. Robin did not like her floating. Robin had asked her to stop many times when he was training. She liked to hover over him while he did all the fighting moves, but he complained that it freaked him out to have her right above him, watching him.

"Robin is very sensitive," Starfire traced the floor pattern with her shoe. "He does not appreciate my concern. But I know how to take care of him. I like taking care of him. I like all of him."

She locked her hands together and swayed back and forth, in the same way she always did when she really thought about Robin. The warmth in her middle grew the more she thought about him. Oh, Robin, Robin!

"Miss Starfire?" Alfred stepped back in the room. "Batman will see you in the Cave now."

She stayed quiet during the lift ride down, but when she got out in the Cave, she frowned at the man who approached. He was tall and big with dark hair, wearing sweaty exercise clothes.

"You are not the Batman."

"Yes, I'm Bruce Wayne," the man said. "Starfire, we've met before."

"The Batman is covered in black with points on his head. You have no points."

"It's a costume," Bruce said impatiently. "Where's Robin? What's wrong with Robin?"

"Oh," Starfire's face fell. "Robin, Robin. He is missing."

"Missing? For how long?"

"Four days now. Four long days."

Bruce hesitated, his forehead creasing. "He's gone off before, right? Sometimes he goes on missions –"

"But this was no mission. He said nothing. He is gone and I am desperate with worry. Robin, my sweet Robin."

"Okay, calm down. I'm going to start searching for him. You come and tell me what happened the last time you saw him."

Bruce went to his wall of computers, and Starfire sat in the empty chair, sighing and moping.

"We had a fight downtown. We thought it was Slade but it was just the H.I.V.E. kids. We found them. I hate them so I punched hard. They ran, and I looked around but Robin was gone. I still remember his last words 'I see someone in that van. I'll get them. You guys go back to the Tower and order pizza.' His last words to me, beautiful last words."

"You kids eat too much pizza," Bruce grumbled as he brought up a map of Jump City. "What about the others? Were they worried?"

"They said Robin had gone off again on his little power trips and they did not care what happened to him. Beast Boy wanted to wear his uniform again. But we did that last time. We all got to see what it was like to be inside Robin's clothes."

Bruce cast a suspicious look at her. He had never paid attention to just how short her skirt was, or how long her hair was or how her lashes framed her glowing eyes. And why did she have to show so much of her stomach? He turned back to the computers while she kept sighing.

"I asked Raven to help, but she said no. Cyborg was busy with his machines. He has computers like you. His are more complicated."

"Well, he's half-machine so that makes sense," Bruce snapped, but Starfire had stood up and started pacing.

"Robin could be in danger. He is not as strong as he thinks. We have practiced before. He is quick but eventually I can knock him over and pin him down. He struggles. I like the feel of him underneath me."

"All right," Bruce turned from the computers which flashed multiple screens of navigation, "I have to ask. You two aren't . . . I mean, you're just teenagers."

"We are teenagers," Starfire nodded. "I am older than him in human years, but I don't tell him that. I am taller, too, but we pretend not to notice. He is perfect, my sweet Robin."

Bruce watched her carefully as he scrambled to remember if Starfire's bedroom was next to Robin's in Teen Tower. Maybe it was time to install some cameras in the Tower to keep an eye on teenage hormones.

"Robin," Starfire collapsed back in the chair, "oh, Robin. Do you know the gel he uses in his hair? It smells so nice – like soap. His nose is so cute. I love his mouth. He has pretty lips over his teeth."

"Oh good grief," Bruce went back to the computer. "I'm having a talk with him when we find him. And," he lowered his voice, "putting one of you in a chastity belt."

"I do not know what I would do without him," Starfire flopped over the arm of her chair. "He brings me gifts of his heart. A flower he found. A cup of icy soda. Once even a book about medieval weapons. My Robin! I love to touch his hair, his cape, his toolbelt –"

"You have to stop," Bruce covered his eyes. "I knew it was a bad idea to let him live with two girls without adult supervision. I should bring him back here once I find him."

"No!" She stood, and fire-bolts leapt out of her green eyes, bouncing loudly off the cave walls. "Robin belongs with me. I will die without him!"

"Calm down," Bruce cautioned. "I just think you two need to be sensible. Is there a reason you wear those clothes? Surely you can find something more appropriate."

"Like the Woman of Wonder?" Starfire raised her small eyebrows.

"Touché," Bruce typed for a few minutes. He couldn't find a trace of Robin anywhere over the last four days; it did seem that he had disappeared. Bruce went to his running police log next to screen for any distress signal.

Starfire continued to sigh and mope and groan over her Robin. At one point, she ended up prone on the floor as she despaired over the perfection of Robin's chin. Bruce stepped over her, wishing he could slap the cuteness right off Robin to make him less attractive to love-struck girls.

After finding nothing on his missing protégé, Bruce went to change into the Suit. Starfire stood right outside the privacy stand, still moaning.

"We danced together once. Robin held me so close. He is the best dancer of the world. Another girl wanted to dance with him. I will kill her."

"Starfire, why don't you go home?" Bruce tightened the Suit over his chest. "Talk to the kids there and wait for my call."

"No, I am coming with you. You are human like Robin – I have to protect you from danger. You break so easily. Why are human men so fragile?"

It was official. Bruce hated aliens.

"Okay, you can ride in the car. But you can't talk."

"I do not talk very much. I would never speak another word if I could spend just five more minutes with Robin. Did I tell you what he said to me last week? He said my hair looked like it was on fire, alive with beautiful fire."

"Doesn't really sound like Robin . . ."

"Of course, my hair actually was on fire. But do you not think he was referring to my pretty color of red?"

"Why don't you go wait by the car?"

Bruce had just fastened the cowl on when the Batmobile intruder alarm started blaring. "I said by the car, not in it!" he said in his angriest Batman growl, stomping towards her.

Starfire looked guiltily down at the handle in her hand, the handle she had ripped off the Batmobile. "Sometimes I am confused by human language," she offered up sheepishly.

Batman snatched the handle from her. "Get in the car."

"You give orders just like Robin," she sighed. "I could listen to his orders forever."

As he swung into the Batmobile, Batman wondered if it was possible to wire an alien's mouth shut. And force her into a longer shirt.

R&R&R&R&R

Robin pretended to come awake as the nurses came in. He yawned, but kept his arms still as they unbuckled the cuffs.

Nurse Ratchet frowned as she pulled up the broken end of one cuff. "What –"

"Oh, no," Robin said blankly. "What happened? Did I do that while I was sleeping? I guess it's all this training. I don't know my own strength."

He laughed weakly, but Ratchet pursed her lips.

"You're not supposed to break things."

"Oh, that's rich," Robin felt relief sweep over him, but he was careful to steer the conversation away from the broken cuffs. "Slade breaks things all the time."

"Of course he does. His code name is Deathstroke after all. Now come along and don't be difficult."

They helped him out of bed, and Robin was careful to keep his body lack and limp. If he protested anything they did, he might break them before he knew what he was doing. He didn't care so much about Wilkes, but he kind of liked Ratchet. She looked unharmed this morning, and Robin breathed another sigh of relief. If Slade had hurt her, he would have to destroy him.

He had every intention of destroying Slade anyway, but that would be later, once he got control of his newfound power.

"Slade wants you in this," Ratchet pulled out two hangers, one with black pants and the other with a blue button-down shirt.

"Oh, okay," Robin took the clothes, keeping his fingers so limp the hangers nearly slipped off. "Am I not training today?"

"Just put on the clothes."

They brought his breakfast after that – a full tray of eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, toast, yogurt with granola, juice, and milk. He ate ravenously, scraping every last morsel off the plates. He hadn't been this hungry since the weekend Bruce dropped him in the woods to survive for a week, and it had been three days of starvation until Robin was able to kill a rabbit and cook it over a small fire.

Twice he bent the fork in half. He pulled it straight before either nurse noticed.

"Slow down," Ratchet said as she pulled the medical cart over to him. "You need to take doses in between."

She handed him a paper cup with four pills in it. He tossed them back with juice and kept eating. Wilkes moved to take Ratchet's place and started pouring out medicine into small plastic dose cups. Robin made a face but he drank the first medicine cup without complaint.

He had just swallowed the four shots of medicine when he felt hands on his forehead. Ratchet was behind him, combing his hair back with a small black comb.

Robin froze, careful to relax as she groomed him. Any small reaction – flinching away, shrugging his shoulders, even turning his head – might injure her.

"There," she smiled as she rested her hands on his shoulders, "you look presentable. Try not to upset Slade today. We'd like him a little calmer."

They lead him down another hallway and left him in wooden-paneled study. A tall window let in light from a gray sky. Robin went to peer out. The room he stood in was high over a courtyard but they seemed to be far away from civilization. Rows of mountains stretched over the horizon, but he didn't see any human markers.

Robin's hand rested lightly on the window ledge as he looked out the clear glass panes. The sky seemed sulky, threatening rain.

"Thinking of jumping?"

Robin jumped at Slade's voice. The window ledge cracked under his hand. He looked down at his hand and the half-broken wood. A little putty and paint might clean it up, but he didn't have either of those things.

"Come have a seat," Slade motioned to a table and chair.

Robin pressed the broken wood back into the sill and stepped back. It wasn't too noticeable. He walked to the table and gingerly pulled the chair out.

"I think it's time we had a good talk," Slade said. "A good quiet talk to set some things clear."

Robin sat down, praying the chair didn't break. It creaked under him, but stayed whole. He had no clue what to do with his hands – the arms of the chair looked fragile and the table itself seemed thin. Robin placed his hands on his own knees and waited.

"I'm not accustomed to losing," Slade went on. "I make winning a priority. I don't lose, and one of the reasons I always win is because I don't have ideals. I never pretend to think the best of people. People really are the worst, after all."

Robin leaned back slowly until he heard the wood creak under his weight. Slade was saying things that should upset him, but hiding his new strength was more important than rising to Slade's bait.

"But that doesn't mean I believe myself immortal," Slade walked round the table until he faced Robin. "It's a fundamental need of humans to pass down their ideals to the next generation. I see much of myself in you, Robin. Your determination, your need to prove yourself, your temper."

"That could be Batman, too."

"I thought you wanted to distance yourself from your original mentor."

"I do, but he trained me so, you know," Robin shrugged. He felt the right arm of the chair crack. Geez, what had they given him? This stuff was dangerous.

"No," Slade studied him thoughtfully, "I don't know. Explain it to me."

Robin swallowed. His relationship with Batman had always been tense, fraught with friction. He loved Bruce like a father – thought of him as a father, but Bruce drove him crazy sometimes. All his rules, his lecturing, his scolding, his need to control every last little –

Robin felt the chair groan underneath him, and he drew in a deep breath. He felt ready to rip the room apart, but he needed to relax. There was no need to tip his hand now before he had a plan for escape. He needed the element of surprise on his side; he needed to act before Slade could devise a plan to stop him.

Relax, relax, remember the good things about Batman. His confidence, his dedication to training, his calm demeanor when delivering justice. Those times on the dark streets of Gotham when they had met scum, thieves, wife beaters, child abusers, and Robin had wanted to beat them into pulp. Batman had been calm, restraining himself from breaking bones or smashing faces once the criminals were detained.

"We're justice," he had told Robin. "We're not revenge."

Another calming breath, and Robin looked up at Slade.

"Batman has his methods. I have mine. One isn't better than the other. We choose the path that best suits us."

"Save the after-school special for someone who actually believes it," Slade smiled condescendingly. "I know you wanted Batman to pay you more attention."

"I got enough attention. Training every day, patrolling, learning to use all those machines. That's why I left. It was time for me to be independent and do my own thing."

"Typical teenage vagueness," Slade said, a smirk in his voice. "They can't ever state what they want directly so they disguise it in empty words. That pretty girl on your team, she is attracted to you and you to her, yes?"

Robin felt a blush creep up his neck at the mention of Starfire. "It's – it's not like that with her."

"You want to kiss her, touch her, maybe even have sex with her?"'

"Slade!" Robin balled his hands into fists to keep from shattering the chair to pieces. "Stop it!"

"Stop what? Speaking the truth?"

"We're superheroes. We're not supposed to say things like that. Batman says –"

"What does he say? What does the man who keeps up the front of a playboy and who has bedded half of Gotham's socialites say about it?"

"That's a pretense," Robin offered weakly. "He has to keep up a front so his identity stays a secret."

"So rather than act like a social misfit who hides away from the public as his front, he decided a better front was a philandering stud whose one mission becomes to not spread STDs to all his various one-night stands?"

"Maybe he didn't sleep with all those women," Robin offered, almost helplessly.

"Did you ask him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Robin shrugged and ignored the chair groaning beneath him, "it wasn't my – you know."

"You were the child and he was the adult so you accepted his decisions without question?" Slade leaned forward, his one eye penetrating. "He was the established superhero and you were the new fledging so you obeyed blindly."

Robin said nothing.

"How is what he did to you anything different than what I've done to you?"

Robin's head shot up defiantly. "He didn't kidnap me. He took me in and adopted me."

"So, what you're saying is that if I took you in at age eight and forced you to go along with my credence that would be acceptable but taking you in at age sixteen and trying the same is kidnapping?"

"Batman didn't put me in a dungeon and beat me."

"But he put you in a situation where you couldn't question him or his decisions. And you want me to believe he never punished you physically?"

"He wasn't so harsh. And he didn't lock me in that-that moving machine."

"Don't you feel better this morning?"

The man had an answer for everything. Robin debated standing up and punching him so hard that the mask was permanently imbedded in Slade's face, just to get him to shut up. How could anyone think with such annoying, devil's-advocate logic constantly coming and upsetting all the absolutes that Robin had set up in his mind to guide him. It was easier to accept that Batman was right about his choices and going from there; if he started questioning Batman, then it meant questioning everything he knew, and Robin wasn't ready for that, not yet.

"I'm not talking anymore," Robin decided. "Just get on with whatever you want me to do today. Put me back in that training room and I'll move the rocks again."

"Today is about training your mind and talking with me," Slade answered.

"I said I'm not talking," Robin scowled.

"I'd watch the backtalk if I were you. You already have a reprimand coming for throwing things last night."

Shoot! Robin had forgotten about that. Blast Slade and his disciplinary methods, and there was no way Robin could hold himself still for a punishment, not with all this power coursing through his body. He should just make a run for it now. He eyed the window. Could he jump out and land and still be okay?

"But I might be lenient. If you can show repentance . . ."

"What do you want me to do?" Robin sighed. "Call you master? Get on my knees and beg not to be hit? Call Batman names?"

"Please," Slade scoffed. He took a tiny key out of his pocket and held it out. "Take this key and go to the shelf over there. There is a small box there. Unlock it and take out the paper inside. Careful though. The box is very delicate."

Robin froze with the key in his hand. Did Slade know about his newfound strength? Surely the man would have said something.

"Go on," Slade nodded to the shelf. "But don't think this means that I am going to go easy on you. That isn't what you need. I've long been of the mind that those who respond best to punishments, who protest it the most, who fear it the most are those who need it the most."

Robin rolled his eyes (Slade couldn't see of course) but he directed most of his attention to his new task – unlocking the tiny box. It lay there innocently on the shelf, slightly bigger than his hand, made of delicate bamboo.

A deep breath, and Robin pulled the box forward between his thumb and index finger. The box shuddered under the movement, feeling like mere strips of paper. Batman had once done something similar – he had made Robin build a house of cards to practice precision and placement. But that had been on a quiet Tuesday evening in the Batcave, and Robin didn't have some weird serum pulsing through his body that made him want to break a hole in the nearest wall.

"You need some kind of motivation," Slade kept talking. "You're the kind of boy who needs constant supervision and consequences to keep in line, otherwise you fall into misadventure and trouble. You crave discipline and order because you're incapable of bringing it to your own life."

Robin had the key out and his hand shook as he inserted it into the slot. Slade was still talking about punishments and Robin just gave a noncommittal "Mmmm," but his attention focused only on the box.

He tried to turn the key.

It stuck.

A bead of sweat ran down his right temple as he gulped. He would not break the box by forcing it open – he would not!

"Which is why I'm sure you'll agree with my disciplinary methods," Slade went on. "You might object and protest during them, but that's all lip-service. Deep inside, you know that without reprimand the guilt will eat you alive. You prefer me to be this way with you, yes?"

"Yes," Robin muttered as he stared at the key. He gently turned it, but the key was still stuck in the difficult lock.

"And I'm sure you'll agree that all the punishments you've received here were appropriate. You deserved all of them."

"I'm sure I did," Robin parroted back as he squinted at the box. Normally he would pick up the box to examine why it was stuck, but now he didn't trust the fragile thing in his rough hands.

"Good to know. What is taking so long?"

"The key is stuck," Robin blinked the sweat out of his eyes.

"Then loosen it and try again. I swear, Robin, sometimes I think you try my patience deliberately."

Desperate, Robin pressed the key again. It turned and the top opened. But he had turned too hard and the key ripped the whole lock out of the box, tearing out the front of the box.

"Oh," Robin said as he looked down at it.

Slade stalked over to him to survey the damage. "You did that on purpose."

"I didn't – I swear!"

"Ha! Bend over the table for your punishment."

Robin trudged towards the table, but he stopped. The table looked solid until he noticed its spindly legs and weak joints. Slade would smack hard and Robin knew his first involuntary buck would crush the table into pieces.

"Please, don't," Robin said.

"What?" Slade was too close, too demanding. "You just agreed that you needed this."

Robin pushed his temper down and resisted the urge to throw the table at Slade. "I know, sir. I'm sorry for breaking the box, but please don't punish me. I'll be good – I'll do better." Slade crossed his arms, and Robin hurried on. "Or if you have to punish me, can't you do it later?"

"Why should I?"

"Because – because," Robin tossed around for a reason, "if you punish me now, it won't matter for later."

"Excuse me?"

Robin hated himself but he thought quick and decided to use Slade's own logic. "If you punish me now, it will be over and I'll have no motivation to keep behaving. But if you wait until later, like tonight, I'll be dreading it all day and it will make me," Robin swallowed, despising himself, "focused and obedient."

"My," the smirk was back in Slade's voice, "you are a quick study. I suppose we could wait. But if we do it tonight, you're going over my knee."

Robin's face flushed scarlet. He was going to kill Slade – that was a given. "All right. And I am sorry about the box. That was an accident."

"Hmph!" Slade scoffed. "A likely story. Get the piece of paper out."

The scrap of paper inside had a Latin poem on it and Slade set him to translating it.

That turned out to be the activity of the day – schoolwork. Robin didn't mind school stuff normally. His aptitude for languages and reading abilities had always been strong suits for him. He was enrolled with school online, but he seldom gave that more than an hour or two a day. He could speed-read and type fast, and as he got all A's on his projects, he never worried too much about the fact that he didn't learn for the required four hours a day that the homeschooling demanded from its online students.

All measureable tests and grades were sent to Bruce, but he rarely commented on any of it since Robin's grades remained high.

There had been one failing grade for a missed assignment early in the days of life at Teen Tower, and Batman had paid a visit. The other Titans had been impressed that the Dark Knight would show up to their place, but Batman had said, "I'm here to speak to Robin about his grades," and the teens had quickly made excuses to go somewhere else.

"Geez, I'm sorry," Robin had stood sheepishly. "I forgot about that paper. It won't happen – ow, Batman!"

Batman had kept a tight pinch on his ear as he took Robin to his room to have a private conversation. And after that, Robin had never missed another assignment.

However, homework in Teen Tower after a long patrol had been a dream compared to the difficulty of translating under Slade's scrutiny with so much raw power pounding through his body.

Lunch finally came, but it was Chinese food that he had to eat with thin chopsticks and he broke two pairs before he was finally allowed to eat with a fork. Slade berated him for bad manners, for being so sulky, for not applying himself fully to the task at hand.

After lunch, the schoolwork continued into the afternoon.

Robin had to find books with thin pages and write with a delicate pen, and everything in the library was so darn frail that it broke if you looked too hard at it, and Slade wouldn't let anything go.

"Have you always been this clumsy?" he scoffed as Robin tore the copy sheet for the fifth time. "I thought you were an acrobat. All those stories about Robin's grace and agility. You're the proverbial bull in the china shop."

"And you're the proverbial pain in my ass," Robin huffed as he went to get another piece of paper.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir. Can't I have a break soon to go running or boxing or maybe lift a car?"

"Lessons," Slade rapped on the table sternly. "I want to see some demonstration of knowledge from you. No more nonsense."

"Don't you have some villainous plan that you need to enact?" Robin took up the pen again, hoping he didn't crush it between his fingers and splatter ink all over the table. "Evil deeds that can't wait?"

"That's later tonight."

"What?"

"Oh, my plans don't stop just because you are here. No, my dear boy, tonight I have a grand party planned and you are going to be the star guest there. My plans stretch further and run deeper than you can ever – Robin!"

Robin blinked at the broken pen in his hand and all the bits of black ink strewn all over the table.

"That's it – you've tried my patience for the last time," Slade stood up.

Escape plans be screwed. Actions would happen now.

Robin stood up and kicked back his chair. He brought his hands down on the table, and his two fists smashed through the wood.

Slade stepped back uncertainly.

"All right, Slade," Robin grabbed a slab of wood and held it like a bat, "let's see how well you take a beating. And I think we both know you deserve this, yes?"