Multichaptered. StarRobRae. AU. Dedicated to all my supporters and favorite TT readers (you know who you are).

Disclaimer: Don't own Teen Titans. Don't rub it in.


Someone put a gun to his head. Someone give him one, just to cradle, just to feel the cold ridged object in his blood crusted and flaking hands. Something real to give him comfort.

Give him a shock.

On the long silver examination tables, their bodies lay out flaccid and pale, decently so to cover up the damage. They waited unresponsively to be zipped into the white oversized bags and stored into those dark hiding spaces, the ones where the outside mimicked the appearance of file cabinets. How many people could mistake them for cabinets only to receive the sickening end of a bad joke? Or a bad…accident…….

The sweating man quietly stood beside them.

His left hand, the one with the gold impressed ring winking in the overhead fluorescent lighting, held her hand away from her marble breast, a hand that neglected him.

A hand that belonged to someone else.

Without his knowledge— long before he wandered himself unpredictably in her life— it belonged to that someone else. Along with the rest of her body.

Instead of his hand clenching his own cold indifferent fingers furiously, Wallace West dropped her left remorselessly. It was not in his nature to hate, to become that kind of man who would seek revenge. He was always reasonably passive, it was his downfall, yes, perhaps that's why she liked him so much.

Someone to boss around. Someone who would undeniably love her for all she was, her façade anyway, and dote upon her when she required such senseless doting.

The woman who came in earlier— the one who sobbed her poor fanciful heart out— making him outwardly cringe at the hatred of it, she must have been plenty horrified at the sight of their corpses.

If he hadn't known better, she might have been sobbing at the fact that they were lying together.

The police told him, when he inquired of course, that she was the fellow's ex. Ran off to some distant country many months ago with another woman. That little piece of info interested him but he wouldn't go prying into this nameless woman's life, her dramas— again it was meekness and maybe some courtesy at work. He only waited in line for her to sign her papers and leave in a melancholy whirl of cotton red dress-material.

Maybe she didn't feel comfortable in morgues, his later thoughts pressed, not that Wallace could blame her. They weren't exactly the residences of tranquility and pleasant dreams.

Should he be sad? Did he cry?

Not just yet. Shock and doubt wasn't finished with him. Sure, after all, it was a terrible way to die, terrible to watch….truck came out of nowhere…….

No one would know their story. He didn't even know how all this, all the pieces in time, the fragments, the scraps of inevitability coming and connecting to form their lives, creating the link between them. Years would move along, their anecdote, their memories, their legacy, disappearing, forgotten.

Their secrets…would stay secrets.