This takes place between HIVE at the Opera and Bad Publicity. It delves a little deeper into the 'cold' that all of the Titans (except Cyborg) were suffering from when Noir and Beast Boy returned. If anything, it shows an attempt to add more Raven/Noir to early Act One material. It also keeps things light hearted. Too bad it's further FAILURE.

I'd lived on the road, on the run, in transience, in transport, in trouble, and in one trial or tribulation after another. I'd spent the night in trees, in caves, in moldy hotels, in even moldier apartments, and—finally—in a deep, dark cellar at the base of a gigantic concrete letter 'T'. I'd squeezed bare minutes of slumber in between fits of panic, in scuffles for my very life, during natural disasters, and amidst hostage situations. I'd even gone for a week, barely alive, avoiding sleep in order to track down some murderous vagabond or another in the Midwest—long before I even met the Titans. For a good solid three to four years of my life, I had vigorously avoided all natural sleep for the sake of constant vigilance.

So, it went without saying, I could wake up on a dime—given any random situation.

Which is probably why, without a doubt, I couldn't help but feel awkward and shameful when I slept through ten full rings of the Titan's intercom system one midnight.

"Yo! Noir!" Cyborg's voice finally broke through the beeping and shouted into my dark-lit abode. "Wake the hell up, dawg!"

I turned in bed, hair-tossed, black eyes blinking into the fray of opaqueness about me.

Wait……what?

Killer Moth? Did Kitten give up the trigger…erm…Mammoth's hair on fire? Dying cats? Huh?

"I've been trying to wake you up for five full minutes! Come on! This is important!"

Important, indeed, and yet he couldn't come down to my bedroom and knock on my door? Alas, I held my tongue—oh wait. And what the Hell was I dreaming about?

I shuffled achingly to the edge of the bed—all but tripped—and stumbled the next two feet till I leaned limply against the wall-mounted intercom like a wounded Bruce Willis. My fingers fumbled, fiddled, and finally found the large, circular signal button beneath the speaker. I searched the depths of my exhausted, Westhaven-battered brain to summon my irrefutable knowledge of morse code—which I knew like the back of my hand—but the back of my hand was obscured in darkness and the faint dreamy images of Supergirl and Chun-Li gigglingly tossing giant moth monster guts at one another in a kiddie pool—wait, what the Hell? Oh yeah—I swiftly found the appropriate dashes and dots and replied, beepingly, to my communicating sub-commander in question:

'Y-E-S?'

"Do you sleep under lead sheets or something, man?"

"………." 'Y-E-S'

"Whatever. Look, I need a hand with something. Wouldja come up to……Seventh Floor, South Wing? Just right by the gym……"

I just want to sleep. I just want to sleep. I just want to sleep. I just want to sleep.

"Please. Time is of the essence."

I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to.

'B-E-.-R-I-G-H-T-.-T-H-E-R-E'

"Thanks, man. You're a life saver." -blip-

Nietzsche damn it……..whatever……

I mutely groaned, threw on a white t-shirt to complement my gray shorts, grabbed my shades, and stumbled like the zombie I was straight out my room and into the cellar. I didn't trip……until I did, about three steps up the stairs to the first floor of the Main Tower, and thus wedged a growing rift between myself and the deep emotions of my right knee.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

Ding!

I emerged from the elevator, squinting. All of the lights on the Seventh Floor were on, and it confused me as much as it vexed me. As I stumbled along—squinting my shaded eyes—I fumbled my hand murkily across the walls and flipped each lightswitch off as soon as I found them. A roaming blackout trailed my silhouette as I proceeded through the Tower towards my burning destination—

"Yo!" a flaming Cyborg with his glintingly-reflective metal skin was standing there before the ladies' bathroom. "Don't touch those lights! I turned them on for a reason!"

I hissed into my own teeth, turned so he wouldn't see my grimace, and slid up the wall towards him, y gaze stuck towards the floor. I counted the seconds as my retinae recovered from the whole ordeal—and realized stupidly for the first time that I was barefoot.

Huh, you know for a seventeen year old swordsman—I'm pretty hairless. I bet even Robin shaves more than I do. But, who can tell when it comes to him? You'd have to murder an entire continent to get Robin out of the Tower in shorts—

"Man, I am so……SO sorry to drag you out like this but I just *can't* be here for this!" Cyborg whispered hoarsely.

I hand-signed limply, avoiding the act of looking at his reflective form. 'Be here for what?'

"Let me make a long story short; I got a call from PHASER Labs in West Central—They're done with an analysis that Robin asked for. It's something to do with a residue found on stolen cars some thugs were driving during a bank heist two weeks ago. Whatever the case, it's uber important that I go and collect the data first-hand. That and—erm—grab some Robitussin."

I raised a blind eyebrow…

"But I can't just leave her behind! So, like—Just watch out after her, will ya? I've been playing nurse allllll day—I swear, these saps are like Franklin Roosevelt on valium."

Now I was looking at him, squinting confusedly. I hand-signed: 'Watch after who? Who is 'her'?'

Right there and then came a humongous retching sound from beyond the bathroom walls, followed by a mournful, wailing 'Dear Azarrrrrrrrrrrrrr' and a wet, coughing noise.

I jumped—visibly. Holy Horseman; it's Raven…

"Look, I PROMISE I'll be back in a fly's blink! I know they entrusted their health in my hands but if I don't leave the Tower just this once Robin will KILL ME! And when he's pissed, he's hardly in a reasonable mood."

I simpered. 'I believe you.' I gulped, looked at the shut door disparagingly, and hand-signed further: 'Wait, is she contagious?'

"I've been with her and the other two lung-hackers for four days straight and still I haven't caught anything."

'Oh…' I signed. A blink, and then I added: 'But wait—I thought you said you had an advance immune system.'

"Uhhh……y-yeah," Cyborg scratched the human part of his head. A nervous smile, a sweatdrop, and he bolted: "So, cya!"

Wait! 'Wait!'

SCHWOOSH! The titanium Titan was gone.

"…….." I sighed.

Another retching sound.

I winced. My heartbeat lifted momentarily, returned to normal; and—exhaling—I pattered about towards the wall aside the bathroom and leaned against it. Waiting…….waiting….waiting….

A minute passed.

I glanced up at the blinding brightness, frowned, and reached a hand towards the lightswitch. I didn't turn it off, but I did manage to lower the illumination by fifty percent. The difference was catastrophically beautiful. My black eyes thanked me and I managed a smile.

A retch—

My smile left. I coughed, cleared my throat, and leaned back against the hallway wall. Silent. Still. Waiting…..waiting….waiting….waiting….

I looked down the hall one way, then the other way. I blinked. I made note of the blankness of everything—the cold steel emotionlessness and lack of detail that made up the interior of most of the Tower. There was such a vacant air about the place—like it was waiting overnight to fill up suddenly with an army of razor-talon'd ninjas or some other fluff. I couldn't help but wonder what citizens outside the Tower imagined was on the inside—

Suddenly, I snickered, breathily.

I was once one such 'citizen', to put it lightly. What did I once think was inside the Tower? Truth be told, I didn't really imagine much of anything—I don't think I really even cared. I had my heart and mind busy with so many other details in those lonely times—some trivial, others riveting.

Maybe it wasn't much of a stretch to extend my indifference to those comprising the rest of the City's populace at the time. And it wasn't so much a bad thing—an apathetic thing, but much rather a matter of faith; people didn't bother to know what was in the Tower because they had full assurance that whatever resources could be found within, the Titans were using it towards competently benevolent means.

Still—I mean—there had to be the random fan-psycho who wanted nothing more than to take pictures and various photographs of the setting inside the place. I knew that would never happen, of course. Robin made it clear to everyone since Day One (long before I had joined) that the Tower was not going to be a centerpiece of public relation. Tours—for instance—were expressively forbidden, at least for the time being.

That was probably just as well—of course—for I sure as Heck didn't want anyone near my bedroom, anyone I didn't trust at least. I didn't have anything in there worth hiding (not yet, anyway), but it felt like I deserved at least a modicum of respect in maintaining its privacy. I wouldn't massacre anyone who violated that—not like Raven apparently would, though I had yet to cross her in that legendarily vicious department. Ironically, Beast Boy appeared ignorant of the invisible lines of necessary demarcation when it came to privacy, as he had invaded my abode on at least two separate occasions, and—

……wait, why did Cyborg recruit me in the middle of the night for sick duty and not Beast Boy?

I sighed, slumped down to my fanny on the floor, and rested my forearms on my propped-up knees.

I'm still the noobie. Yeesh. Wasn't the tutu and unicycle enough? Or did I just traumatizingly dream all that up? I remember faintly the smell of lavender……

A moaning sound.

I bit my lip and glanced to the bathroom door on my left.

Poor Raven. I wonder if she ever went through an initiation. I doubt it; every Titan knows that she and Robin were the first ones to form the team.

I bent over further and examined my toes against the gray-blue floor.

I wonder if it doesn't work the way I've always thought? Is Cyborg really the second-in-command? Cuz sometimes—I swear—Raven has more of a say in the functions of the Titans than he does. Maybe she does indeed have an intellectual uber-authority, but Cyborg's direct command is more practical, forceful, and down-to-earth. Or maybe I'm overanalyzing things.

I sighed, leaned back against the wall again, and shut my black eyes momentarily.

Still, if she deserves such authority, she certainly doesn't seem ready to use it. I know nothing about the sort of stuff she's been through—or Robin, for that matter. In fact, all of the Titans are up to speculation, for all I'm concerned. But Raven exhibits something darker and grittier than the others, in her own feminine way. I almost think—

A retching, big time.

--Yeah—I almost think she's somehow gone through more crap than the rest of us. I mean, it would explain a lot. That sort of a thing is not what you're meant to approach, not meant to rip up from underneath the surface. Some sleeping beauties—sneezing beauties even—are best left to lie. I think that's why Robin silently deigns to her opinion so much, and Cyborg doesn't challenge her, and Starfire gives her space, and Beast Boy…………

Eh, we all love a suicidal, green elf.

I smiled.

Even when it's midnight and I'm suddenly haloing a vomitous sorceress with a stone in her forehead. Which reminds me, Beast Boy's been talking about tossing a baseball around. I meant it when I told him I'd join him with some batting practice—but—one's gotta ask how he takes the time to get good at any sport other than polo. Heh.

I raised a hand and tossed a few tangled strands of black hair up and out from my brow, exhaling sharply.

Why did I ever grow it long? I'd like to say it was laziness, but someone managing hair this long can't possibly be called 'lazy'. 'Crazy' is more like it. Speaking of which, I wonder what Robin's hair would look like when it's not all…………cow-licked to Hell. That's what they're called, right? Cow-licks? At least, that's what my father called them.

My lingering smile left me.

Ah Hell, moving on……

I never told anyone, but I had seen Cyborg with hair before. It was the second weekend after I joined—I think—which wasn't all that long before then. It was a thin forest of curls he had cultivated; his excuse was that a week-long experiment to turbo-boost the T-Car had isolated him to his laboratory/bedroom and he was at a loss to manage his own appearance. Why he got rid of it, I wasn't sure. I mean, I could have guessed: his hair only grew on the 'flesh' part of his skull—duh—so it had its fair share of the 'Frederick Douglass' look. But what Cyborg lost in shaving it all off was more than just an aesthetic nuisance—and that was where I don't think he gave himself much credit, or at least what was left of himself. The fact that any part of his mangled body succeeded in growing beyond his limitations was a miracle in and of itself. If even he didn't realize it then, I could only hope that one day he'd truly, fully grasp it.

What should I pointlessly focus on now? Starfire's midriff? Beast Boy's fading freckles? Oh, he has freckles alright. Or he once had them—back when he was obviously something other than green. Heh, I wonder if he's been African American all this time and nobody's given it two cents. Anyways, back to Starfire's midriff—

SCHWOOSH!

I looked aside.

A disheveled, twice-pale, blue headed creature with sunken eyes slithered out under a cowl of white bedsheets, looked my way, (!)gasped(!), and shot straight back into the ladies' room in a blur.

SCH-SCHWOOSH!

"…………"

Huh……..

The sound of a faucet. A coughing. A shuffling. The faucet switched off. A breath of a pause, then once more:

SCHWOOSH!

Raven re-emerged, staring invalidically at me. Her hair had been straightened, magically, to an order of twenty-percent more cleanliness, and her sniffling face now hid its sheeny self under the protective shade of her bedsheethood.

"………what are you doing here?"

I shrugged.

"………where's Cyborg?"

I shrugged.

"………nnngh……are you my hospice now?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"I can't believe he ditched me…," she moaned, teetered, and hobbled out. "Okay, I can believe that Cyborg ditched me, but then to go and—" Her dead-eyes widened as her body shot once and she nearly urped—

I didn't know whether to flinch towards or away from her……

She quickly recovered, as I did my twitching lungs. "I……I-I just need to get to my room. Then you'll be free of whatever miserable task he set you to."

I shrugged yet again, smiling innocently. Standing up—fully awake now, actually—I sauntered over to her and offered a gentlemanly hand.

"Thank you, Noir. But even Cyborg would know that I'm perfectly capable of—Dah! Azar--!" She tripped. I caught her forearm and held her straight. "No, s-seriously…" She swallowed questionable matter down her throat and barely managed a whisper: "I'm probably very—KAFF—contag-…contag-………ah never mind."

I sweatdropped, hid it, and helped her along—

"This way."

--right.

"Nnngh……I can survive demonic possessions, telepathic mind control, interdimensional empathic persuasion—and yet bronchitis is ever the straw that breaks my veritable camelback. Hooray for irony……" Her rolling sarcasm, coupled with her drowning lungs, had become a virtual sea-tossed-yacht. And her legs showed it, barely keeping her standing straight as the two of us helped her crookedly hobble down the long, long, blue hallway—

Holy gingersnaps—Seriously? Silk blue pajamas—(?)

"Noir?"

Ahem.

I looked diligently at her.

"………you have my every permission to kill Cyborg for this."

I smiled and shook a hand to placate her—

"No, no—Not for the base annoyance of having to fill his place—But to allow anyone else to see me in this mode of invalidity is a crime."

I shrugged my shoulders.

She squinted menacingly at me. "I have you know, I can and will snap Cyborg's head off with my soul-self as soon as he returns."

I looked at her. I mouthed: 'Soul self?'

"Yes it's……well……erhm………………never mind."

She was silent. So I was silent. Together, we mutely plodded a sniffling, hobbling path towards her bedroom. Damn—Just how far away is it? I thought this floor was below the horizontal stretch of the 'T'. Besides, I can already count the germs crawling off her fingers and onto my knuckles—Well Heck, it isn't really fair to think like that. But still, maybe I should hold my breath a bit. I-I mean, it's not like I'm afraid of her—Erm—afraid of the germs on her, I just don't want to end up getting sick and making her feel bad. Cuz girls do that enough as it is to themselves, anyways—Tragically blaming themselves for one situation or another, right? But this is Raven, so nevermind………Wait. Wait. Is she about to throw up again?

"Nnnngh……" Raven cradled her head, the 'hood' falling away to reveal her grandiose disheveledness.

I sweatdropped and looked at her, concerned.

She gulped, reeled a bit, and muttered: "I'm o-okay……J-Just can we sit down for a b-bit?"

I nodded. Looked left. Looked right—There, sure enough, was a bench. It was just as plain and metal and lifeless as the rest of the hallway. Go figure. I helped her, one tiny step at a time, over towards the seat. She sat down, very……very slowly, and sighed, hugging the blanket to herself.

I slumped down and sat beside her, exhaling. Twiddling my thumbs. "…………"

Raven sat, staring into space, her head rocking ever so slightly back and forth. "………"

"……………"

"……………"

Raven said nothing.

I couldn't say anything.

She stared and stared……

I adjusted my shades, shifted where I sat, and remained still—silent. For the next couple of minutes.

"……………"

"…………"

"……………"

"…………"

I whistled ever so slightly, twiddled my thumbs even more, even resorted to making little black smoke-trails in the air with my index finger, anything to pass the lurching, dark night-seconds by as we sat there, alone and separate, in the middle of no-man's land.

Until—almost thunderously—Raven's quiet little lamb voice finally rolled: "Baby's bane."

I blinked. I gave Raven a curious, confused side-glance.

"That's what my mother used to always call it……" Raven urped, recovered, and rambled forward: "'Baby's Bane'……"

Still, I was confuzzled.

"Nnnngh…" She rubbed her squinting eyes and leaned her blue head back against the cold metal wall. "I know it sounds dark, but th-that's the twist of……Azarathian lifestyle. To die—or to expire—was symbolically compared to be-becoming a baby again: infirmed, crawling about, incontinent and dumb." She urped, bit her lip, and whispered: "Nevermind the 'dumb' part……"

I didn't take it personally.

"So……Whenever I got sick, and my mother happened to be there, she mixed me this herbal blend and applied it to my forehead. 'Baby's Bane', she called it……to keep me from regressing into something th-that could die so incredibly easily. Mmmmfnngh………not all babies are innocent creatures, in this world, the past, or the next……"

I scratched my head at that, but smiled regardless.

"She b-barely had a chance to s-see me……on a regular basis……" Raven murmured, her eyes growing thinner, her fingers loosening in their grip to the sheet draped over her. A cough, a sputter, then: "There were tons and tons of……s-servants, and clerics………the spiritual maidens of Azar……mmnngh……so much, like a wall of blood, bone, and belief—always entrenching me……I grew to respect it. H-How could I not? It was all there was……"

I bit my lip. I thought of interrupting her. But I didn't know where she was going with any of this. I never once doubted Raven's abilities to control her mind, and the words that spewed out of it……

"Nnnngh………whatever," a dry stone spat out from her, metaphorically speaking. The bitterness came and went with a passing, moist sigh. She sniffled and coughed and added: "Family is family, no matter what form. Though……th-though one couldn't h-help but ask for someone……someone different………someone out of the ordinary……someone who could be trusted and feared all the same…………mmmf……ngh……someone like………someone like………like………"

Silence.

I blinked.

Like what?

There was a light weight suddenly pressing against my left shoulder. I glanced down and realized that Raven had passed out. Peacefully. Her sickly form relaxed in waves, gradually rising and falling with raspy but very—very—tranquil breaths. Her lips remained pursed, like porcelain, and not all the earthquakes in the world could shatter her out of it.

Hmmmmmmm……

I measured my circumstances, my possibilities. I glanced down the hallway, eyeing the distance from where we resided to the unmistakable door of her bedroom. I cleared my throat, turned, and tightly gripped her shoulder—ready to shake her awake.

But I stopped just short of it……

"………"

Nah…….

My firm hand angled itself into a gentle support at the small of her back as I stood up, shifted her weight, and slowly—cautiously—picked her up in both arms. One ginger step at a time, I carried Raven down the dark hallway to her room. I nudged the console with my knee, and the door slid open with a quiet swish.

Too swift to be brave—or to even consider the whole thing as 'brave'—I marched forward into her dark dwelling, found a really freakin' big bed in the middle of it all, and quickly laid her down in the center of the thing. A tangle of bedsheets and tissues told of the troubling night she had experienced hours previous: under Cyborg's intermittent ministrations, no doubt.

I took one last second to take one last glance and take one last notice of—nothing—which was a good thing, for that nothing quite peacefully comprised itself of even breaths, still limbs, and all the other signs of graceful, feminine slumber. Or whatever—I gently drew a duvet over the warm she-creature and turned around.

I paused, suddenly noticing in the gentle moonlight of that room all the various, sharp, jagged gothic things surrounding me. With a touch of urgency rather than fear, I bolted out of there, spun around in a smoking blur, and slapped the wall console.

Swish!

I was out.

I exhaled. Beat my chest—Nope. No infection, at least not now. My throat felt fine, my nose, mouth—spirit.

A smile.

Her hair; it felt like silk…….ice silk.

I blinked.

Why the Hell am I smiling?

Shaking my head, I sighed and marched towards the elevator, taking it up and not down.

I couldn't friggin' sleep then.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

Imagine my surprise when I ascended up into the Main Room and found Cyborg, of all people, nestled in the kitchen unit. He leaned over a few jars and loaves of bread and waved at me. "Ah, there you are! How's Raven doing?"

I yawned, marched towards him, and hand-signed in the gentle refrigerator light. 'She got it out of her system. She is sleeping in her room now.'

"Well alright! She got her walking legs back, huh? That's a good girl."

'No, I had to carry her.'

He blinked at me. "Carry her?"

I nodded.

"Uhm—Where?"

'Where else? To her room.'

"YOU WENT INTO HER ROOM?"

I all but recoiled, black eyes wide under my shades. I meekly nodded.

"INTO HER ROOM……" Cyborg's jaw dropped incredulously. "You went……INTO RAVEN'S ROOM……and you're still standing?"

I gulped, bit my lip, and shrugged this time.

"………well, dayum……," Cyborg gazed off into the distance, blinking. "Who'd a'thunk it?"

I glanced at his midnight snack, then up at him. I hand-signed: 'You are back from P-H-A-S-E-R already?'

"Nah, I haven't gone yet."

I reeled.

"Thought I'd make a sandwich first."

Why you sonuva—

"Snkkkkt-heheheheheheheh!"

I snickered and leaned on the kitchen counter for support.

"Hah hah hah hah!"

Ohhhhhhh……

I think one of us is going to end up sick.