(A/N) This is another one of those stories that I'm writing because of reading similar things and disagreeing with the general execution of said theme. I hope that you don't mind the somber tone, but it's kind of a necessary element with tales of this sort.

Disclaimer – Ok, time for a serious disclaimer. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. I do not own the Teen Titans. Woooooooooo, what a rush!

Past Saving

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The room had a strange three-part harmony to it. The steady beat of the saline drip, the calm uncaring rhythmic tone of the heart monitor, and the low rumble of the oxygen machine. It would have been interesting to see if a melody could be woven into it all, but no one seemed inclined to try.

One large hulking figure stood with his head bowed by the doorway as a graceful looking redhead was escorted out of the room by a tall man with straight hair that reached his shoulders. Her gentle sobs were lessened by the arm he placed around her shoulder and as they finished their exit the large figure muttered a word or two of comfort with his farewell.

This departure placed the chances for a melody in the hands of a preoccupied duet: a prone figure on a sterile bed and a single visitor in the chair next to him. A small pale hand was intertwined within a rough looking green one and the woman stared down at the connection as though it could provide her with strength.

No tears threatened at the corners of her amethyst eyes and it was this one point that seemed out of place. The face that belonged to the woman was blanketed in grief and yet her eyes held their piece. A soft voice breathed out a familiar name. The one spoken word told of the worry held within the moment. Those fears were pushed down as the need to unburden the soul broke its bonds.

"You're not supposed to leave."

A smile, small and worn, made the form on the bed appear as though waking from sleep instead of struggling against it. "I guess we've come a long way." And even before the question was asked he was answering it, "How many times do you think you told me to go away? More than I can count." His eyes drifted closed again, though his smile seemed to have found a comfortable spot and stayed.

A second, delicate hand gently caressed the smile then pushed a few stray hairs back into place. "I'm glad you never listened."

His smile softened at the touch. "It's what I'm good at." The words were costing him and his breath grew shallow. "Raven..."

"Shhhh, just wait until it passes." She was softly stroking his hair, trying to sooth him.

He forced his eyes open again, his breathing sounding worse. "It's not going to this time. I just…" He fought to pull in more air. "…Need to say how much I love you."

Her eyes finally betrayed her as they began to fill.

"Don't…worry…I'm not…really…leaving."

His breathing was so shallow now; Raven didn't know how he was getting words out. The first of her tears spilled out and she refused to let go of him to wipe them away.

"Not…leaving…just…going…on…ahead." His grip on her hand tightened. "I'll….be…waiting."

The tears flowed in earnest and Raven couldn't stop them any more than she could stop the long cold tone that was saying her friend, her companion, her love had died.

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An obituary appeared in the paper the next day.

Logan – Garfield, age 78, passed away this Wednesday after a long fight against pancreatic cancer. Better known in his youth as Beast Boy or The Changeling, Logan worked with various groups of superheroes over the years to protect the cities of Jump, Centerville, and Los Angeles. He was also involved in many efforts that protected his beloved country and even the planet at large. He leaves behind a loving wife, three children, and twelve grandchildren. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

(A/N) For all of you wanting a sequel to any of my previous stories, this is about as close as you're going to get. If you liked any particular story best, just think of this as the proof of 'happily ever after' that I always like to imply at the end of my romances.