give and take

There are times when Terra wonders just why Slade is so fixated on making Robin bend to his whims. She understands her own selling points; she’s not special, not even good, and she hurts people everywhere she goes, but even so, she’s powerful, and to Slade, that’s all that matters. But Robin? Well, he’s skilled, her bruises from today’s mandatory training will attest to that, but he can’t level buildings with the wave of a hand, can’t make the Earth tremor under the weight of his grief. So he’s strong, yes, and smart without a doubt, but not powerful, not like Terra, which means Slade wants something else from him. Something different. Usually the mystery of what that something is eludes her, but in moments like this, when Robin is so calculating, and so manipulative, and so very much like Slade, she thinks she gets it.

“So, how are they? The Titans?” He’s waited very carefully to ask, she’s sure. Not just today, biding his time until Slade walked out the door, but over the past few weeks, too. He’d begun by throwing her the bone of acknowledgement where he’d previously rebuffed her, listening instead of walking away when she daydreamed about the various places around the world she’d been before (all of them nicer than Slade’s HQ), or helping her patch herself up after especially brutal matches with Slade’s robotic soldiers. On one particularly odd day, he’d even offered to braid her hair for her so it would be harder to pull. She’s not even sure who taught him how to do that. Each gesture had left her increasingly baffled; Robin had made it no secret he thought he was better than her because she freely chose to do the things he was forced to do. Now she understands what he’d been trying to acquire her trust for. Information. She might’ve guessed; it’s always about information with Slade. Why should Robin be any different?

Terra doesn’t like to be a hypocrite, so she tries to brush off the sting of betrayal and school her features into something hard and uncompromising instead. She can take pages from Slade’s book, too. “You should know, Robin. Didn’t you see them just this month? They’ve probably still got the bruises, and you’ve already forgotten. Some friend.” Okay, now she’s definitely being a hypocrite, but some knives are just too easy to twist.

He scowls at her, but scowling is pretty much his default expression around here, so she’s not feeling very moved by it. “You know that’s not what I mean. Not just the team. Not just fighting. Them. What book is Raven reading? What new upgrades has Cyborg made to the T-Car? Does Starfire—?” He stops, thinks better of it, but Terra won’t grant him an out.

“Miss you?” she sneers, and seeing perfect Robin flinch like he’s just as weak inside as her is a treat. She could draw this out longer, make him beg maybe, or deny him completely, like Slade would tell her to, but she has her own ideas. “You know what? Fine. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know. Promise. But I wanna know something, too.”

He doesn’t trust her, which makes him smarter than all his precious friends, at least. Still, if he wants to keep this tenuous window to his loved ones open (and he does, so badly), he’ll play the game by her terms. “What? There’s nothing he’d tell me that he wouldn’t tell you. You know he doesn’t trust me.” True and false. He trusts Robin to obey his every command, if nothing else. The ever-present “or else” that keeps his friends lives dangling in the balance ensures it.

Terra shakes her head. “Not something he’s told you, something you’ve told him. Or maybe he just guessed.”
It takes a moment for him to understand what she’s getting at, but when he does, a flip is switched. “No,” he says, a hiss through bared teeth. “That’s not— that’s not my secret to keep or tell, Terra.” Dozens of pairs of wings flutter above them endlessly, but even without the reminder, she knows what he means. Who he means.

“Then I guess it’s not really my place to go telling secrets about the Titans, is it?” she asks, as if her only purpose in spending time with them isn’t doing just that. “Guess you don’t really care about them after all, huh? It’s sweet that you asked, though. I bet Slade would think—”

“Stop.” It must click then, that no amount of bandages and braids can sway her favor toward him. That nothing can, not when it’s lies and tricks meant to make her lower her guard. She wants something real. “I get it. Give and take.” But still he waits, dragging it out like a child forced to take an especially bitter medicine. Then he smiles, but it’s something ugly and rueful. “For the record, he forced me to tell him, too.” And then, with hands that stubbornly refuse to shake, he peels off the mask.