Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky over Jump City was the color of a day-old bruise, a moody swirl of purple and grey that perfectly matched Kitten Walker’s disposition. She stood, hands planted firmly on her hips, on the rooftop of a ridiculously chic, ridiculously expensive boutique she’d just finished terrorizing. Not that she’d done much of the actual terrorizing. That was what her hired goons were for. Her job was to look impeccable while it happened, a task at which she excelled.

The only thing marring this otherwise flawless picture of villainous panache was Robin, the Boy Wonder, standing about twenty feet away, looking utterly unimpressed.

"It’s over, Kitten." he said, his voice as flat and boring as a concrete slab. He spun his bo staff with a casual flair that was meant to be intimidating but only served to fuel the inferno of her irritation.

"It’s not over until I say it’s over!" she shrieked, the sound a little more shrill than she’d intended. Her prize, a one-of-a-kind diamond-encrusted cat collar, lay discarded near the ledge. The whole point of the heist had been to get Robin’s attention. She had it, but it wasn’t the kind she wanted. She wanted adoration, obsession, perhaps a desperate plea for her to change her ways and join the side of justice, all for him. What she got was… boredom.

"Your dad’s on his way to pick up your hired help." Robin continued, yawning behind a gloved hand. A yawn. He dared to yawn at her? "I’d suggest you go home before your curfew."

That was it. The final, patronizing straw.

"You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you, Rob-in?" she spat, pronouncing his name in two distinct, venomous syllables. She stalked toward him, her platform boots making emphatic clicks on the rooftop gravel. "With your stupid, perfect hair and your angsty, mysterious backstory. You know, some people find that cliché."

"Okay, Kitten." He wasn't even looking at her anymore, his eyes scanning the city below, probably for a real crime to fight.

The rage inside her was a physical thing, a hot, bubbling geyser threatening to erupt. She had tried everything. She had orchestrated jewel heists, kidnapped irritating city officials, and even once tried to blow up the city’s supply of tofu just to get a rise out of his green teammate, all in the hopes of luring Robin into a dramatic confrontation that would end in a passionate, star-crossed kiss. She had read all the comics. That’s how these things were supposed to work. The brooding hero falls for the misunderstood bad girl.

But Robin wasn’t following the script.

"I could have any boy I want!" she yelled, her voice cracking with a frustration so profound it almost felt like despair. "Literally any of them! They would line up for a chance to date me!"

Robin finally turned his full attention back to her, and for a fleeting, hopeful second, she thought she saw a flicker of something in the lenses of his mask. Annoyance? Possibly. Interest? Unlikely.

"Then why don’t you?" he asked, his tone laced with a genuine, cutting curiosity. "Why don’t you go date one of them and leave me alone?"

The words hit her harder than any of his birdarangs ever could. They were simple, logical, and utterly dismissive. He wasn’t just rejecting her; he was writing her out of his story completely. He didn’t see her as a rival, a villainess, or even a mild nuisance. He saw her as a gnat to be swatted away.

Her fury solidified into something cold and sharp. A plan. A terrible, wonderful, exquisitely petty plan.

He wanted her to date someone else? Fine. She would. But she wouldn’t just date someone else. She would date one of his own. She would parade her new, adoring boyfriend in front of him at every opportunity. She would be so sickeningly happy, so disgustingly in love, that the sheer force of her bliss would make him realize what he’d thrown away. He would be consumed by a jealousy so potent it would drive him mad.

Her eyes scanned an imaginary roster of the Teen Titans.

Cyborg? No. Too loud, too much metal. He probably smelled of oil and motor grease. Not her style.

Aqualad? Been there, done that. He was cute, in a fishy sort of way, but far too earnest. And the wet dog smell was a dealbreaker.

Speedy? He was an option. Arrogant, a bit of a show-off. She could work with that. But he wasn't around enough. This needed to be a constant, in-your-face kind of torture.

Her gaze, both in her mind and in reality, drifted past Robin to where the rest of the Titans were wrapping things up below. Starfire was floating, a beacon of nauseating positivity. Raven was… being Raven, a gloomy little thundercloud in a cloak. And then there was him.

Beast Boy.

He was currently in the form of a bright green parrot, perched on Cyborg’s shoulder and squawking out a terrible rendition of a pop song. He was goofy, immature, and a vegetarian, for crying out loud. He was, in every conceivable way, the opposite of everything she found attractive. He was loud where Robin was quiet, silly where Robin was serious, green where Robin was… not green.

He was perfect.

Dating Beast Boy would be the ultimate insult. It was a choice so baffling, so utterly nonsensical, that it could only be interpreted as a grand, theatrical statement. It would show Robin that she was so over him, so completely and utterly moved on, that she had cast her romantic net into the most absurd corner of the pond and pulled out… this. This green, tofu-loving jester.

A slow, malicious smile spread across Kitten’s face. The anger didn’t vanish, but it transformed, crystallizing into a diamond-hard resolve. She looked back at Robin, her eyes glittering with a new, triumphant light.

He was still watching her, a slight frown on his lips, as if he was trying to figure out what was happening behind her suddenly serene expression.

"You know what, Robin?" she said, her voice now a purr of pure, weaponized sugar. "That is a fantastic idea. The best you’ve ever had."

She turned on her heel, her hair swinging like a pendulum marking the beginning of a new era. She didn’t bother to retrieve the diamond collar. It was a bauble, a relic of a failed strategy. Her new prize was much more valuable.

"Consider yourself left alone." she called back over her shoulder, not bothering to see his reaction.

As she descended the fire escape, her mind was already racing, plotting, and scheming. Phase one of Operation: Make Robin Rue the Day was complete. Now for phase two: the wooing of the Beast. This, she thought with a surge of vindictive glee, was going to be an absolute disaster. And she couldn’t wait. She would need a strategy. Flowers? No, too traditional. Candy? He probably only ate vegan, organic, fun-free candy. A love poem? She shuddered at the thought of putting that much effort into something so disingenuous.

No, this required a special touch. The Kitten Walker touch. It would have to be loud, expensive, and completely tone-deaf to the recipient's actual personality. It had to be a spectacle. The more public, the better. She wanted the whole city, and especially a certain Boy Wonder, to see her efforts.

Her phone was already in her hand, her thumb hovering over her assistant’s number.

"Celeste." she would say, "I need you to arrange for a flyover of Titans Tower. I want a banner. A very large, very pink banner. And it needs to say something… poetic."

A wicked grin touched her lips. This wasn't just about making Robin jealous anymore. This was about proving that she could have anything, and anyone, she wanted. Even the boy who was the living embodiment of a sentient broccoli floret. Beast Boy wouldn't know what hit him.

Chapter Text

Beast Boy’s morning was off to a pretty standard start. He’d woken up late, been yelled at by Cyborg for using all the soy milk, lost three consecutive rounds of "Mega Monkey Mayhem 4" to said half-robot, and was now contemplating the existential void of his breakfast plate, which contained a single, slightly sad-looking tofu scramble.

"Dude, are you gonna eat that?" Cyborg asked, gesturing with a fork. "Or are you just gonna have a staring contest with it? My money’s on the tofu."

"I’m thinking." Beast Boy said, poking the pale cube with his own fork. "I’m trying to decide if I can mentally will it into tasting like bacon. It’s not working."

Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the common room, rattling the windows in their frames. It sounded suspiciously like a jet engine, only much, much closer.

"What in the…" Cyborg started, heading toward the giant, T-shaped window.

"Incoming!" Starfire chirped, floating in from the hallway. "It appears to be a vehicle of the sky, but it is not of a design I recognize."

They all gathered at the window, peering out into the bright morning. Circling the Tower at a perilously close distance was a small, shockingly pink private jet. Trailing behind it was a banner, so long it almost brushed the waves of the bay. In huge, glittering gold letters, it read:

"MY HEART SHAPESHIFTS FOR YOU, BEAST BOY. BE MINE? - K."

There was a moment of stunned silence in the common room. Raven, who had been silently reading on the couch, slowly lowered her book, a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in disbelief.

Beast Boy squinted. "Is… is that for me?"

Cyborg burst into a cacophony of laughter, a booming, mechanical guffaw that shook his entire body. "Heart shapeshifts! Oh, that’s rich! Who’s K? Do you have a secret admirer, grass stain?"

Beast Boy’s face cycled through several shades of green. Secret admirer? The only "K" he could think of who had access to a private pink jet and a penchant for terrible puns was… Oh no.

"Kitten?" Starfire gasped, her large green eyes wide with confusion. "But I was under the impression her affections were directed toward Robin."

As if on cue, Robin entered the room, looking tired from a night of patrol. He took one look out the window at the absurdly opulent display, and his mouth tightened into a thin, weary line. He looked directly at Beast Boy.

Beast Boy threw his hands up defensively. "Dude, I have no idea! I’ve never even talked to her! Except for when she’s, you know, being a villain and I’m, like, a bear or whatever!"

The jet made another pass, this time dropping a shower of what appeared to be pink and green rose petals all over the Tower’s solar-paneled roof.

Raven finally spoke, her voice dripping with its signature arid wit. "How romantic. Littering. I’m sure the EPA will be thrilled with this grand gesture of love."

Beast Boy groaned, burying his face in his hands. This was a nightmare. A bizarre, pastel-pink nightmare. Kitten Walker? The spoiled, shrieking princess of crime? Why on earth would she be interested in him? It made no sense. It was like a shark declaring its undying love for a unicycle.

His communicator buzzed. Hesitantly, he flipped it open. A video message. It was a close-up of Kitten’s face, perfectly made up and framed by her sharp blond hair. She blew a kiss at the camera.

"Did you see my little surprise, Beastie-boo?" her voice cooed from the tiny speaker. "Just a little something to let you know I’m thinking of you. I’ll be waiting for your answer. Meet me at the pier tonight? Eight o’clock. Don’t be late. Ciao!"

The message ended, leaving Beast Boy in the center of a circle of his staring, bewildered teammates.

"Beastie-boo?" Cyborg wheezed, wiping a tear of laughter from his human eye.

"She wishes to ‘meet at the pier’!" Starfire exclaimed. "That is a traditional Earth dating ritual, is it not?"

"It’s a trap." Robin stated, his arms crossed. "It has to be a trap. She’s probably working with Killer Moth on some new scheme."

"Or." Raven intoned dryly, "she’s finally realized the futility of chasing someone emotionally unavailable and has moved on to someone… emotionally available in overwhelming, chaotic quantities."

All eyes turned back to Beast Boy. He felt his stomach doing flips. A trap seemed likely. This was Kitten, after all. Her idea of a friendly hello was usually followed by a giant mutant moth trying to encase them in a cocoon. But the message… the banner… it was all so specifically, weirdly targeted at him.

"I’m not going." he said firmly, snapping the communicator shut. "No way. This is way too weird, even for me."

Robin nodded in approval. "Good. We’ll keep an eye on her. If she’s planning something, we’ll be ready."

Beast Boy felt a small sense of relief. The team leader had spoken. He was officially off the hook. He could go back to his life of video games, tofu, and not being the object of a supervillainess’s baffling affections.

That evening, he tried his best to forget the whole incident. He and Cyborg played twelve more rounds of "Mega Monkey Mayhem 4." He lost all of them. He tried to watch a movie, but he couldn’t focus. The image of the giant pink banner kept flashing in his mind. My heart shapeshifts for you. It was so cheesy, so over-the-top, but also… weirdly specific. No one ever referenced his powers like that.

Around eight-fifteen, his curiosity got the better of him. He told the others he was going out for a fly. As a pterodactyl, he soared over the city, his flight path taking him, completely by accident of course, over the Jump City Pier.

Down below, bathed in the garish lights of the Ferris wheel, a single figure stood at the end of the wooden planks. It was Kitten. She was wearing a ridiculously frilly pink dress and was tapping her foot impatiently. She looked… alone. There were no goons hiding behind the cotton candy stand, no giant moth monsters lurking in the water. It was just her.

He watched for a few minutes as she checked her diamond-studded watch, huffed in annoyance, and scanned the crowds. There was no trap. Just a girl in a pink dress waiting for a date who wasn't coming.

For a split second, a tiny, unfamiliar pang of something that felt suspiciously like guilt hit him. He quickly shook it off. This was Kitten Walker. She probably deserved to be stood up. She had tried to blast them with her laser-pointer cat toy just last month.

He turned and flew back toward the Tower, the wind whistling past his leathery wings. The first attempt to woo him had been a spectacular, public failure. He should have been relieved. And he was. Mostly. But as he landed on the roof of the Tower and morphed back into his human form, he couldn’t shake the image of her standing there, alone under the pier lights. It was a weirdly pathetic sight for someone who always seemed so aggressively in control. The whole situation was just getting stranger and stranger.

Chapter Text

Kitten Walker was not accustomed to being stood up. It was an experience so foreign to her that her brain didn't quite know how to process it. She had waited on that pier for a full hour, her initial annoyance simmering into a low boil, and finally exploding into a full-blown, foot-stomping tantrum that sent a family of tourists scurrying for cover.

She’d gone home, slammed her bedroom door hard enough to rattle the entire villainous lair, and spent the night plotting.

Clearly, the grand, romantic gesture had been too subtle. Or maybe too public. Beast Boy was, she reasoned, a simple creature. He was probably shy. A big public display might have scared him off. Like trying to catch a stray cat by setting off fireworks.

Her new approach needed to be more direct. More personal. It needed to appeal to his base instincts. And what was more instinctual than food?

The next afternoon, a special delivery drone, also pink, hovered outside the Titans Tower common room window. It had a small crane arm, which was currently holding a massive, silver-domed platter.

Cyborg was the first to spot it. "Uh, guys? We’ve got another pink problem."

The Titans assembled at the window once more. This was becoming an unnervingly regular occurrence. Beast Boy groaned, already knowing who was responsible.

The drone’s crane arm tapped on the glass. Raven, with a long-suffering sigh, used her powers to phase the enormous platter through the window. It landed on the central table with a heavy thud.

"What is it this time?" Robin asked, his hand already moving toward his utility belt. "A bomb?"

"I don’t know, but whatever it is, it smells…" Cyborg sniffed the air. "…expensive."

Beast Boy approached the platter cautiously. A small, pink, cat-shaped card was tucked under the dome. He plucked it out and read it aloud.

"‘Dearest Beast Boy,’" he began, his voice laced with dread. "‘I know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I hope you enjoy this little feast I had prepared just for you. With love and anticipa—’"

Before he could finish, Cyborg, whose patience for mystery food was notoriously thin, lifted the dome.

Underneath was a mountain of meat.

It wasn't just any meat. It was a carnivore’s fever dream. There was a whole roasted turkey, glistening and brown. There were racks of barbecue ribs slathered in a dark, smoky sauce. There were piles of sausages, thick-cut steaks with perfect grill marks, and in the very center, a suckling pig with a comically oversized apple stuffed in its mouth. The aroma of roasted flesh, herbs, and smoky fat filled the room.

To anyone else, it would have been a feast. To Beast Boy, it was a horror show.

He stared at the carnivorous bounty, his green face turning a shade paler. His stomach churned. It was like looking at a pile of his friends after a terrible accident.

Starfire gasped, covering her mouth. "Oh, it is a buffet of the slaughtered beasts!"

"Yo, I don’t know who sent this, but they have my eternal gratitude." Cyborg said, his eyes wide with reverence. He reached for a rib, only to have his hand slapped away by Robin.

"Don’t touch it." Robin ordered. "It could be poisoned."

"Poisoned with flavor, maybe." Cyborg grumbled, but he retracted his hand.

Raven looked from the platter to Beast Boy’s horrified face. A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk played on her lips. "Her research seems to be lacking."

Beast Boy felt a wave of nausea. She knew he could turn into these animals. Did she think he’d enjoy eating them? Was this some kind of sick joke? A threat? "Eat your own kind or else?"

He backed away from the table. "I… I think I’m gonna be sick." He turned and ran from the room, his hand clamped over his mouth.

Robin’s expression hardened. He pulled a small scanner from his belt and began analyzing the food. "No obvious poisons. But the intent is clear. This is a psychological attack."

Cyborg looked crestfallen. "So I can’t eat it?"

"No, you can’t eat it!" Robin snapped. "We’re getting rid of all of it."

Up in his room, Beast Boy was splashing cold water on his face. This was worse than the banner. The banner was just cheesy and embarrassing. This was… monstrous. It was so profoundly misguided, so fundamentally wrong on every level, that it looped past offensive and landed squarely in the realm of the truly bizarre.

She couldn’t possibly be this clueless, could she? The whole world knew he was a vegetarian. It was, like, his whole thing. Tofu, grass, weird green smoothies—that was his brand. Sending him a pile of cooked animals was like sending Aquaman a gift certificate to a seafood restaurant.

He paced his messy room, stepping over piles of clothes and video game cases. This wasn’t wooing. This was harassment. Weird, expensive, meat-based harassment. He had to put a stop to it.

He stormed back out to the common room just as Cyborg was mournfully loading the last of the ribs into a disposal chute.

"That’s it!" Beast Boy declared, his fists clenched. "I’m calling her. I’m telling her to stop!"

He grabbed his communicator, found the number she’d used to send the video message, and hit call. It rang once before she picked up. Her face, once again perfectly framed, appeared on the small screen.

"Beastie-boo!" she chirped. "Did you get my little care package? I had it flown in from the best steakhouse in Metropolis. Only the best for my future boyfriend."

"It was a pile of dead animals!" Beast Boy yelled, forgetting his plan to be calm and assertive. "A mountain of corpses! I’m a vegetarian, you psycho!"

Kitten’s perfectly made-up face faltered for a second. A genuine look of confusion crossed her features. "A vege-what?"

"A VEGETARIAN! I don’t eat meat! I turn into those animals! It’s like sending you a purse made out of your cat!"

On the screen, Kitten glanced instinctively at a fluffy white cat who was lounging on a silk pillow behind her. She hugged the cat protectively. "You wouldn’t!"

"No! Because that would be insane! Just like sending me a pig with an apple in its mouth is insane!"

"Oh." Kitten said, the single syllable containing a universe of dawning, horrified realization. "The apple was a bit much, wasn’t it? I told the chef it was tacky, but he insisted it was tradition."

"The whole thing was the problem, Kitten!" Beast Boy shouted, his voice cracking. "All of it! Just… stop! Stop with the banners, and the meat, and the… whatever you’re planning next! I am not interested! Not now, not ever! Leave me alone!"

With a furious jab of his thumb, he ended the call. He stood there, breathing heavily, in the now meat-scent-free common room. His friends were staring at him.

"Well." Raven said, breaking the silence. "That was direct."

"You think she got the message?" Cyborg asked, looking hopefully at the now-empty disposal chute.

Robin shook his head. "I doubt it. Someone like Kitten doesn't respond to direct rejection. She sees it as a challenge."

Beast Boy sank onto the couch, the adrenaline leaving him feeling drained. "I just want to eat my tofu in peace. Is that too much to ask?"

He hoped Robin was wrong. He hoped that his outburst, his raw, unfiltered plea, had finally gotten through her thick, perfectly coiffed head. He hoped this was the end of it.

But deep down, in the part of his brain that had seen her level of stubbornness firsthand, he had a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning. The wooing attempts were just going to get weirder.

Chapter Text

Kitten’s strategic retreat lasted exactly twenty-four hours. Her call with Beast Boy had been… illuminating. Not only had she failed to woo him, she had actively disgusted him. A critical error. Her intel was bad. Vegetarian. The word sounded so drab. So… un-luxurious.

Her first instinct was to give up. The plan was a bust. Beast Boy was clearly an uncultured simpleton with bizarre dietary restrictions. Making Robin jealous with him would be more work than it was worth.

She was just about to trade in her revenge plot for a shopping spree when she saw it: a news report on the Jump City Jumbotron. It was a clip of the Teen Titans fighting Dr. Light. And there was Robin, executing a perfect spinning kick, his face a mask of intense concentration. He looked heroic. He looked handsome. He looked completely and utterly uninterested in her.

The fire of her vengeance was instantly re-stoked.

No. She would not give up. She would double down. The problem wasn’t the target; it was the ammunition. She had tried romance and she had tried catering to his physical needs (disastrously). Now, she had to appeal to his soul. His artistic side.

After a frantic, borderline-threatening phone call with a high-strung avant-garde artist in downtown Jump, Kitten had her new plan. It was bold. It was bizarre. It was, she felt, utterly foolproof.

The next day, the Titans were called to the Jump City Museum of Modern Art. The alert had been vague, something about a public disturbance. They arrived to find the street in front of the museum blocked off, not by police tape, but by velvet ropes. A small crowd had gathered.

"What’s going on?" Robin asked, as they pushed through the onlookers.

In the center of the museum’s stark white plaza, a small stage had been erected. On the stage was a single stool. And sitting on that stool, looking deeply uncomfortable, was Beast Boy’s archnemesis in the world of villainy: Control Freak. He was clutching a remote control, his eyes wide with fear.

Behind him, a large screen flickered to life, showing a close-up of Kitten’s face. She was wearing a black turtleneck and a French beret, perched at a jaunty, artistic angle.

"Greetings, citizens of Jump City!" her voice boomed from hidden speakers. "And a special hello to my one true love, Beast Boy!"

A collective groan went through the Titans.

"Oh, come on!" Beast Boy cried. "I yelled at her! I used the word ‘psycho’!"

"She probably took it as a compliment." Raven deadpanned.

On the screen, Kitten continued. "I have realized my previous attempts to capture your heart were too materialistic, my sweet. I failed to appreciate the depth of your soul. You are not just a hero; you are a performer. An artist whose medium is life itself! So, I have prepared a piece of performance art, just for you. A tribute to your transformative genius."

She gestured dramatically. "I call it… ‘Ode to a Green Boy.’"

On the stage, Control Freak whimpered. Two of Kitten’s goons, dressed inexplicably as French mimes, gave him a shove.

"Hit it, geek!" one of them grunted.

With a trembling finger, Control Freak pressed a button on his remote. The large screen behind him changed. It began to cycle through images of Beast Boy’s various animal forms: a T-Rex, a hummingbird, a skunk, an amoeba.

As the images flashed, a techno beat started pounding from the speakers, and Kitten’s voice returned, this time auto-tuned and layered over the music in a spoken-word poem.

"Oh, verdant boy, a spectrum of the wild." the auto-tuned voice chanted. "From roaring lion to gentle, green-hued child. You are the eagle, soaring in the blue. You are the kitty… meow, meow, meow for you."

Beast Boy’s jaw dropped. The crowd was staring, a mixture of confused and amused. A few people were filming on their phones.

Cyborg was trying, and failing, to suppress a fit of laughter. "Kitty… meow, meow, meow for you? Dude! That’s your new ringtone!"

"Your fur, your feathers, scales of emerald bright." the poem continued, growing more intense. "A shifting legend in the fading light. A monkey’s chatter, a whale’s majestic sound. True love for you is what I’ve truly found."

Beast Boy felt a heat crawl up his neck that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. This was, without a doubt, the single most humiliating moment of his entire life. She had taken his power, his very identity, and turned it into a terrible, public, auto-tuned poetry slam.

"Make it stop." he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Somebody, please, make it stop."

The grand finale was the worst part. The music swelled, and the screen behind Control Freak exploded in a digital starburst of pink and green hearts. Kitten’s voice reached a fever pitch.

"So take my hand, my funny, grassy man! To be with you is my forever plan! BEAST BOY!"

The music cut out. Silence descended upon the plaza, broken only by Cyborg’s muffled snorts and the distant sound of a car alarm.

Robin, ever the professional, finally stepped forward. "Alright, show’s over. Control Freak, you’re under arrest. Kitten, this is your last warning."

But Kitten was already gone. The screen went blank. The mimes had vanished. All that was left was a deeply traumatized Control Freak, who dropped his remote and put his hands up in surrender.

"Take me away." he mumbled to Robin. "Just don’t make me listen to that again. The poetry was derivative and the use of auto-tune was a crutch for a lack of genuine melodic structure."

As the Titans led Control Freak away, Beast Boy just stood there, frozen in place. He felt like a statue in the plaza, a monument to public humiliation. People were pointing at him, whispering. "Funny, grassy man." The phrase echoed in his head.

Later, back at the Tower, the mood was less than sympathetic.

"I’ve gotta hand it to her." Cyborg said, scrolling through his phone. "It’s already got a thousand views online. Hashtag Grassy Man is trending."

"NO!" Beast Boy wailed, collapsing face-first onto the couch cushions.

"It was a strategically confusing display." Starfire offered, trying to be helpful. "Perhaps she believes public embarrassment is a form of courtship on her world?"

"Her world is a department store, Starfire." Raven said, not looking up from her book. "This was just poor taste."

"I can’t take this anymore." Beast Boy’s muffled voice came from the couch. "She’s ruined meat, poetry, and the entire concept of public art for me. There’s nowhere left to run."

Robin put a hand on his shoulder. It was meant to be comforting, but it felt heavy. "We’ll figure it out. We’ll get a restraining order."

But Beast Boy knew a restraining order wouldn’t stop her. She’d probably just find a way to make the legal document pink and have it delivered by a singing gorilla. She was relentless. A force of nature. A pink, frilly, terrifying hurricane of bad ideas.

He had yelled. He had been disgusted. He had been publicly mortified. Nothing worked. He was out of options. His life was now just a countdown to Kitten’s next bizarre, grand gesture. And he was starting to think there was only one way to make it stop. A way that involved sacrificing his dignity, his sanity, and possibly his lunch money.

Chapter Text

Three failed attempts. Three spectacular, backfiring, humiliating failures. Kitten Walker sat in her silk-and-velvet boudoir, staring at her reflection in a gold-leaf mirror. The French beret from her performance art piece lay discarded on the floor, a sad, felt reminder of her most recent disaster.

She had tried spectacle, sustenance, and soul. All had been rejected. Beast Boy hadn’t been wooed; he’d been horrified. Robin hadn’t been made jealous; he’d looked mildly annoyed, which was his default setting anyway. The only person she’d successfully tormented was herself.

Her phone buzzed with a notification. It was a link from one of her so-called friends. The headline read: "#GrassyMan: Jump City’s Weirdest Viral Video."

She hurled the phone across the room, where it smashed into a ridiculously oversized perfume bottle. This was a new low. She wasn’t just a villain; she was a meme.

"That’s it!" she shrieked to her empty room. "I’m done! I’m finished! He’s not worth it! No boy is worth this much… effort!"

She paced the room like a caged panther, her fury warring with her wounded pride. The original plan had been so simple: date Beast Boy, make Robin jealous. But the first step, "date Beast Boy." was proving to be an insurmountable obstacle. He was immune to her charms. He was impervious to her wealth. He was actively repulsed by her very existence.

It was infuriating. It was insulting. It was… a challenge she couldn't walk away from. She, Kitten Walker, did not fail. She did not lose.

Her pacing stopped. She stared at the shattered remains of her phone. Wealth. He was impervious to her wealth when it was used on him. But what if it was used for him?

A new idea began to form, shedding the flowery, misguided trappings of romance and getting right down to the cold, hard, beautiful core of her worldview: everything and everyone had a price.

Beast Boy was a simple creature. He liked video games, junk food, and… well, that seemed to be about it. Those things cost money. Money she had in obscene quantities.

The plan was crude. It was vulgar. It was deeply transactional and utterly devoid of any genuine sentiment.

It was perfect.

Beast Boy was hiding. For the past two days, he had basically lived in the Tower’s ventilation shafts, emerging only for emergency tofu runs when he was sure no one was looking. He had configured his communicator to automatically block any calls or texts from unknown numbers. He was a fugitive from affection.

"You can’t stay in there forever." Cyborg’s voice echoed through the metal ductwork. "It’s creepy. And you’re shedding all over the air filters."

"It’s the only place I’m safe!" Beast Boy’s voice echoed back. "There’s no room for banners or performance art stages in here!"

"Just come out, man. She hasn’t done anything in two days. Maybe she finally gave up."

Beast Boy considered it. Two whole days of silence. It was a new record. Maybe his public humiliation had been the final straw for her, too. Maybe she’d finally moved on to bother some other poor, unsuspecting hero. With a new sliver of hope, he morphed into a mouse and scurried out of a grate, resuming his human form in the hallway.

He was immediately cornered by Robin.

"There you are." the team leader said, his expression serious. "She wants to meet you."

Beast Boy’s blood ran cold. "No! Nononono. Tell her I’ve joined a monastery. Tell her I’ve moved to a different dimension. Tell her I spontaneously combusted!"

"She says it’s not a date." Robin continued, ignoring his panic. "She said to tell you it’s a… ‘business proposition.’" He held out a small, crisp, pink envelope. "She had it delivered. Legally. By a professional courier this time."

Beast Boy stared at the envelope as if it were a live grenade. A business proposition? What kind of business could he possibly have with Kitten Walker?

With trembling fingers, he took the envelope. Inside was a single, heavy-stock card. It read:

"The top of the Goth-Corp building. Sunset. Come alone. We need to talk terms."

"Terms?" Beast Boy read aloud. "What does that even mean?"

"It means it’s a trap." Robin said.

"Probably." Raven agreed, gliding past them down the hall. "But a slightly more intriguing one."

Against his better judgment, and with the rest of the Titans secretly monitoring him from a distance, Beast Boy went. As a falcon, he circled the Goth-Corp building, a sleek, black skyscraper that stabbed at the bruised evening sky. There she was, a tiny splash of pink on the dark, gothic rooftop. She was alone. Again.

He landed and morphed, keeping a healthy distance. "Okay, Kitten. What is this? If you’ve got another auto-tuned poem, I swear I’m just gonna fly away."

Kitten didn’t smile. She didn’t coo. Her expression was all business. "Don’t worry, Grassy Man. I’m done with the hearts and flowers. My methods were… flawed. I misjudged my audience."

"You think?"

She ignored the sarcasm. "I want you to be my boyfriend."

Beast Boy stared at her. "Did you not hear anything I yelled at you on the phone? Did the public shaming not get through to you? I. AM. NOT. INTERESTED."

"I know." she said calmly. "You’ve made that abundantly clear. You’re not interested in me. But I’m hoping you’ll be interested in… this."

She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a briefcase. A sleek, silver, very expensive-looking briefcase. She snapped it open and turned it toward him.

It was full of money. Stacks upon stacks of crisp, hundred-dollar bills.

Beast Boy’s tirade died in his throat. He’d never seen that much cash in one place. It was more money than he’d probably earned in his entire life as a Titan (which was, to be fair, zero).

"What… is that?" he stammered.

"Your signing bonus." Kitten said, snapping the briefcase shut. "I want to hire you. To be my boyfriend. For one month."

Beast Boy’s brain felt like it was short-circuiting. "You want to… pay me? To go on dates with you?"

"Exactly." she said, a hint of her usual smirk returning. She was on solid ground now. This was a language she understood. "The terms are simple. You agree to be my official boyfriend. We go on a minimum of two dates per week. You will be seen with me in public. You will hold my hand. You will laugh at my jokes. You will act, for all intents and purposes, like you are completely smitten with me. In exchange, you get the signing bonus." she patted the briefcase, "and a weekly stipend."

She named a number that made Beast Boy’s eyes water. It was enough to buy a new moped every week. It was enough to buy every video game that would be released for the next five years. It was enough to build a personal, life-sized tofu factory in his bedroom.

He was stunned into silence. This was insane. It was unethical. It was… incredibly tempting.

"Why?" he finally managed to ask. "Why would you do this?"

Kitten’s eyes flickered for a moment, a flash of the rooftop fury he’d seen before. "Let’s just say I want to prove a point to a… mutual acquaintance. And you, my dear Beastie, are the perfect tool for the job." Her eyes glanced in the vague direction of downtown, where Titans Tower stood. She didn't have to say Robin's name.

So that was it. This was all about Robin. He was just a pawn. A green, shapeshifting pawn in her bizarre romantic chess game. The thought should have made him angry. And it did, a little. But the anger was being rapidly drowned out by the thought of a brand-new Zorpicon-10 gaming console and a lifetime supply of vegan pepperoni.

"You’d really pay me all that money… just to pretend to like you?" he asked, the absurdity of it all still not quite computing.

"Think of it as an acting job." she said, her voice smooth and persuasive. "You’re a performer, remember? You turn into animals. This is just turning into a doting boyfriend. It’s method acting. You should be good at it."

He looked at the briefcase. He thought about his perpetually broken-down moped. He thought about the new "Mega Monkey Mayhem 5" that was coming out next month, a special edition that cost a fortune. He thought about how tired he was of hiding in vents.

This was his out. It wasn’t a pleasant one, or a noble one, but it was a way to control the chaos. If he took the deal, at least he’d know what was coming. No more surprise poems. No more meat platters. Just a series of awkward, staged dates. He could handle that. For that kind of money, he could handle anything.

He took a deep breath. "One month?"

Kitten’s smile widened. It was a shark’s smile. A predator who had just cornered its prey. "One month."

"And I have to hold your hand?"

"And laugh at my jokes." she reminded him.

He pictured himself laughing on command. He pictured himself holding her hand, which was probably cold and covered in expensive rings. It seemed like a small price to pay for financial freedom.

"Fine." Beast Boy said, the word tasting like defeat and opportunity all at once. "I’ll do it. You’ve got yourself a boyfriend."

Chapter Text

The first official, contractually obligated date was to take place at "Le Fantôme Riche." a restaurant so exclusive that Beast Boy was pretty sure its name meant "The Rich Ghost." because only ghosts could afford to eat there.

Kitten had laid out the ground rules via a series of curt text messages:

1. BE ON TIME. 8 PM SHARP.
2. DRESS CODE IS STRICT. NO SPANDEX. NO BARE FEET. TRY TO FIND A COLLARED SHIRT. I'LL PAY FOR IT.
3. REMEMBER YOUR MOTIVATION: YOU ARE DEEPLY IN LOVE WITH ME. ALSO, YOUR WEEKLY STIPEND.

Beast Boy stood in front of his closet, which was more of a "clothes pile." in despair. A collared shirt? Did he even own one? After a frantic ten-minute search that unearthed a petrified slice of pizza and a single sock he’d lost three years ago, he found it: a wrinkled, slightly-too-small purple polo shirt he’d been forced to wear to a city function once. It would have to do. He paired it with his least-ripped pair of black jeans. He looked less like a doting boyfriend and more like a grocery store employee on his day off.

He met Kitten outside the restaurant. She was wearing a sleek, black dress that probably cost more than his moped (the new, imaginary one he was going to buy). She looked him up and down, her nose wrinkling in disdain.

"That’s the best you could do?" she asked, her voice a low hiss.

"You said collared shirt." he said defensively, tugging at the tight collar. "You didn’t specify that it had to be, you know, good."

"Fine." she sighed, a martyr accepting her fate. "We’ll work on your wardrobe later. For now, just try not to get any food on it. Or on me." She thrust her arm out. "Arm. Take it."

Hesitantly, Beast Boy looped his arm through hers. It felt stiff and unnatural, like he was escorting a mannequin to the prom. Her perfume was overwhelming, a cloud of flowers and chemicals that made his eyes water.

The moment they stepped inside, they were in a different world. It was hushed and dimly lit, with soft music playing from an unseen source. Everyone was dressed in black, and they all had the same bored, vaguely disappointed expression.

"Smile." Kitten whispered fiercely, plastering a brilliant, false smile on her own face. "We’re in love, remember?"

Beast Boy tried to smile. It felt more like a grimace. He felt every eye in the restaurant on them. The green-skinned boy in the wrinkled polo shirt and the pristine blond-haired princess of crime. They were a walking, talking category error.

The maître d', a man so tall and thin he looked like a walking exclamation point, glided over. "Mademoiselle Walker. Your table is ready." He gave Beast Boy a look that could have curdled milk.

As they were led to their table, Kitten squeezed his arm. "See that table over there?" she muttered, nodding toward a corner booth. "That’s Veronica Vreeland’s son. His father owns half of downtown. Wave like you know him."

Beast Boy gave a weak, confused wave. The boy at the table just stared back blankly.

The date, if it could be called that, was a masterclass in awkwardness. Kitten ordered for both of them in flawless French, which resulted in Beast Boy being presented with a plate of something small, green, and artistically smeared.

"What is this?" he whispered, poking at it with a fork that was far too small for his hand.

"It’s a deconstructed pea foam with a hint of mint essence." she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "It’s vegan. I checked."

The consideration would have been touching if it hadn’t felt so much like a zookeeper ensuring the animal had the correct dietary pellets. He took a bite. It tasted like disappointment.

For the next hour, Kitten kept up a running commentary on everyone else in the restaurant, delivered in a low, vicious whisper.

"See that woman in the red dress? That’s her third husband. The first two died… mysteriously." 

"That man just ordered the second-cheapest wine on the list. Positively scandalous."

"Her diamond necklace is a fake. You can tell by the way it reflects the light. So tragic."

Beast Boy just nodded along, making noncommittal grunts. He had nothing to contribute. His world was video games, comic books, and the ongoing philosophical debate about whether tofu could ever truly replicate the texture of scrambled eggs. He doubted anyone here would be interested in that.

"Now." Kitten said, snapping him back to attention. "Laugh. Like I just said something incredibly witty."

"But you didn't." he said, confused.

"Doesn’t matter. Just laugh. A little louder than is strictly necessary."

Beast Boy forced a laugh. It came out as a strangled "Ha. Haa." that sounded more like he was choking.

Kitten glared at him. "We need to work on that. You sound like a dying seal."

The lowest point of the evening came with dessert. Kitten had ordered them a "Sphere of Chocolate Passion." which was a large chocolate ball that the waiter set on fire with a tiny blowtorch, causing it to melt and reveal a pile of raspberries inside.

"Isn’t it romantic?" Kitten sighed, loud enough for the tables nearby to hear. She leaned across the table and placed her hand on his. Her skin was cool, and her rings dug into his knuckles. "Oh, Beastie, I’m so happy right now."

This was his cue. He was supposed to look smitten. He tried to channel every sappy romance movie he’d ever been forced to watch. He gazed into her eyes, which were a startling shade of blue, and tried to look adoring.

"Me too, uh… Kitten-kaboodle." he stammered, using the first terrible pet name that popped into his head.

Her eye twitched. A tiny, almost imperceptible muscle spasm. He had gone off-script.

"Just… eat your flaming chocolate." she whispered through clenched teeth.

The ride home was silent. Kitten had her driver, a large man named Gus who looked like he could bench-press the limo, drop Beast Boy off a block away from Titans Tower.

"We can’t have you seen getting out of my car." she explained. "It’s more mysterious this way."

As he got out, she rolled down the window. "Friday." she said. "Miniature golf. My sources tell me it’s a ‘fun’ and ‘casual’ activity. Wear something… casual. But not that casual."

She handed him a thick envelope. "Your first week’s payment. Don’t spend it all in one place."

The window rolled up, and the limo purred off into the night. Beast Boy stood on the street corner, holding the envelope. The first date was over. He had survived. He had been paid.

He opened the envelope and looked at the stack of bills inside. It was a ridiculous amount of money for two hours of work. He should have been ecstatic. He could finally fix his moped. He could buy Cyborg that new V-sync adapter he wanted.

But as he walked back to the Tower, all he felt was a strange, hollow emptiness. He felt… cheap. He had sold his time, his laughter, his feigned affection. He looked back in the direction the limo had gone. This whole thing was just a transaction. A cold, weird, business deal. And for some reason, that felt a lot londer than just being stood up on a pier.

Chapter Text

The news of their "relationship" spread through the Tower like a virus. Cyborg had seen them through the Tower’s long-range surveillance (he claimed it was for "security purposes." but everyone knew he was just being nosy). He had a grainy photo of Beast Boy holding Kitten’s arm outside the restaurant.

"I can’t believe it." Cyborg said, displaying the photo for the whole team to see. "You actually went through with it. You look so… uncomfortable."

"It’s a work in progress." Beast Boy mumbled, stuffing a handful of vegan cereal into his mouth. He hadn't told them about the money. He couldn't. It felt too sleazy. He let them believe he’d simply had a change of heart, a decision so baffling that no one even knew how to question it.

"Is she forcing you to do this?" Starfire asked, her brow furrowed with concern. "You can tell us. Is it a form of the black-mail?"

"Nope." Beast Boy said, chewing quickly. "All me. Just, you know, giving her a chance."

Raven watched him from across the room, her dark eyes narrowed. She didn’t say anything, but her silence was more unnerving than anyone else’s questions. She knew something was off.

The real test, however, came that afternoon. Beast Boy was lounging on the couch, trying to beat his high score in "Stench of the Zombie Sewer Rats." when the Tower’s main alarm blared.

"Trouble!" Robin yelled, sliding down the pole from the gym. "It’s Plasmus. He’s attacking the chemical plant."

The Titans sprang into action. Within minutes, they were at the scene. Plasmus, a giant, bubbling creature of purple goo, was tearing apart the facility, tossing vats of chemicals around like beach balls.

"Titans, go!" Robin commanded.

The fight was messy and chaotic. Cyborg blasted the creature with his sonic cannon, Starfire hurled starbolts, and Raven used her magic to create shields, blocking flying debris. Beast Boy morphed into a T-Rex, preparing to charge, when a familiar, high-pitched voice cut through the mayhem.

"Oh, Beastie-boo! Be careful!"

Beast Boy froze mid-roar. Standing on a nearby rooftop, a safe distance from the goo-splattered battle, was Kitten. She was holding a pair of pink, diamond-encrusted opera glasses to her eyes. With her was a man holding a professional-grade news camera.

"What is she doing here?" Robin grunted, deflecting a glob of purple sludge with his staff.

Kitten waved enthusiastically at Beast Boy. "My hero!" she shouted, her voice amplified by a small, pink megaphone. "Show that nasty slime monster who’s boss!"

Beast Boy’s T-Rex form deflated back into his human shape. He was mortified. She was turning a supervillain fight into a photo-op. This had to be part of the deal, something buried in the fine print he hadn’t bothered to read. He was not just her boyfriend; he was her performing monkey.

"Uh, guys?" he said into his communicator. "Little bit of a distraction over here."

"Just ignore her and fight!" Robin ordered, his voice tight with irritation. He had clearly noticed her, and the camera.

But ignoring Kitten was like trying to ignore a flash grenade.

"Kick him in the gooey butt, my love!" she shrieked through the megaphone. "For me!"

Plasmus, distracted by the noise, turned its single, malevolent eye toward her. It let out a gurgling roar and hurled a massive chunk of a chemical tank in her direction.

"Kitten!" Robin yelled.

Instinct took over. Before he even thought about it, Beast Boy morphed into a pterodactyl, shot into the air, and intercepted the chunk of metal, knocking it harmlessly into the bay. He landed on the rooftop next to her, morphing back to his human form.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed. "You can’t just show up to our fights! It’s dangerous!"

Kitten lowered her opera glasses, a triumphant smirk on her face. The cameraman was getting it all on film. "But you saved me." she purred, loud enough for the camera’s microphone. She threw her arms around his neck. "My brave, green knight."

She pulled him into a kiss.

It was not a gentle, romantic kiss. It was a press release. Her lips were firm and tasted of cherry lip gloss. It was awkward and stiff, and he was acutely aware of the camera capturing every second of it. He was also aware of five sets of eyes watching him from the battleground below. He could feel Robin’s glare burning a hole in the back of his head.

Kitten pulled away, her eyes glittering. "Perfect." she whispered, for his ears only. Then, back to her public voice, "Now go finish the fight, my darling! I’ll be waiting!"

Dazed and confused, Beast Boy flew back into the fray. The kiss had felt like… nothing. A weird, plasticky collision of faces. But the implications of it were enormous. It was public. It was on camera. It was aimed directly at Robin.

The Titans eventually subdued Plasmus, encasing him in a cryogenic prison. As they were cleaning up, Robin stalked over to Beast Boy.

"What was that?" he demanded, his voice low and angry.

"What was what?" Beast Boy asked, trying to play dumb.

"That. The… rooftop performance. You know she’s just using you, right? This is all a game to get to me."

"Maybe." Beast Boy said, shrugging with a casualness he didn’t feel. "Or maybe she just really likes me. You ever think of that?"

The lie tasted sour in his mouth. He was defending her, defending the ridiculous charade. And for what? A paycheck? He glanced at Robin, whose face was a thunderous mask of frustration. For the first time, he saw a flicker of something in the Boy Wonder’s expression. It wasn't sadness. It wasn't longing. It was pure, unadulterated jealousy.

It was working. Kitten’s insane, manipulative, expensive plan was actually working.

Robin just shook his head and walked away. From across the chemical plant, Beast Boy saw Raven watching them both, her expression unreadable. She held his gaze for a moment before turning and disappearing into the shadows.

He had won. Or rather, Kitten had won. He had played his part, saved the "damsel." and performed the kiss for the camera. He had successfully made Robin jealous.

So why did he feel like he had just lost something important?

Chapter Text

The miniature golf date was, against all odds, slightly less excruciating than the fancy dinner. The dress code was "golf chic." which for Kitten meant a crisp white tennis skirt and a pink polo shirt with a tiny, glittery "K" embroidered on it. For Beast Boy, it meant his cleanest band t-shirt and the same jeans. Kitten had despaired at his wardrobe but seemed to resigned to it, muttering something about a "project for later."

The course was called "Pirate's Peril." a tacky wonderland of plastic palm trees, creaky animatronic pirates, and water hazards dyed an unsettling shade of blue.

"This is where common people have ‘fun’?" Kitten asked, wrinkling her nose as she selected a pink golf ball and a matching pink putter.

"Hey, I like this place." Beast Boy said defensively. "It’s classic. See? You have to hit the ball through the windmill."

"How… rustic." she said, completely missing the point.

For the first few holes, they maintained their usual dynamic. Beast Boy would hit his ball, Kitten would critique his form ("You’re holding it like a caveman holding a club"), and then she would take her turn, executing a perfect, clean shot that sent the ball directly into the hole. She was, infuriatingly, a natural.

"Of course you’re good at this." he grumbled as she sank a hole-in-one on the challenging "Kraken’s Revenge" hole.

"Good posture and a singular focus on the objective." she said smugly. "It applies to everything in life, Beastie. You should try it sometime."

The purpose of the date, as always, was public visibility. Kitten had "casually" tipped off a gossip blogger, who was now hiding not-so-subtly behind a large plastic treasure chest, snapping photos. Every few minutes, Kitten would command Beast Boy to "look happy" or "put your arm around me, but not like I’m your hostage."

It was on the thirteenth hole, "Dead Man’s Plank." that something shifted. It was a tricky shot, requiring the ball to roll up a narrow ramp, cross a plank, and drop down near the hole. Beast Boy’s shot went wide, plopping into the bright blue water with a sad little splash.

"Ugh, of course." he groaned.

"Allow me to demonstrate." Kitten said, stepping up to the tee. She lined up her shot, her brow furrowed in concentration. She swung the putter with a smooth, practiced motion.

The ball rolled up the ramp, teetered on the edge of the plank, and then… fell off, landing in the water right next to his.

There was a moment of shocked silence. The great Kitten Walker had failed.

Beast Boy tried to stifle a laugh, but it burst out of him, a genuine, unforced snort of amusement. "You missed!"

Kitten’s face flushed a deep, angry pink. "The wind! There was a gust of wind!"

"There’s no wind in here, it’s an indoor course!" he shot back, grinning. "You just choked!"

"I did not choke!" she snapped, her voice rising. "It was a faulty plank! This entire establishment is a lawsuit waiting to happen!"

Her reaction was so over-the-top, so disproportionately furious over a game of mini-golf, that Beast Boy found it even funnier. He started laughing for real, not the stilted, paid-for laugh he’d been practicing, but a deep, rolling belly laugh.

"You should see your face!" he wheezed, clutching his stomach. "It’s just a game!"

Kitten stared at him, her mouth agape, ready to unleash a torrent of insults. But then she stopped. She looked at him, really looked at him, laughing his head off, and something in her expression changed. The hard, lacquered fury seemed to crack, just for a second. A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"It’s not funny." she said, but there was no heat in it.

"It’s a little funny." he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Your ball went ‘plop.’" He made a little splashing motion with his hand.

She rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered. "You’re an infant."

"A rich infant now, thanks to you." he retorted, and immediately regretted it. The easy, lighthearted moment vanished. The transaction was back, sitting between them like a brick wall.

Kitten’s smile faded. She looked away, toward the fake treasure chest where the blogger was still snapping photos. "Right." she said, her voice cool again. "Well. The photographer has enough shots. Let’s go."

She dropped the pink putter with a clatter and stalked toward the exit without looking back.

Beast Boy stood there for a moment, the echo of his own laughter feeling strange in the sudden silence. For a brief, shining second, it hadn't been a business deal. It had just been two people playing a stupid game. A boy and a girl. And the girl, for all her sharp edges and bratty demands, had smiled. A real smile.

He followed her out, the mood once again stilted and awkward. But something had changed. He had seen a tiny crack in her perfectly polished, impenetrable armor. He had seen the person underneath the performance. And weirdly, he found himself wanting to see her again. Not for the money, and not for the act. But just to see if he could make her smile that real smile one more time. It was a confusing, unsettling, and profoundly inconvenient thought.

Chapter Text

The call came a week later, an alert from a local bank. It wasn't a major villain. It was the Puppet King a C-list baddie with a flair for the dramatic and an army of creepy, life-sized puppets. It was usually an easy, if weird, cleanup for the Titans.

They arrived to find the bank’s lobby in chaos. Wooden puppets dressed as old-timey gangsters were menacing tellers, their movements jerky and unnatural. The Puppet King, stood on a counter, conducting his wooden army like a symphony orchestra.

"Your money is now the property of the Puppet People!" he cackled.

"Seriously, this guy again?" Cyborg sighed, charging his cannon. "Can’t we just automate this fight?"

The battle was more annoying than dangerous. The puppets were surprisingly sturdy, and for every one they smashed, two more would swing down from the ceiling. Beast Boy, in gorilla form, was swatting them away like flies, when he heard a familiar, unwelcome sound: the click-clack of expensive boots on marble.

"Do you need a hand, darling?"

Kitten stood in the doorway of the bank, flanked by two burly bodyguards. She was holding a large, complicated-looking blaster rifle that was, of course, painted hot pink.

"Kitten, what are you doing here?" Beast Boy grunted, ripping the arm off a puppet that was trying to hit him with a tiny violin case. "This is a crime scene!"

"And I’m a concerned citizen!" she declared, striking a pose. "Also, I was getting a facial nearby and heard the commotion. I couldn’t let my boyfriend fight all alone."

Before anyone could stop her, she leveled the pink rifle and fired. A beam of shimmering pink energy shot out, hitting a puppet square in the chest. The puppet didn’t explode or fall apart. Instead, it was instantly encased in a thick, glittering layer of what looked like hard candy.

"It’s a crystallized sugar-polymer compound." Kitten explained smugly. "Daddy had it developed for a rival candy maker he was trying to put out of business. It’s non-lethal, but incredibly sticky."

She fired again, zapping another puppet, turning it into a giant, immobile lollipop.

The other Titans stared, dumbfounded.

"Did… did she just candy-coat that guy?" Cyborg asked.

Robin, who was busy tying up the Puppet King, shot Kitten a look of pure exasperation. "This is an active combat zone! Civilians are not permitted!"

"Oh, relax, bird-brain." Kitten scoffed, zapping a third puppet that was trying to sneak up on Starfire. "I’m helping."

To everyone’s astonishment, she actually was. Her aim was good, and her weapon was bizarrely effective. While the Titans were focused on smashing and blasting, she was systematically disabling the puppet army, turning the bank lobby into a surreal sculpture garden of candied criminals.

Beast Boy found himself fighting back-to-back with her. He’d morph into a rhino, charge through a group of puppets, and she’d zap the ones he missed.

"On your left!" he’d yell.

ZAP!

"Behind you!" she’d shout back.

 He’d morph into a bear and swipe a puppet away.

They moved together with an unexpected, chaotic grace. His raw, instinctual transformations and her precise, high-tech blasts complemented each other in a way that made no sense but was undeniably working. In the middle of the fight, he caught her eye. She was grinning, a genuine, exhilarated grin, a world away from her usual practiced smirks. The adrenaline of the fight was a good look on her.

Within minutes, the last puppet was candy-coated and the Puppet King was dangling upside down from a net courtesy of Robin. The fight was over.

The bank lobby was a bizarre tableau of splintered wood and glittering pink statues.

Cyborg poked one of the candied puppets. "Huh. Smells like bubblegum."

Kitten stood in the middle of it all, blowing a wisp of smoke from the barrel of her rifle. "You’re welcome." she said to the room at large.

Beast Boy walked over to her, a wide, incredulous grin on his face. "Where did you even get that thing?"

"Oh, Daddy has a whole warehouse of these kinds of toys." she said with a casual shrug. "Most of them are much more lethal. This is the ‘warning shot’ model."

"That was… actually pretty cool." he admitted.

Her grin widened. "I know."

Their moment was interrupted by Robin, who looked like he had a massive headache. "Kitten, you can’t keep doing this."

"Doing what?" she asked innocently. "Helping my boyfriend? Supporting the local law enforcement? Is there a law against being a heroically proactive girlfriend?"

"You’re a civilian. And a person of interest in several ongoing investigations." he said, ticking the points off on his fingers. "You are not a Titan."

"Oh, I don’t want to be a Titan." she said, looking at the team’s mismatched, battle-worn uniforms with disdain. "Your outfits are atrocious. But if my Beastie-boo is in trouble, I’m going to be there." She looped her arm through Beast Boy’s, leaning her head on his shoulder. "We’re a package deal now. Isn’t that right, sweetie?"

Beast Boy looked at Robin’s frustrated face, then at Kitten’s triumphant one. He should have backed Robin up. He should have told her to stay out of it. But he remembered the thrill of fighting alongside her, the way she’d grinned at him.

"She’s right." he heard himself say. "We’re… a team."

The look Robin gave him was one of profound disappointment. He just shook his head and turned to direct the police who were now arriving on the scene.

Kitten squeezed Beast Boy’s arm. "Good boy." she whispered.

He had defended her again. He had publicly sided with her against his own team leader. This time, it wasn't just a lie to cover up the money. It felt different. He had enjoyed fighting with her. They were good together. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. He was starting to believe his own performance.

Chapter Text

The common room of Titans Tower buzzed with a tense, uncomfortable energy that had nothing to do with Cyborg’s attempts to overclock the toaster again. The lingering scent of bubblegum and ozone from Kitten’s bizarre weapon had finally dissipated, but the memory of her intervention hung in the air, thick and cloying as her perfume. Splintered puppet parts had been swept away, the police had carted off the Puppet King, and all that remained was the quiet, simmering discord among the team.

Robin stood with his arms crossed, his back to the room, staring out the massive T-shaped window at the city below. His posture was as rigid as the steel beams of the Tower itself. He was radiating disapproval so intensely it was practically a sixth Titan.

Across the room, Cyborg was replaying a clip of the fight from his optical sensor, a huge, amused grin plastered on his face. "I’m telling you, I have never seen anything like it. Zap! A giant, sticky puppet-pop. It’s genius! It’s insane! It’s… insanius?"

"I do not believe ‘insanius’ is a real word, friend Cyborg." Starfire said, floating a few inches off the ground. She wrung her hands, her expression a mixture of bewilderment and concern. "But I am in agreement with the sentiment. The actions of Kitten were… unorthodox. Yet, she did assist in the subduing of the villain. Is that not a positive outcome?"

"Positive outcome, maybe. Positive precedent? No way." Robin finally bit out, turning from the window. His gaze, hidden behind the white lenses of his mask, was fixed squarely on Beast Boy, who was trying to become one with the couch cushions. "We can’t have civilians—especially her—interfering in active missions. It’s reckless, it’s dangerous, and it undermines everything we do."

Beast Boy squirmed. He felt like a bug under a microscope. "Dude, I didn’t ask her to show up. She just… did."

"She just ‘did’?" Robin’s voice was sharp. "And you just happened to fight perfectly in sync with her? You formed a ‘team’?" He practically spat the word out, making air quotes with his gloved fingers.

"Well, yeah, she was… surprisingly not terrible to have on my six." Beast Boy admitted, sinking lower into the sofa. "Her zappy thing was zapping the guys I wasn’t punching. It’s called tactical synergy, look it up." He had no idea if that was a real term, but it sounded impressive.

Cyborg snorted, muting his replay. "Tactical synergy? Man, you sound like you’ve been reading her instruction manuals. What’s next, you gonna start calling your fists ‘non-lethal percussive deterrents’?" He let out a booming laugh.

"The weapon was most effective." Raven’s voice cut through the room, dry and cool as a tombstone. She hadn’t moved from her spot in the corner, a thick book resting in her lap, but her attention was clearly not on the page. "Her methods were chaotic, her presence was inflammatory, and her motives are, as always, deeply suspect. But the result was a faster-than-average conflict resolution with minimal property damage. From a purely logical standpoint, her intervention was a net positive."

Robin turned his glare on Raven, but it had no effect. She met his gaze with a placid, unnerving calm. It was one thing for Cyborg to be amused or for Starfire to be confused, but for Raven, the team’s resident cynic, to offer even a sliver of logical defense for Kitten was like a vampire endorsing a garlic festival. It was deeply unsettling.

"This isn’t about logic, Raven, it’s about control." Robin insisted. "And about who we can trust. We can’t trust her. She’s using him." His head jerked toward Beast Boy again. "This whole… thing… is a game to her. And you’re letting her play you."

The accusation stung. Because it was true. Or, it had been true. Now, Beast Boy wasn’t so sure. He remembered the genuine, exhilarated grin on Kitten’s face in the middle of the bank lobby. That wasn’t the smirk of a manipulator pulling the strings. That was the face of someone having… fun. With him. The thought sent a jolt of something warm and confusing through his chest. He pushed it down.

"Maybe you’re wrong." Beast Boy said, sitting up, a new defensiveness in his tone. "Maybe you’re just mad because she’s not chasing you anymore. Maybe she actually likes me." He said the words, the official alibi for this whole mess, but they felt different this time. Less like a lie and more like a question he was asking himself.

The air in the room went still. It was the first time anyone had so bluntly vocalized the subtext of Robin’s anger.

Robin’s jaw tightened. For a moment, he looked like he was going to say something furious, something cutting. But he didn’t. He just held Beast Boy’s gaze, a complex storm of emotions swirling behind his mask—frustration, betrayal, and something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

"Fine." he said, his voice dropping to a low, cold monotone. "If that’s what you want to believe, fine. But when she shows her true colors, don’t come crying to me." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, the hydraulic swoosh of the door sounding like a final verdict.

The remaining Titans sat in the awkward silence he left behind.

"Well." Cyborg said, clearing his throat. "That went well."

"I am worried." Starfire murmured, floating over to Beast Boy. "Robin’s anger is… formidable. And your involvement with Kitten seems to be its source. Are you truly certain of your course, friend Beast Boy?"

Beast Boy looked at her big, earnest green eyes, and for a second, he wanted to tell her everything. About the money, the contract, the sheer weirdness of it all. But he couldn’t. It was too humiliating. And somewhere, deep down, a stubborn part of him didn’t want to break the spell. He wanted to see where this led.

"I’m sure, Star." he said, trying for a confident smile. "It’s weird, I know. But… I think it’s gonna be okay."

Starfire still looked worried, but she nodded slowly and floated away. Cyborg gave him a look that was half-pity, half-morbid curiosity, before going back to his toaster project. Only Raven remained, her gaze fixed on him, analytical and piercing, as if she were reading the source code of his soul. He quickly looked away, unable to meet her stare.

Meanwhile, miles away in a ridiculously opulent penthouse apartment, Kitten Walker was also replaying the day’s events. She wasn’t using a high-tech optical sensor, but the state-of-the-art, wall-sized television that currently dominated her living room. The news report was on a loop.

"...an unusual end to the Puppet King’s latest caper." the news anchor was saying, "as the Teen Titans received unexpected, and surprisingly fashionable, assistance from villainess socialite Kitten Walker…"

The screen showed a high-quality shot of her, standing back-to-back with Beast Boy as he morphed into a gorilla. A freeze-frame captured the moment they exchanged that grin.

A strange flutter went through Kitten’s chest. It was the same feeling she’d had in the bank—a dizzying, exhilarating rush. She’d always gotten a thrill from her villainous escapades, the thrill of getting attention, of causing chaos. But this was different. This wasn’t the satisfaction of a plan going perfectly. Her plan hadn’t even involved going to the bank. It was an impulse, a spur-of-the-moment decision born of boredom and a desire to see her new… employee.

The thrill hadn’t come from the cameras, or the cowering bank tellers, or even from seeing the exasperated look on Robin’s face (though that was, as always, a delightful bonus). The thrill had come from the chaotic dance with Beast Boy. From the way he’d yelled "On your left!" and trusted her to cover him. The way he’d grinned at her, not with awe or fear, but like she was his partner. His equal.

Ugh. Stop it, she told herself, tossing a silk pillow at the screen. She stood up and began to pace the plush carpet, her mind racing.

This feeling was a complication. A messy, inconvenient, emotional variable in what was supposed to be a clean, simple equation. Boyfriend (fake) + Public Affection (staged) = Robin’s Jealousy (achieved). The math was supposed to work. But now there was this other element, this… synergy, as Beast Boy had so clumsily put it. This weird sense of camaraderie.

She paused in front of a mirror, examining her reflection. Her hair was perfect. Her makeup was flawless. Her expression was one of cool, calculated control. But her heart was still beating a little too fast.

"It was the adrenaline." she said aloud, her voice sounding small in the vast room. "That’s all it was. The thrill of the fight."

But she’d been in fights before. She’d ordered her goons into battle. She’d watched Killer Moth’s giant insects rampage through the city. It had never felt like this. It had never felt… fun.

She thought of Beast Boy’s stupid, goofy grin. The way he’d looked at her with genuine admiration when she’d candy-coated that last puppet. It was a look she’d been trying to get from Robin for years—a look of respect, of seeing her as more than just a spoiled brat. And here was this green, tofu-eating jester, giving it to her for free. Well, not for free. She was paying him a small fortune. But the look itself felt real.

The thought was terrifying.

She snatched her phone from a marble tabletop. She had to get this back on track. The goal was Robin. It had always been Robin. This whole Beast Boy experiment was a means to an end. She just needed to remind herself of that. And, more importantly, she needed to remind Robin of that.

Her fingers flew across the screen, pulling up Robin’s contact photo—a grainy, long-lens shot of him on a rooftop, looking broody and heroic. Her heart was supposed to flutter. It didn’t. Annoyed, she scrolled to the news clip on her phone and zoomed in on the picture of her and Beast Boy. Her heart did a stupid little flip-flop.

With a growl of frustration, she threw her phone onto the couch. This was fine. Everything was fine. She was in complete control. She just needed a new plan. A better plan. One that would put the focus squarely back on Robin and erase this… this gooey, green-tinged feeling that was currently messing up her entire worldview.

Chapter Text

The quiet of the Tower late at night was a unique entity. It was never truly silent; there was always the low hum of the servers in the basement, the gentle sigh of the ventilation system, the distant, rhythmic crash of waves against the island’s shore. To Beast Boy, it usually sounded like peace. Tonight, it sounded like judgment.

He couldn’t sleep. Robin’s words, "don’t come crying to me." echoed in his head, along with the memory of Kitten’s exhilarated grin and the confusing warmth it had sparked in his chest. He padded out of his messy room and into the common area, his bare feet silent on the cold metal floor. He was aiming for the refrigerator, hoping a midnight snack of leftover tofu chili might distract his spiraling thoughts.

As he opened the fridge door, bathing the dark room in a pale, clinical light, a voice emerged from the shadows.

"You’re troubled."

Beast Boy yelped, nearly dropping the container of chili. He spun around to see Raven, levitating in her usual cross-legged position near the couch, a faint purple aura barely outlining her form in the darkness. She looked less like a person and more like a manifestation of the gloomy night itself.

"Dude!" he whisper-yelled, clutching his chest. "Warning! You gotta give a warning! You almost made me waste perfectly good chili."

"My apologies." she said, her tone devoid of any actual apology. "Your emotional state is unusually loud. It’s interfering with my meditation."

Beast Boy sighed, abandoning his chili quest and slumping onto the couch opposite her. "Sorry. Lot on my mind."

"Kitten." Raven stated. It wasn’t a question.

He just nodded, running a hand through his messy green hair. "And Robin. And… I dunno, everything."

They sat in silence for a long moment, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator. Beast Boy expected a lecture, or a sarcastic quip, or just for her to disappear back into the shadows. Instead, she spoke again, her voice softer than usual, laced with something he couldn't quite identify.

"I remember after… after Terra." she began, and the name dropped into the quiet room with the weight of a stone. Beast Boy flinched. They didn’t talk about Terra. It was an unspoken rule, a wound they had all tacitly agreed to leave undisturbed. "I remember the silence that followed you. It was heavier than any noise. A void. You tried to fill it with jokes and video games, but the quiet was always there, underneath."

Beast Boy stared at his hands. He remembered that quiet. The feeling of being hollowed out, of his own laughter sounding fake and distant. He had loved Terra, with all the goofy, wholehearted sincerity he had. And her betrayal, followed by her sacrifice, had shattered him in a way he’d never admitted to anyone, not even himself.

"I don’t know what you’re doing with Kitten." Raven continued, her voice drawing him back to the present. "I don’t pretend to understand the logic. It seems, on the surface, to be a uniquely poor decision."

"Thanks, Rae, that helps a lot." he mumbled sarcastically.

"But." she went on, ignoring him, "the silence is gone. It’s been replaced by chaos, confusion, and what sounds like a constant, low-grade panic attack." She paused. "It’s an improvement."

Beast Boy looked up, surprised. He saw her face clearly now in the dim light. Her expression wasn’t mocking or judgmental. It was… empathetic. Her dark, purple eyes held a deep, ancient understanding that went far beyond her years.

"I’m not jealous, Beast Boy." she said, as if reading the flicker of insecurity that crossed his mind. "My concern for you is not born of a romantic rivalry. You and I… we are connected by our shared darkness. I know what it is to fight the monster within. And I know what it is to feel alone."

The honesty of her words disarmed him completely. He let out a long, shaky breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

"After Terra… I just… I didn’t want to feel like that again, you know?" he admitted, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "It was easier to just… not. Not feel. Not get close. Just be the funny guy, the mascot. No one gets hurt if no one gets invested."

"A logical defense mechanism." Raven nodded. "But an unsustainable one. Isolation is a slow poison."

"So I’m trading it for a fast poison?" he asked with a weak, humorless laugh. "Kitten is… she’s the opposite of isolation. She’s like, an invasion. A loud, pink, expensive invasion."

"And how does this invasion make you feel?" Raven asked, her voice a calm, steady probe.

He thought for a moment, really thought about it. He thought about the transactional coldness of their first date, the secondhand embarrassment of the performance art, the weird thrill of the mini-golf failure, and the electric energy of fighting beside her.

"Confused." he said honestly. "At first, it was just… a job. A stupid, crazy way to make some cash and get her to stop the insane public gestures. I was just playing a part. The smitten boyfriend."

"And now?"

"Now… I don’t know. The lines are getting blurry, Rae. Sometimes, when she’s not being a total rich-girl psycho, there’s this… other person under there. I saw her smile for real. And when we were fighting together… it felt… right. Which is crazy. And then I feel guilty, because I’m lying to everyone. And I’m making Robin mad. And I’m pretty sure I’m being used in some mega-weird 4D chess game for his attention. But then she does something like candy-coat a puppet army and I just think… ‘Wow, that was cool.’"

He buried his face in his hands. "I’m a mess."

"You are." Raven agreed, with a frankness that was somehow comforting. "But you are not a void. You’re feeling things again. Complicated, contradictory, messy things. That is the nature of being alive. It’s better than being numb."

She floated a little closer, her purple cloak settling around her like smoke. "I don’t trust Kitten. Her aura is a discordant symphony of arrogance, insecurity, and designer perfume. I believe she is manipulative and selfish. But…" she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, "I also believe that people can change. That they can be more than they appear. I have seen it."

He knew she was talking about herself. About the daughter of a demon lord who chose to be a hero.

"All I want is for you to be happy, Beast Boy." she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Truly happy. You deserve that. After everything. Just… be careful. Be honest with yourself, even if you can’t be honest with anyone else. Your heart is not a rental property. Don’t let someone occupy it if they have no intention of valuing it."

She reached out a pale, slender hand and rested it on his shoulder for a brief second. Her touch was cool, but it sent a wave of warmth and clarity through him. It was the simple, profound gesture of a friend. A real friend.

"Thanks, Rae." he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Really."

She simply nodded, her hand retreating into the folds of her cloak. "The chili is probably cold now." she stated, her voice returning to its usual deadpan. "I would advise against consumption. It congeals."

With that, she phased backward, melting into the shadows of the hallway and disappearing toward her room, leaving Beast Boy alone again in the dimly lit common room.

He didn’t feel alone anymore.

The conversation had been like a splash of cold water. Raven hadn’t given him answers, but she had given him perspective. She had seen through his flimsy excuses and right into the heart of his confusion, and she hadn’t judged him for it. She had reminded him of a part of himself he had tried to lock away.

Your heart is not a rental property.

The words echoed in his mind. For weeks, that’s exactly what it had been. He’d rented it out to Kitten for a briefcase full of cash and a weekly stipend. He’d let her stage her little performances there, redecorate with her manipulative schemes. But Raven was right. The lines were blurring because he was starting to feel like a resident, not just a landlord. He was starting to care about the crazy, chaotic, infuriating tenant.

He looked at the container of chili still sitting on the counter. He wasn't hungry anymore. He had a lot more to digest than tofu. He had to figure out what was real, what was fake, and what he actually wanted this… thing… with Kitten to be. And for the first time, he felt like he had the courage to face the answer, whatever it might be.

Chapter Text

Kitten was spiraling. The feeling of genuine camaraderie she’d experienced with Beast Boy during the puppet fight had been like a virus in her perfectly curated system. It was messy, unpredictable, and worst of all, it felt good. This was a critical deviation from the Master Plan. The entire Beast Boy Affair was a tool, a crowbar designed to pry open Robin’s tightly sealed heart and expose the gooey center of jealousy she was sure resided within. The crowbar was not supposed to feel warm and comfortable in her hand.

"This requires a course correction." she declared to her reflection in a full-length mirror made of Venetian glass. She was dressed in a silk robe, holding a diamond-encrusted hairbrush like a scepter. "We have drifted off-mission. The objective has been compromised by… unforeseen emotional variables."

She needed to prove it to everyone, but most importantly to herself, that Beast Boy meant nothing. He was a prop. A fuzzy green pawn. The best way to do that? Remind Robin that he was, and always had been, the king on the board.

Her new plan was exquisitely, deliciously dramatic. It was petty, it was public, and it was designed for an audience of one.

The next afternoon, Beast Boy’s communicator buzzed with a text from an unregistered number. He’d blocked Kitten’s known numbers after her last 50-message tirade about his fashion sense, but she was as persistent as she was wealthy.

OUTSIDE. NOW. WE NEED TO TALK.

Beast Boy sighed. He’d been feeling surprisingly good after his conversation with Raven, more centered and clear-headed. He had decided he needed to talk to Kitten, to try and navigate the tangled mess of their "relationship" honestly. Apparently, she’d had the same idea. Maybe this was a good thing.

He told the others he was going out for some air and headed down. He found Kitten standing on the shore of the island, a stone’s throw from the Tower’s entrance. She was wearing a dramatic black trench coat, sunglasses despite the overcast sky, and an expression of grim resolve. The wind whipped her blond hair around her face, making her look like the star of a tragic European film.

"Kitten?" he asked, approaching cautiously. "What’s up? You look like you’re about to break up with James Bond."

"Worse." she said, her voice tight and theatrical. "I’m breaking up with you, Beast Boy."

Beast Boy blinked. "What? Why? Did I miss a payment?" he joked weakly.

"This isn’t a joke!" she snapped, though her eyes flickered nervously toward the Tower’s main window, where she knew the Titans often gathered. "This isn’t working. I can’t do this anymore."

"Do what?" he asked, genuinely confused. The abruptness of it felt… fake. Even for her. "I thought things were going… okay? We were a pretty good team yesterday."

"That’s just it!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in a gesture of magnificent frustration. "Team! Fun! Mini-golf! This is not what I’m about, Beast Boy! I am about ambition! Passion! Grand, sweeping gestures of villainous intent! You… you’re about tofu and video games."

Ouch. That stung, even if it was mostly true. "Hey! I have ambitions! I’m gonna get the high score on Mega Monkey Mayhem 5 when it comes out!"

"You see!" she cried, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "That’s what I’m talking about! Your world is so… small. So green. I need more. I need… darkness. Brooding. A strategically mysterious backstory!"

Beast Boy’s brain finally caught up. Brooding. Mysterious backstory. She wasn’t talking to him. She was performing. And he knew exactly who her target audience was. He glanced up at the Tower window. He couldn’t see anyone, but he felt their eyes on him. On them. This was another one of her games. A play, staged for Robin’s benefit.

A wave of disappointment, sharp and cold, washed over him. After his talk with Raven, he had felt a glimmer of hope that something real could grow between them. But this… this proved he was still just a pawn. A prop to be used and discarded as the script demanded. The hurt was surprisingly real. He had been paid to act like her boyfriend, but she had never paid him to be the subject of a fake, public dumping.

Fine. If she wanted a performance, he’d give her one. He’d just been paid to be a doting boyfriend. Apparently, the role of the heartbroken dumpee was pro bono.

He let his shoulders slump. He dredged up the memory of how he’d felt when Terra had left, that hollow, aching emptiness, and let a fraction of it show on his face. He looked down at the ground, kicking at a loose stone.

"So that’s it?" he asked, his voice cracking just a little. He was a good actor. He’d had years of practice, acting like he was okay when he wasn’t. "You’re… you’re just throwing us away?"

Kitten was taken aback. She had expected him to argue, to get angry, to call her a psycho. She hadn’t expected… this. This quiet, wounded acceptance. He looked genuinely heartbroken. His green eyes were shadowed with a sadness that looked far too real to be part of an act. A pang of something uncomfortable, something that felt suspiciously like guilt, shot through her.

Stick to the script, she told herself fiercely.

"I have to." she said, her voice softening against her will before she caught herself and hardened it again. "We want different things. I’m looking for a leader. A king. Not… not the court jester."

The insult landed with the force of a physical blow. Jester. It was what he’d called himself in his own mind when this whole thing started. To hear it from her, after everything… it hurt. More than it should have. More than he was being paid for.

He looked up at her, and the hurt in his eyes was so raw, so palpable, that Kitten felt her own carefully constructed facade begin to crack. This was wrong. This felt cruel. She saw his lip tremble slightly.

Oh no. Don’t you dare cry, you stupid green idiot, she thought frantically. That’s not in the script!

But he didn’t cry. He just gave a small, sad, defeated nod. "I get it." he whispered, his voice hoarse. "It was always about him, wasn’t it?" He didn’t have to say Robin’s name.

He turned and started walking away, his shoulders slumped, the picture of dejection. He didn’t run. He didn’t shapeshift into something and fly away dramatically. He just… walked. Each step looked heavy, laden with a sorrow that felt far too authentic.

Kitten stood there, frozen. That was supposed to be her triumphant exit line. He had stolen her scene with his quiet heartbreak. The plan had been to have a huge, screaming match, throw a fake diamond bracelet at him, and storm off, leaving Robin to witness her fiery passion. Instead, she had just emotionally bulldozed the one person who had, in his own weird way, been genuinely kind to her.

She watched him go, a small, pathetic figure disappearing into the shadow of the Tower. The wind felt cold now. The dramatic setting just seemed cheap and empty. The victory she was supposed to feel was nowhere to be found. All she felt was a sick, churning feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Up in the Tower, the other Titans had indeed been watching.

"Whoa. Did… did Kitten just dump Beast Boy?" Cyborg asked, breaking the stunned silence.

"It would appear so." Starfire said, her hands clasped to her chest. "Her words were most… unkind. ‘Court jester’? That is a cruel thing to say."

Robin stood silently, his arms crossed. He had watched the entire exchange, his expression unreadable. Kitten’s plan had worked, in a way. He had heard every word. He had heard her declarations about wanting a "brooding leader." But he had also seen the look on Beast Boy’s face. He had seen his friend, who had already been through so much heartbreak, get crushed yet again. The satisfaction Kitten had hoped to ignite in him wasn't there. Instead, there was just a sour taste of anger—not at Beast Boy, but at her. At her casual, theatrical cruelty.

Raven watched Beast Boy’s retreating form through the window, her lips pressed into a thin, tight line. She had felt the spike of his pain, a sharp, jagged wound in the Tower’s emotional atmosphere. And she had felt something else, too. A flicker of genuine remorse and panic from Kitten, almost instantly smothered by her own arrogance.

The performance had been a success, Kitten thought, as she finally turned to walk away. Robin had seen it. The message had been delivered.

But as she walked back toward the spot where her limo was waiting, she couldn’t shake the image of Beast Boy’s heartbroken face. She had wanted to make Robin jealous. She hadn’t wanted to genuinely hurt anyone. Or so she had told herself. The sick feeling in her stomach suggested she had just failed, spectacularly, at telling the difference. The course correction had sent her crashing into an emotional reef she didn't even know was there.

Chapter Text

In the digital age, heartbreak, like everything else, travels at the speed of light. Especially when it’s captured by a high-powered telephoto lens from a hidden location. By the next morning, "The Dumping on the Shore." as the internet had already dubbed it, was everywhere.

But it wasn't just a grainy video. It was a masterpiece of emotional manipulation, a three-minute cinematic experience that would have made a soap opera director weep. The video, which had appeared on every major video-sharing platform simultaneously, was titled: A Titan’s Tears: The Tragic End of Beauty and the Beast Boy.

It opened with a slow-motion shot of Kitten’s dramatic arrival, her trench coat billowing in the wind, set to a mournful piano score. Her dialogue—"I’m breaking up with you, Beast Boy"—was subtitled in a flowing, romantic script. The video then cut to a montage of their "happiest moments." all culled from gossip blogs and news reports. There was Beast Boy, arm awkwardly around Kitten at the fancy restaurant. There they were, laughing at the mini-golf course (the music swelled triumphantly here). There was the on-camera kiss after the Plasmus fight, presented in glorious slow-motion with digital hearts exploding around them.

Then, the music screeched to a halt and the video cut back to the breakup. Beast Boy’s pained, confused face was given a dramatic zoom-and-hold. His quiet, heartbroken lines were amplified, the background noise of the waves filtered out to create a sense of stark, intimate agony. Kitten’s final, brutal line—"Not the court jester"—echoed, followed by a shot of Beast Boy’s defeated walk away. The video ended with a single, digital teardrop rolling down a still image of his face, before fading to black with a final title card: #JusticeForGrassyMan.

The video was the work of one man, a man whose obsessive knowledge of pop culture and narrative tropes was matched only by his complete lack of a social life: Control Freak.

In his darkened lair, surrounded by towers of comic books, action figures, and half-eaten bags of cheese puffs, he watched his view counter climb into the millions. He wasn't being malicious. In his mind, he was a storyteller, a documentarian of the heart.

"You see, Bartholomew." he said to a mint-condition action figure of a 1980s television detective, "this is the classic second-act crisis! The All Is Lost moment! The couple, so perfect for each other—the rich, misunderstood bad girl and the goofy, pure-hearted hero—are torn apart by her own internal conflict! She pushes him away because she's afraid of her own feelings! It's narrative genius!"

He took a long sip of his soda. "Now, they must find their way back to each other, stronger than ever, for the third-act reunion. I'm merely providing the emotional catalyst. And a killer soundtrack."

Back at Titans Tower, the emotional catalyst was having the effect of a bomb blast.

"HASHTAG JUSTICE FOR GRASSY MAN?!" Cyborg roared, half in laughter, half in outrage, as he watched the video on the main screen. "Man, that Control Freak is a menace! But you gotta admit, his editing skills are on point. Look at that dramatic zoom!"

"This is not a time for the appreciating of the cinematic techniques!" Starfire cried, her eyes welling with sympathetic tears. "Poor Beast Boy! His private moment of the deepest sorrow, exposed for all the world to see and to… hashtag!"

Beast Boy, who had been trying to lose himself in a video game, felt his stomach clench. He watched the dramatized version of his own humiliation. It was a thousand times worse than the real thing. Control Freak had turned his genuine pain into a meme. He could feel the pitying looks of his teammates on him. He felt small, exposed, and utterly pathetic. He morphed into a flea and hopped off the couch, hiding in the shag of the carpet.

Meanwhile, in her penthouse, Kitten saw the video and her reaction was far less sentimental. She let out a shriek of pure, unadulterated rage that shattered a nearby crystal vase.

"HE MADE ME THE VILLAIN!" she screamed at her terrified assistant, Celeste, who was trying to offer her a calming cup of herbal tea. "I'm the heartless monster who crushed the sad little puppy! Look at the comments! 'Kitten is a monster!' 'How could she do that to him?' 'He deserves better!' I'M KITTEN WALKER! I DESERVE BETTER!"

This was a disaster of catastrophic proportions. Her plan had been to look passionate and desirable to Robin, a woman who knew what she wanted. Instead, Control Freak had framed her as a cruel bully who broke the heart of the internet's new favorite sad-boy. Her carefully managed public image was in tatters.

"Celeste!" she barked, throwing the phone at the wall (it bounced off a tapestry this time). "Find him! Find that greasy, remote-control-humping troglodyte! I want his hard drives wiped, his internet connection severed, and his action figures melted down into a single, hideous lump!"

This required a two-pronged attack. She couldn’t just erase the video; that would look like an admission of guilt. She needed to get it taken down, and she needed to fix the narrative. And to do that, as much as it galled her, she needed the other half of the "tragic couple." She needed Beast Boy.

Her first dozen texts to him went unanswered. Finally, she resorted to an old-school, untraceable burner phone.

I saw the video. This is a disaster. That fat little fanboy has ruined everything. We have to fix this.

Beast Boy, currently in the form of a miserable-looking armadillo curled up under his bed, felt his communicator vibrate. He uncurled just enough to read the message. Fix this? She breaks his heart (even a fake-break), humiliates him, and now she wants his help cleaning up her mess? No way.

He texted back a single, eloquent word: No.

His communicator buzzed again instantly. This isn't a request. Your "grief" is now a viral sensation. #JusticeForGrassyMan is trending worldwide. Do you want to be the planet's official poster boy for pathetic dump-ees for the rest of your life? Or do you want to help me destroy the man responsible?

He hated that she had a point. Being a meme was his worst nightmare. Being a pity meme was somehow even worse. He could already imagine the sad violins playing every time he walked into a room.

He sighed, morphing back into his human form. What's the plan?

I'm tracking his digital signature now, Kitten's text shot back. He's bouncing his signal off three different satellites, but the source is sloppy. It's somewhere in the industrial district. I'll pick you up in ten. And for God's sake, wear something black. We're supposed to be in mourning for our love.

Beast Boy groaned. It seemed their breakup was going to be just as fake and complicated as their relationship had been. He pulled on a black hoodie, feeling less like a man on a mission of vengeance and more like an unwilling guest star in the world's most dysfunctional reality show.

He snuck out of the Tower, avoiding his well-meaning but suffocatingly sympathetic teammates. A sleek, black, completely inconspicuous sports car—a stark contrast to Kitten’s usual pink monstrosities—screeched to a halt in front of him. The tinted window rolled down.

Kitten was behind the wheel, wearing oversized black sunglasses and a black leather jacket. "Get in, loser." she snapped, her voice all business. "We're going hunting."

He slid into the passenger seat, which was surprisingly comfortable. The car smelled of new leather and Kitten's expensive, angry perfume.

"So, what's the plan when we find him?" Beast Boy asked as she peeled out, the tires screaming in protest.

"Simple." Kitten said, her eyes fixed on the road, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. "You'll distract him with your… tragic, relatable angst. While he's busy trying to get you to sign his 'ship' manifesto, I'm going to personally introduce his server farm to a thermite charge."

Beast Boy looked at her determined, furious profile. For the first time all day, he didn't feel pathetic. He felt like he was in a spy movie. A really weird, emotionally unstable spy movie. Teaming up to fix their public image after a fake breakup that was secretly a plot to make his team leader jealous… it was the most convoluted, insane thing he’d ever done. And a tiny, rebellious part of him was actually looking forward to it.