Eyes

Robin was forever thankful that she did not wear a mask. The thought had never crossed her mind - she had no secret identity, no "other life" to keep hidden away, like he did.

He would have hated it if those eyes were not always available to him. Every crease, every tiny variation in color, every long graceful eyelash stuck in his memory.

His favorite color used to be red, but became green the minute he looked at her eyes.

He never thought green could be the color of innocence, courage and softness simultaneously. Never would have imagined that emerald would make his palms sweaty and his heart drum against his chest like a bird in a cage.

Late one night, the two sat together on the couch. The tower was dark except for a single lamp whose soft yellow light made her eyes even more luminescent than usual.

Robin saw her eyelids droop over them as she faded into sleep.

"You know," he began, more to himself than anyone else. "Some people say the eyes are the window to the soul."

"Then you must have a very secret soul," she muttered.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, ready to be defensive.

"You keep your eyes hidden, even from me," she replied simply. "If even I cannot know what your soul looks like, it must be very secret."

"Maybe it's an ugly soul."

Starfire tilted her head, considering this.

"No," she concluded. "That is not possible."

"It's part of my secret identity, Star," he sighed. "I can't have anyone know. Not even you."

"Who says?"

"You know who says."

"He isn't here."

She dug her heels into the proverbial ground and stuck them fast, an immovable object of stubbornness.

"If you show me," she pleaded, "I will promise to forget by tomorrow morning."

Robin was quiet for a long time, staring at the darkened floor. She began to fear that she had offended him greatly and was just getting ready to apologize when he looked up.

Slowly, he reached up and peeled off the mask. When it finally fell to the ground, his eyes remained closed. The feeling of air on his lids and lashes was odd - free but also exposed, naked, vulnerable.

She moved as if through molten glass, so painfully slow, to trace one finger from his temple to his chin as if he were a sculpture.

He inhaled deeply, steeling himself for whatever consequences would follow, and flipped his eyes open.

Starfire stopped breathing. The blue was staggering, endless, sad and joyous and strong as a September sky, as the back of a breaking wave. It made speech melt on her tongue and reason take flight like a startled pigeon.

They sat, staring into each other's souls, masks cast aside.

When morning came, Starfire broke her promise and never forgot the sky in his eyes.

AN: This became bizarrely sappy, but I like it anyway. I always did wonder if Starfire ever got to see Robin's eyes, and how she would feel about them.