He’d been greedy. He realized that now. He’d been stupid, too. He always realized these things when it was way too late. He’d been so wrapped up in being happy, in not being alone for the rest of his life, in having somebody who he loved actually love him back, that he’d failed to realize that he was being stupid and greedy. She’d been nice, that was all. She’d taken pity on him.

Well, she certainly didn’t have to lie for his sake.

Things would’ve been better if she’d only denied him forever. If she’d kept up her habit of telling him to go away, if she’d continually fussed at him to leave her alone, his persistence would’ve probably worn off eventually. He’d still love her, of course, he was completely tangled up in it, but it would’ve prevented them from living a falsehood that would crumble around them.

Even if he’d blame Rave for a moment, he’d return to punch himself in the nose even harder. After all, he hadn’t been the best of husbands. He couldn’t even keep a simple job. He didn’t have a college education, after all. His education had been cut all to ribbons by his early ‘job’ of being a superhero; he’d gone from attending a nice, private school to taking internet classes that he could barely keep up with. He’d never even applied for college; he figured he could survive on being a hero. He’d been so stupid.

He’d promised to give her everything, but didn’t deliver shit. They worked jobs to keep an apartment, slowly raising funds for a more comfortable living. Hell, he even quit being a hero once he found a job that would have him full time. He went from being Beast Boy to being ordinary Garfield Logan, a green man in a cubical. Rave kept going, kept fighting and winning, coming home with scrapes and bruises that he’d playfully kiss to make them better.

She’d kiss him back and smile, and now he wondered, painfully, if all of that was a lie, too. He’d always secretly dreaded the thought that, whenever they were acting in intimacy, she didn’t want it to be him.

Surprise, surprise.

He should’ve realized sooner. She hadn’t been seriously regarding him at the alter; she’d been gazing over his shoulder. She hadn’t been looking proudly at the gorgeous Kori Anders-Grayson, clad all in white radiance; she’d been watching Dick.

He’d only realized, of course, after they’d fallen out. After she’d made up her mind and said softly, with a mercilessly emotionless voice, “I think we need a break, Garfield.” The break grew into a separation, which grew into a divorce. All he could do was lamely agree. He wondered if she knew how much command she’d had over him.

It was plain to tell from a smaller, paranoid distance that she cared a lot for Dicky-poo. Even though they were great friends, him and Rob, he was inwardly jealous to the point of near-rage. He liked Dick, though, more than he could ever hate him. He tried very hard to not slip up and let his dark friend know his feelings on the matter, and he’d failed only once. They’d gotten stone-cold drunk for one reason or another, and he, just after throwing up into a garbage can, had turned, slurry and teary, to Nightwing and said, “You mean so much… You mean so much to her, and I’m nothing. What’d I do wrong?”

Dick never answered, so he was still trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

Actually, he didn’t talk to Dick much after that. That incident was right before… He’d just referred to it as ‘that incident’. One of the Grayson children passed, and the father made himself wholly unavailable. He’d fallen into himself. Both he and Starfire were completely destroyed. The extraterrestrial princess went so far as to leave the planet, and Gar only heard that she’d died from Cyborg.

Victor Stone, the machine-man who had been his best friend since he was fifteen, was making himself more and more scarce. The only way he ever got in touch with Vic was to visit the huge lab that he’d moved into, where he locked himself away with the world’s greatest technology and did god-knows-what for hours on end. He’d suspected, on more than one occasion, that this was probably unhealthy. What’s more, Cy had gotten Raven to help move him in. He’d been given the address over his answering machine two weeks later. He rationalized that telekinesis was far better for moving heavy things than oxen and carts, and Vic probably hadn’t wanted to shove the ex-couple together.

Still, he felt left out.

He always felt left out now.

He was a short, stocky man who, though he was still young, possessed thinning hair. He was getting progressively chubbier, he was sure. To top it off, he was completely green. The old friends that he’d come to know so dearly, whom he still held in high regard, were still perfectly good-looking people. Well, given his oddities, Cyborg was as strapping as ever. Raven looked a little tired whenever he saw her, but she was still beautiful to a degree that became inhuman. (He smirked when he realized how well that worked out.) Dick, though he hardly ever smiled, was still such a pretty-boy. They were pretty, powerful people, still banded together fiercely while they, no matter how accidentally, shunned him.

To top life off, he’d been fired two days ago. He’d done nothing but wallow and contemplate, think and rethink. Finally, everything he was collapsed completely. All that he’d been denying and holding back fell in on top of him. He surprised himself twice that evening. First, he didn’t think he’d ever use a gun. His gifts more than made up for any human weapons, but he’d lifted the device from Dayton manor last Thanksgiving, anyhow. Second, he’d always figured that, if he ever got to the point of shooting himself, he’d definitely get drunk before he did it. Frankly, though, he didn’t feel much like drinking.

Oh, well. It wasn’t like it would matter now, anyway.