![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sylph_ficsAll previous parts of the "A Darker Path"-verse can be found here. It was getting to be kind of a long list.
Here's the newest part.
Title: The Face Value of Decisions
Characters: the Wilson clan, various guests
Rating: R
Warnings: Nah.
Disclaimer: I wish these guys were mine, they'd be treated better than DC does. But they're not, DC still owns them.
Summary: Two drastically different missions cause two equally radical changes in the dynamic of Deathstroke's little clan.
Notes:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
merfilly wrote Dinah and Slade and most people interacting with them. I wrote Dick and Roy, as seems to be the standard.
A hard, heavy rap at the door snapped Dick into consciousness and he called out, "Yes?" even as he started to roll away from Roy and onto his feet. God, he was tired. He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep after that bitch's revelations, after the news that--he cut off the thoughts, cut off the surging anger as Slade's hard-edged voice came through the door. "Up and moving, Kid. You two have a flight in three hours and Harper needs to pack his kit."
//Flight? Contract--Information on the way? Not much time to plan (Slade's got that-)--don't care I'd rather do it myself. And what's this about Roy?!// Curiosity to realization to uncertainty to exasperation and then frustrated fear in the space between getting his upper body vertical and his feet hitting the floor lightly, "All right. I'm moving," he called back, scraping his hand hard over his face. "Meet you in the kitchen in twenty?" Thank god for the healing the serum provided, or everything he had would be screaming with pain.
"Make it the office in forty." He didn't hear Slade leave, but that had been a conversation-ending tone, and he turned to look back at Roy--who was stretching and trying to blink sleep out of his eyes. "Nngh. What is it, four am?"
"About 6, actually."
"Too damn early, flyboy. He's a sadist."
A variety of retorts flickered through his mind, but he settled for the only important one. "Why does Slade think he's sending both of us? I never--"
"Because he is, Dick. I'm not going to let him get you killed. I've got your back." Only because Dick knew Roy could he see the unhappiness the determination didn't quite cover.
"Roy... I don't... You don't need to do this..." //This isn't what I wanted, I just wanted you safe you're better than this you're better--// all flashed through his head, possibly through his eyes, "I didn't--I don't--"
Roy sat up, tilting his head, morning sunlight winking off rings and rivets at his throat. "Y' don't what, Dick?"
"I don't want you in this--I didn't--" he found himself silenced as Roy kissed him, long and gentle, a slow smile on his lips when he finally pulled away.
"I didn't think you did, Dick--this isn't between me and you, it's between me and Slade, and I'm not going to back out. I'm not leaving you alone."
"Roy..."
"No, Dick. I love you, I've got your back--besides, it's not like it'll be the first time I've killed for a paycheck." Deliberate carelessness in those words.
"That's not--" //Goddamn it, that was government work and it nearly killed you, yes I want you with me but not-like-this... You're not the murderer here, my own...// Part of him was rejoicing at the idea of having backup again, at the thought of Roy at his back where he belonged--but most of him was desperate to keep his own, his beloved, far, far out of the blood-money world he'd thrown himself into. He opened his mouth again, and Roy frowned at him.
"Dick. Come on. Don't make me argue with you about this--I gave my word to Slade that I'd have your back."
That... ended that argument. But damn it, he and Slade were going to have words about this. Slade knew he wanted Roy safe! He knew! Frowning, he slipped Roy's collar off again, and left it lay on the nightstand as he kissed him, then slid out of the bed to go clean up quickly and dress, Roy right behind him.
Breakfast was almost tasteless in his mouth, and he was hard-pressed to trade the usual quips with Rose--thankfully Canary was nowhere around. Apparently she had at least something of a self-preservation instinct, he noted acidly, finishing up his food and waiting for Roy.
The redhead downed the last bites of his toast and stuck his plate in the sink, then they headed for Lian's room. Dick stayed outside while Roy said goodbye to her, listening to their low voices--then Lian padded out the door in her pajamas to demand a hug, which he was only too glad to give.
"Be careful," she told him, little-girl voice stern, and he nodded. "Yes, Lian. We'll be careful."
"Good," she hugged him tight, then squirmed and he put her down, letting her go back to bed.
Roy rejoined him and they headed for Slade's office--and if his lover was conflicted, Dick couldn't see it. The door was standing open, and Slade called them in, standing at the desk, maps spread across it. Dick glared at his back, lips set unhappily, and Slade seemed to completely ignore it as Roy crossed to stand across the desk from him and he took a spot between the two men. //Okay, pack it in, Grayson. Mission now, deal with this later,// he told himself, and looked down at the maps, trying to recognize the--
"Colombia? Bogotá area?" Roy'd recognized the landscape faster than he had... but then, that was no surprise. He'd always been focused on the US unless there was something specific going on, Roy'd spent a few years abroad--and Colombia only meant one thing.
"Good, Harper. One Hector Rodriguez has become enough of problem to some of his former business associates that they've chosen to contract his death. He's been sending back vital parts of their own personnel, which is why they hired me--us, I suppose."
"Drug dealer, huh? Oh, this should be fun..." Roy's voice implied anything but, and Dick happened to agree. Gods knew they'd busted enough of them over the years, and the encounters were never fun. Slade's soft snort seemed to say he agreed.
"Have a look, both of you. This is everything they could give me. Compound layout, what security they know he has--"
Dick rolled his eyes, "None of which is still going to be in effect if this guy has a brain--and apparently he does--but the maps ought to help. Precision strike, I assume?" More like he prayed. He could handle this--drug dealers were the scum of the earth anyway, and if it was a precision hit he could keep the blood off Roy's hands.
Slade nodded. "They're not interested in the death of possibly useful personnel, just Rodriguez."
Dick kept the relief off his face, out of his eyes, and just nodded. Roy leaned over the maps, tracing topo lines with his fingertip, head tilted. "Insertion?"
"Private plane to our employer's air strip here," and his hand tapped the map, several miles distant. "He's promised a truck, which you'll need to get through the terrain."
"Damned jungle," Roy muttered, and Dick nodded his agreement, leaning in to study the lay of the land. "I'm going to want to hike at least those last two miles, just in case."
Two quick nods, and they started laying out the basic plan. He'd always known Roy was good... but he could tell from tiny shifts in Slade's body that even he approved as they talked it out. Of course, they'd be lucky if the plan lasted five minutes past the first shot, but--that was life. They'd work around it. They always did.
"I'll pack up the maps, you take Harper down to the armory and kit yourselves out, Kid, we're starting to run low on time. There's a suit down there that ought to fit."
Dick had wondered why Roy's suit had disappeared, now he knew. "All right." He turned and headed down, feeling Roy's presence at his back seconds later, and he looked over his shoulder. "Thoughts?"
"It's a good plan--which means something is going to go wrong early... and hey, it's one less damned drug dealer. Suits me."
//No it doesn't, it can't... that's not my Roy--(no, this is what you've done to him),// part of his mind pointed out, and he did his best to ignore that thought, tapping out the code to let himself in... and stopped in the doorway, staring at the table. He'd wondered when this day was going to come, when Slade would stop allowing him the freedom of his lover's black and red and demand that he make his allegiance as plain in this as it was in his mind--his black and red was nowhere along the wall, and two piles of blue and orange lay in front of them.
He walked forward, nothing a pair of hilts beside one pile--that made that one his. He stopped there, hand running over the suit, finding the same feel as ever, and he picked up various pieces, checking to see that everything had gotten moved properly. It was like going back in time to see his suit this brightly colored, and he shook his head, almost laughing--then turned to study his lover, worried.
Roy was studying the other suit as though it might bite him, shoulders and head pulled back. He sighed softly, and reached to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Subtle, he's not, sometimes." Much as he owed Slade (and loved him), he could admit to his faults. And a slight tendency towards... displays... was much in his character.
"...I never would have guessed, Dick." Roy retorted, hand finally going out to lay over the suit, tapping it lightly. Dick studied it too, seeing the striking similarity to his last costume, and the differences, orange mainly in the accents and extras, not replacing the red--for which he was grateful. They'd both worn some truly garish costumes over the years, but putting that much orange on his carrot-top lover would have just been wrong. He squeezed his shoulder, "Roy, I--"
"Leave it, Dick. I'd rather wear his colors doing this than mine," Roy replied, shaking his head as he picked up the top of the new suit. "Just changing in here?"
"Yeah." If Roy was so determined to do this, he'd damned well stop arguing--he didn't actually want to push his own into enough of a corner that he wound up doing this hit solo. He went back to his suit, stripping out of casual clothes and into gear that caressed his skin like a familiar lover, feel and fit the very same, boots and gloves already loaded--the orange wrapped around his fingers, up his arms and over his chest was disconcerting as he moved, but tolerable. Empty back-sheaths called his attention back to the table, and he studied the objects laying there. Slightly longer than his sticks and single-edged, barely curved lengths of razor-edged steel waited for his touch, and he felt the perfection of the balance the moment his hands wrapped around them.
//Couldn't have me not using a blade, Slade?// He snorted at the unintentional rhyme and walked the blades over his hands, testing, then settled them into the sheathes where they belonged. He smoothed the mask up over his eyes, and turned to watch Roy finish, seeing the changes Slade had made, the extra spaces for weapons and ammunition... It was hard not to approve of the functionality, and Roy even looked... contented by it. "Not bad. Not half bad," he said, voice low.
"Y'look pretty damned good," Dick replied--wasn't it the only thing to say?
Roy's eyes finally scanned the rest of the room, rack after rack of ordnance... he whistled, low and harsh; and honestly, Dick agreed. There was enough damned hardware in here to finish a medium-scale war--and all of it was impeccably organized. He picked up a duffle from under the table and moved through the racks, picking out things he needed to restock, and taking a few more... surprises. Some went into spare spaces in his boots, others went into the duffle, and he listened to the sounds of Roy doing much the same. There were things he didn't normally carry that he was going to need for this. Finished, he went to join Roy--just in time to see him pull his hand back from a compact crossbow with a physical wince--and he wrapped around his back, holding him close, butt of a Sig Sauer digging into his hip even through the suit.
Roy turned in his arms, shaking his head. "I'm okay, Dick. I promise. Let me just finish packing."
He nodded and let go, trailing his lover through another couple of racks, watching him finish putting everything together.
*~*~*~*
Slade entered the armory to deliver the maps, and paused at the doorway. He could see the young men, but neither had noted him yet. He viewed the way the costumes flowed over their skin, the perfect fit of his own colors on two of the best young heroes of the maturing generation. There was a substantial feeling of pride in that, mixed with the slight pain of knowing it could have been Grant, possibly Joey. Those final thoughts pushed him fully into mission mode. Those colors also meant his reputation on the line, and they had damn well better not wreck that.
"Boys," he called, and both heads turned instantly, blank white mask-eyes lifting to his, Renegade's head tilting curiously. "Maps. Who's carrying?"
"I've got more space, I think," Renegade volunteered, and he tossed the watertight case to him, watching the quick snap of his wrist to catch it.
Arsenal shrugged, resettling a Winchester Sharpshooter over his shoulder. A long, sharp look told him the kid hadn't picked up a single weapon that tied into his own heritage--he approved at this point, though the boy was going to need to lose that phobia before things progressed much further.
"The usual airport, Kid, hangar 4. Get moving."
"We're ready," his boy nodded and crossed the room to press against him a moment. "We won't disappoint you."
Slade gripped him by the back of the head, nodding. "Do it right, and you won't."
Flash of that cold, precise smile and Renegade nodded slightly--against that grip, that was all he could do, and Slade let go as Arsenal walked over. He finally truly deserved the name, Slade decided as he merely matched gazes with Arsenal. His eye said it all //watch over him//.
The set of the redhead's jaw and shoulders changed, the look saying, //Did you think I'd change my mind now?// Slade watched his boy notice the exchange and tense, unhappiness in the set of his shoulders, //Oh, you don't like this?// That was a wrinkle he hadn't counted on, and would have to be addressed promptly. Renegade checked everything one last time, then nodded again, starting to grin.
"We'll see you when we get home. Don't wait up," teasing laughter lit Dick's playful voice before he slipped past him to head out into the hall. Arsenal followed him without another word, and Slade turned to watch them go.
*~*~*~*
Dick was keeping Roy's attention focused on himself as they moved through the rest of the house, but he couldn't help the instinctive habit of checking every room with an open door, which meant that he saw her and Rose in the living room, apparently working on one of Rose's lessons, given the array of books. He saw her blue eyes widen she took in both of them in Slade's colors, then her face blatantly displayed the pain of losing her brother/son/friend all over again, seeing his full combat regalia. She turned her head away quickly, obviously afraid of letting Roy see her face, and Dick lengthened his stride to get Roy past the door without ever seeing her.
For the first time since the revelation, the very thought of her didn't send him into rage so strong he wanted to hurt something--possibly because he was floored by the realization that he happened to agree with her. How damned disturbing. He shook that off, aided by the fact that some parts of him were entirely pleased with the reminder that Roy'd chosen him--so obviously chosen him. He picked up a set of keys on the way into the garage and popped the trunk open to settle their gear, his blades, and the long gun inside, then slid behind the wheel and headed for the airport, flicking on the radio simply for the amusement of starting a debate about which station to listen to, tinted windows blocking the sight of them. The airport wasn't far.
*~*~*~*
Dinah's skin crawled as she heard the door close. She had to focus to make herself listen to Rose's question about how the rise of vigilantism had actually led to an increase in violent crimes. All her mind could grasp was that her Roy... the man she had watched a scared, hurting boy grow into... was leaving the house in full kit, with Deathstroke's colors splashed boldly over him and not one of his own weapons in sight.
"Rose, I know it's class time, but I'm not feeling well," Dinah said, and she was not lying. Her stomach was turning and threatening full rebellion. //He was laughing, wrapped up in Dick, and he was not hesitating.// "Maybe later, I can look over your work."
Rose nodded, lips going narrow. She had spent the night with Dinah, holding the older woman as the vigilante cried and then went stone silent, lost in whatever had happened between her and Roy. Rose had not been able to pry the cause out of her, and it disturbed the teen. She knew the data her father kept on each and every hero, and nothing in his files had suggested such a breakdown was possible.
"I'll finish up, Dinah, and then go make sure Lian is handling her lessons," Rose offered. Dinah flashed her a look of gratitude, as well as one that almost looked like pride. Rose could not help but sit taller, as Dinah silently admired her newfound responsibility to the younger girl.
"Thank you." The blonde rose and made her way back to the bedroom. She had learned it was no longer kept locked at night, and Rose had encouraged her to go outside with her that morning. Still, the room was the only space Dinah saw as hers, even if it was with a feeling akin to being in a cage.
She had just turned into the hall where her room was when Slade stepped into the hall as well, from a room further down. She had not explored the manor much, so she had no idea what was in that room. She just ducked her head to avoid eye contact, and hoped he left her alone. She did not have the energy to fight with him.
"Dinah," he called. "Join me." The voice was neutral, no undercurrents. It still was not the professional bantering tone he had used on their previous encounters, before the world went to hell, but it was not full of that hatred she had discerned since he displayed knowledge of her shame.
"Alright, Wilson." She pulled at the edges of her resolve to get through this, for Lian at least, now that she had lost Roy so completely. She walked down the hall to the man, and tried not to react when he physically turned her to go into the room he had just left. She glanced around, shuddering, as it was a fully equipped infirmary.
"I have an engagement tonight," he began. "And you will assist me in it," he added, watching her closely. She glanced up sharply at him, her eyes flashing with a hint of defiance. It only lasted long enough for her to make eye contact; then the shame and the feeling of being adrift with no anchor clouded her face, and she looked away.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" she asked him, resigned to her fate. It seemed fitting; having failed to stop such an evil thing from happening, that she should wind up a tool to someone so villainous.
//" but I could see in his eyes that he's planning something..."// Roy's words echoed persistently in her ears, reminding her that Slade only played one game; his own, and his involvement with the Society still did not make perfect sense.
"There are always choices." Slade's voice was harsh; there was that anger, the contempt for what the League had done.
"I won't leave Lian to the fate you would give her," Dinah snapped, her old anger rising to the surface. He merely smirked knowingly, a fitting mask for the fact he was pleased to see her still willing to fight.
"Let me see your arm." He held his hand out, indicating she should lie down on the table, so he could inspect it. Dinah stared at the table a long moment before shrugging and climbing onto it. He busied himself silently with cutting off the bulkier cast, inspecting the arm, and then putting a much lighter, but inflexible cast over it. "You need to exercise the hand more," he told her. "Not even a week, and the bruising is almost gone." He turned her face to one side, then the other. "You heal quickly."
"Kind of have to in my business," she said, her tone low and guarded. He turned away, to put his kit away.
"I'm going to Kahndaq today. Business. You are going with me, and you will have to be drugged, under a hypnotic." He found the exact drug he had in mind. "It will bury your conscious will, but leave your mind open to everything you hear and see. I'll get your impressions after it wears off."
"Why?" Her tone was flat with distaste for the plan. "And how susceptible does it make me to suggestion?"
"I'll set the guards, to make you answer only to me. And this way, I can cover a few angles, showing the Society how far I am willing to go." He came back to her side, the drug and a syringe in hand. "And, as you said, I don't want a world crushed in their fist." He took satisfaction in her flinching from his paraphrase. "You have information, impressions that I could utilize. I will take you with me, as a mind-burned trophy, and they will see you exactly that way. None of the telepaths should be there, and this drug could beat most of them."
"Wilson?" Dinah's eyes were troubled as he prepped the syringe. "Tell me one thing. Was it necessary to send my Roy out like that?" Her sudden shift of the subject betrayed both her nervousness and her resignation to doing as he commanded.
Slade studied her a moment, then responded with both questions and answers, in an attempt to learn what exactly she wanted to know. "In my colors? Yes. His equipment? ...Was his choice."
She winced at that, turning her face away rather than let him see the pain in her eyes. "He's going to kill again. Just like his father..." Her voice was soft, a regretful whisper. //So much blood and it's our fault.//
"You say that as though death's the worst thing that could happen to someone, Dinah... and we both know better than that... Or at least, I thought you did, once." His tone snapped her head around, showing him the tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, refusing to be shed.
"Is it so much, Wilson, to want better for our children than what we've done or seen? I can't for the life of me see you as having wished blood to ever have crossed your younger son's hands, from all I ever heard of him!" she shot back.
His entire body tensed, hand tightening... but he stopped himself, reminding himself he didn't want her bruised tonight, and that this was a parent fighting for her child. "I didn't," his voice dark and cold as arctic night. "With the world you've helped create, Lance, I don't think 'better' is an option." She noted the change to her family name, and it seemed to have an honest effect as she reached out, touching his hand.
"Sorry...Wil... Slade. That was low, even from me." She kept her voice soft, more human. "I shouldn't have mentioned Joseph."
He let her hand connect, almost despite himself, single eye utterly cold. "No. You shouldn't have."
She let her hand fall, even as she looked down. "I can't say I won't let my mouth get the better of me in the future, but I'll try to be more decent than that." She clenched a fist, holding up her arm. She would not ask him for his word, to make sure he was going to protect her, not after what she had just done. She would just have to blindly trust than when the drug wore off, she would still be herself, and under his roof.
Slade studied her, saw all that bravado for the show it was, and his hand was almost gentle as he started to slip the syringe into her arm, holding her in place with his other hand... and if something in his touch was possessive... there was reason. Despite all that had happened, despite her long silence, she was his responsibility now, had been since he chose her to be mother to his two girls, and he would not allow harm to come to her. It would upset too many of his new family, even Rose, who honestly liked the blonde as a teacher.
Dinah felt the burn in her vein, tried to fight it on a level that she could not control. Since she had beaten Savant, she had not felt helpless. Even here in Slade's household, she knew she had a choice, even if it meant dying. Now, though, knowing on a gut level that a man, even one with a code as strict as Bruce's, was going to have complete control over her, she felt fear. It was a cold thought and made the drug burn that much hotter in her vein, as she closed her eyes, swaying slightly. She was already fogging out when his hand slipped to the back of her head, drawing her forward to rest against his chest. His low voice penetrated the fog covering her mind, planting deep hypnotic suggestions, setting her up as the perfect living recorder while protecting her from seeming like a threat to the allies he wanted to learn more about.
*~*~*~*~*
Roy settled back against the plush leather seats, trying to ignore the little, panicking voice that hadn't shut up since he'd picked up the armor he now wore, the one that was screaming about things they didn't do, and Dinah, and the line he was about to cross again. He'd decided already, there was no point in freaking out about it. Lian was perfectly safe--at least for now; Ollie--he couldn't think about the man that had raised him without remembering Dinah's broken voice--could handle himself; the Titans by this point would be a force to reckon with, safe together; and if he left Dick alone like this, no matter what happened he'd never forgive himself. Slade didn't have the best record with his kids, and he couldn't lose the man that had held his heart for most of the last decade. There was still too much of Robbie in Dick to abandon him, too much of that laughing confidence coming back into his eyes and voice as the days ran on--he wasn't letting go. Not that there was any chance he could get out of Slade's home unnoticed anyway, and the threat that Slade would make Dick kill him for the betrayal still made his blood run cold. Slade was cold enough to follow through, and what that would do to Dick... No. Not ever, and if that meant getting more blood on his hands--at least it was just some Colombian coke dealer, someone more than worth the bullet.
He deliberately didn't look around--he didn't really want to know where Slade had secreted them, just in case he got to close to a telepath--and managed to win the radio argument, talking to Dick idly as he drove until they turned into the airport and pulled into the hangar. //Cesna, not enough fuel capacity to make the whole trip, we're going to have to stop. Where? Not my problem,// he reminded himself, shrugging it off.
Dick parked the car in a corner of the hangar and they slid out and went for their gear, then walked to the jet, stairs already in place. They were met by the pilot, shown into the back with very few words exchanged, and then they were in motion and in the air.
As soon as they leveled out, Dick was up and moving, prowling the area like a cat. A very angry cat, Roy amended his thought, and got up to step into Dick's path. "Flyboy. Come on, stop this."
"Damnit, Roy, I wanted you safe."
"Telling me I'm not safe at your side?" Roy tilted his head, one brow arching behind the unfamiliar mask he wore, abandoning logic to slug his lover in the emotional guts. He didn’t feel like spending the next however-many hours in an another fight with him.
"That's not what I meant!" He could practically feel the heat of Dick's glare through the lenses, "It just... I chose this, you didn't get t--"
"I asked Slade for this, Dick. My choice, just like yours--"
"Why?" So much confusion in that one word, none of which made any sense.
"I told you why. I. am not. going. to lose you, and I don't want you pulling this alone. Too damned many things could go wrong." //Did you forget how to listen at some point, Dick? I'd swear I said that earlier... You protected me, Dick, and I know what Slade made you pay for it... My turn to have your back.//
He could see Dick's eyes widen behind the mask, watched him start to say something and stop again, and waited him out. Finally, "Roy, I--all right. I'll calm down, if this was your idea."
"It was," Roy replied, not wanting to get into the details, and the answer was true enough.
That finally made Dick sit back down, and Roy dropped along with him, leaning for the array of maps. They might as well make good use of this damned long flight.
*~*~*~*
Black Adam had been surprised when Deathstroke indicated he was coming early, and that he had a guest. He activated the transporters, and raised one eyebrow at the man as he appeared. He recognized the 'guest' instantly, but also saw that she was not in her right mind, from the way she held onto Slade's arm. Slade had taken the time to dress Dinah in a formal dress, making her seem very much the drape he needed her to look like.
"Consorting with the enemy, Slade?" he asked.
"Merely a trophy, from my hunt to deflect the Oracle," Slade said smoothly. "She's mindless now, an unfortunate side effect of the treatments I used to gain what information I could. Apparently their telepath had instilled certain protocols in her mind."
"A shame. But still, she represents a deep psychological blow." Black Adam nodded. "It must be why I've heard no rumor yet. They know she is one of the few who links into almost every team the so-called heroes have." He quirked one eyebrow at her as she stumbled slightly stepping down with Slade, noting that the man helped her find her balance. "Do you wish to leave her here? I know you will have assumed responsibility over her, but my lands are secure."
"Thank you, but no... I have uses for her." His tone was dark, and Black Adam had to look askance at his guest.
"Enlighten me, friend."
"I did learn the truth of our 'friend' Light's encounter with the League." Deathstroke's voice slid around the words with both contempt and menace. "I think you should hear the tale I took from her."
Black Adam glanced around, and nodded, leading Deathstroke to his office. When the door shut, Slade took a chair, while Dinah stood at his shoulder, resting her hands on it. Black Adam noted the slim cast, noted the completely vapid gaze that turned his way and shivered. The idea that he League could do that to protect their secrets chilled even him.
"Light was on that satellite, and events did transpire as he remembered," Slade began, abruptly. "But you and I have certain guidelines on who the rightful opponents are." He clenched a fist, remembering the sheer rage he had felt, to know what he had protected. "He was there, alone with Sue Dibny. That is why they came hunting Light in face of her death."
Black Adam frowned slowly. "He... was alone, with the woman recently murdered?"
"From what Canary admitted, it was his brutal rape of her that drove the League to take their actions." He raised a hand to forestall the inevitable dialogue of that not making it right. "I still say the League can rot in hell. Specifically, their witch and Hawkman, from what I learned. The Atom and the former Flash both had a hand in pushing it that far, as well."
"The one who died?" Black Adam clarified. "That fits with what we know." His visage was stormy. "I do not like protecting rapists. I despise working with that psychotic little midget, and now to learn our opening gambit was made to protect a cowardly rapist."
Slade leaned forward, causing Dinah's hands to move to her sides. "I do not like it either. And it makes me wonder if Luthor knows..." He sat back, and let Dinah rest her hand back on his shoulder.
"We should find out exactly who knew, and deal with them, to let it be known we do not tolerate such... filth." Black Adam was quite disgusted.
"Dear Teth, you think too straight-forwardly." Slade smiled at the man with a glint in his eye. Black Adam paused, and came to sit on the front of his desk.
"Do tell." The nigh-immortal man was more than willing to match plans with the mercenary whose code of honor and sense of ethics paralleled his in many ways.
*~*~*~*~*
The appearance of the Black Canary as Deathstroke's trophy and drape had an odd power over the assembled crowd of the Society's higher echelons. On one hand, it explained the sudden dispelling of the Birds of Prey from Metropolis, and the reported downtime of Oracle's communications. There were some who still believed Black Canary had been Oracle, based on her surrender to Blockbuster a few years before. There were far too many who watched with predatory interest; her years of being a hero had made her cross a lot of paths.
Slade mingled with the guests, pleased that his command to Dinah to always stay in touch was working. He had no doubt he would hear mouthfuls from her about the meetings, as Talia could not contain her gloating, and Calculator studied her like a living specimen for dissection. Luthor barely noted her.
"Did you know, when you took that contract, what it would do to the other teams?" he demanded of Slade, his demeanor radiating a barely contained anger.
"Yes." Deathstroke had known every single connection each life he executed held. "I supposed you did too, and ordered it for the chaos it would reap." Very neatly, he turned the blame back to Luthor. "Besides, I've given them a scapegoat for the matter. They hunt Cheshire now." He caught a small flicker of something in the man's eye, and it drove him to consider what game the man was playing with him.
"Next time, consider it part of the retainer fee to tell me of complications you foresee," Luthor growled, stalking off with Talia.
//Not on your life.// Deathstroke was not a lackey, even when paid, and Luthor needed to be reminded of that.
*~*~*~*
Roy swore mentally as once again Dick was in his way, blocking his shot--if it wasn't one of them, it was the other, it seemed. He'd screwed up one of Dick's attacks by being too far behind, they'd had a complete misread of each other that nearly let one of the house guards get to a comm. and now Dick was blocking him... The tide of anger probably wasn't making things any better, but...
...this just wasn't good. They were managing, somehow pulling it together enough to control the situation by desperate effort and improvised recoveries, but they were out of synch and misreading each other--and it was entirely his fault, he knew it was. He'd never been as fast as Dick, but Renegade was ten steps ahead of him now, not just a half-step--and he'd never managed to work well with Wally, for just that reason. He wasn't like Dinah in that, of all the lessons she'd taught him that wasn't one of them, and it showed. He just wasn't keeping up, couldn't managed the logical leaps that Renegade and Ravager seemed to thrive on... The worst part was, Dick had realized it, too, and was trying to slow down his lightning-fast mind--which was the last thing they needed. Dick ought to be exploiting the serum, milking it for all it was worth, not hobbling himself to let his partner try and keep up...
He made it to Renegade's side, scanning the corridor, running the blueprint through his head--and Dick moved before he was ready, leaving him to cover his back instead of work beside him... that stung, but he checked the clips of his guns and followed, guarding Dick as best he could with the synchronicity between them so utterly mauled.
*~*~*~*
/Fuck, this isn't working,// Renegade swore with his back against a wall, waiting with a lifted hand for the guard to finish his sweep and head back down. Long moments of not-breathing, then he moved, fast, getting inside their target's bedroom door, having to trust that Roy could make sure they stayed unnoticed.
It was a miracle every alarm in the place hadn't already gone off, with the way they kept screwing each other up--and the more he tried to compensate, the more he tried to slow his mind back to the pre-serum levels, the worse things got. They were off and it wasn't getting better, and he was too damned busy right now to figure out a fix, that was going to have to wait. //I don't know what to do, slowing down's just part of the problem, I almost think I'd be better off running solo...// He pulled a blade as he entered the room, disposable blank high-carbon steel, mass-produced throwing blade in every knife-shop on the planet. He checked the mental portrait of the target against the physical features of the man before him, and one hard throw embedded the blade hilt-deep between the sleeping man's ribs. He snapped a quick series of pictures with a hidden camera, then turned away.
The cartel might have preferred a messier, agonizing death, but he wasn't a torturer and couldn't stand the thought of becoming one--and Slade had laid no stipulations on the manner of his death, would not agree to that one... It was done. No sense in fighting their way back out of the house, not when the man had a balcony beyond sliding doors. He stuck his head back out the door, beckoning Roy in as he went to unlock the door, and he heard him behind him a few moments later. He finished bypassing the security on the door and pushed it open. He crossed the balcony swiftly and dropped to the ground, Roy hitting a few moments later, and they both broke for the dark safety of the treeline--still on the same wavelength about that, at least.
It was going to be a looong damned flight home, with Roy this upset--hell, with his own temper this triggered.
*~*~*~*
Roy'd pretended to sleep for most of the trip back--and had even slept some--curled against Dick's body despite the helpless anger he couldn't get under control. He was fairly certain Dick hadn't slept either, despite the exhaustion they were both feeling. He kept turning the events over in his mind, looking for the details of how each move had gone wrong... and the answer was the same, over and over again. He couldn't keep up with the way Dick was thinking anymore, the bond between them that had always allowed them to work so well off each other was frayed apart by that change... and Dick couldn't be the one to fix it. He'd paid too dearly for that enhancement to cripple himself now.
That only left one choice...
...but could he stand to make it?
//Look at what you've already done, Harper,// part of him said as he carefully settled the Winchester in the truck, duffle dropped beside it. //You know at least two people died from your shots tonight, on one of Deathstroke's contracts. You've already agreed to teach his equally sociopathic daughter the finer points of killing, and you helped him break Dinah... How exactly is this worse?//
//It's... not me. I'm pure human, always have been, and gods know my history with drugs... Not that this is the same thing--am I really considering this?!// He settled back against the leather, wincing against harsh morning light as Dick headed them home, arm thrown over his eyes... and the answer echoed through him.
//Yes.// He was. He wasn't leaving Dick--as if he could and live, now?--wasn't about to let Slade get him killed, and they had to be back in synch before they went out again, before the disconnect between them got one of them killed... He stared at the back of his arm, at the blue armor and the orange--and the certainty of what he was going to do slashed through him. //Hm... wonder what I can win from this devil's bargain,// he thought, and rode in quiet silence until Dick parked the car and slid out, moving with anger coiled low in his spine instead of the usual spring--Dick was rarely that obvious, this was riding him hard... And that was a dangerous thing--he'd seen what could happen when Renegade was riding fury too high. Lady Vic came to mind.
It was odd how much unpacking gear and stripping out of the suits felt like coming home to the Titans, something that could so easily become routine... He slid into the shower behind Dick like after so many missions, kissing along his throat, hands sliding over him until Dick snapped and pinned him to the wall, tongue deep in his mouth. He arched into every touch, whispering to Dick about love and need and hunger, answering Dick's desperate, possessive ferocity with everything he had to give, finally left bruised and aching in the best possible ways as they tried to beat the end of the heater's capacity out of the shower--and failed. Cold spray--god, how many times had that happened--broke some of the tension between them and he laughed as they dove out of the shower and dressed, happy to see his lover's eyes dancing. He kissed Dick goodbye as his lover headed up to report to Slade, and went to play with his daughter.
He put Lian down for a nap and sat there watching her, toying with a pen and a sheet of paper, trying to figure out what to say to the woman that had always been his hero. They... weren't talking--he wasn't ready to talk to her again, but he couldn't take this risk without telling her something... //How can you take this risk at all, Harper? Are you really going to risk leaving Lian all alone?//
That stopped him for a moment, then he shook his head. //It's no different a risk than I take every time I walk out the door on a mission. I could have died last night just as easily as this could make me insane. If something happens--if Slade even agrees to try it, he might say no--Dinah will get Lian out and take care of her. I know she will. Slade'll have to leave sometime.//
Finally he started writing, just letting the words come out of his hand. Finished, he tri-folded it and wrote her name across the back, hoping he'd told her enough to make her understand, and carried it up to his room to tuck into the case of the guitar. Dick wouldn't see it there, and Slade would know where it was.
He went by the gym long enough to see Dick fighting sleep to get Rose through some gymnastic sequence he wanted her to learn, and then went looking for Slade. That didn't take long, given that the man was in the hall between the kitchen and his office. "Slade."
"Yes, Harper?"
"I need to talk to you."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Privately?" He watched Slade's expression shift a moment, then the man nodded and went back towards the office. He followed, and shut the door behind them, then looked up at Slade, green eyes dark. "Did Dick tell you how much things went wrong, or did he gloss stuff over?"
The way that single blue eye narrowed and his lips set told Roy all he needed to know, and he sighed. "He glossed. And I just got him in trouble. Damn." He shook his head. "I thought he'd gotten over the 'can't admit I've got a problem until I've also got the solution'-thing..." Highly annoyed mutter. "Anyway. You need to know that... Things didn't go smoothly. We kept getting in each other's way--we never used to, but I can't keep up with him, he's just thinking too damned fast, too far ahead of me... By the time I knew what he was doing, he was expecting me to be at the next step. He started trying to slow down, handicapping himself, and that just put things in more jeopardy--not that we were ever in danger of screwing up the contract, it was just... we didn't work right. Not like we used to."
"And?" The voice was ice-cold; despite assurances of the contract not being in danger, that was his livelihood, his reputation at stake, and Roy knew it.
Roy winced at the ice in his voice, and it was a struggle to force the next words out. "And that means something's got to change. I dunno, maybe Dick and I could train ourselves back into synch, but I never did work well with Fleetfeet..." Sure, the serum hadn't made Dick a speedster, but it had jumped his brain into that kind of overdrive.
"Spit it out, Harper; at one point did this become my problem, when I can just make you stay here, or send you out on separate work?" The blue eye was narrow, lines of annoyance in his face.
"It's your problem because Dick doesn't handle solo work well... and there's a better option, if you think I can survive it." He couldn't believe he'd said it like that, but it was true...
The face smoothed, as Slade's mind made the jump to what Harper was not directly saying. He studied the redhead a long moment, then gave a sharp nod. "I've refined it, as best I can, and Dick did not truly have a problem. You're not that far from his level, just in different areas. Hell, Harper, you're verging meta already with that aim, but I think you might be rock solid enough to handle it."
Roy couldn't help a bitter laugh. "Rock solid? Me? Now, maybe... I've at least got the stubbornness is spades. All right." //Did Deathstroke really just compliment me? Is the sky falling?// He watched Slade, trickle of unease in his mind despite the man's confidence. He well remembered what had happened with Addie and Grant, remembered when Rose's eyes, plural, sparkled with gentle joy--but there had been mitigating factors there. Addie'd had the original, Grant had already been crazy, and Jericho--//god, Joey//--had overdosed Rose, deliberately making her insane. In contrast, Dick had come through it just fine. He simply had to trust that Slade would make equally certain that he received the right dose. //Slade won't screw up. Dick would never forgive him.//
"Harper, you've survived everything the bitch in green could throw your way; that takes some doing." Slade gave another sharp nod. "Got anything you need to do?"
Roy spent a moment wondering if Slade was insulting Jade or Ollie, but put it out of his mind. //See? I'll come out of this fine. I've got too damned much to live for to let anything beat me. Got to cover all the bases, though.// "Did it already. Slade... just in case. There's a letter in the guitar case, if I don't... Give it to Dinah?"
Slade frowned, and Roy wasn't sure why, but then he nodded briefly. "Sure thing, Harper." The big man moved, and Roy watched as he flicked a monitor on. //Oh. Something about Dinah,// he realized as he saw her stretched out on the bed, apparently asleep in a dress he didn't recognize and didn't think she ever would have picked. "Let's get it done, then." He headed for the door, and Roy trailed him. "If you don't, kid... I'll handle it."
Roy nodded. "Thanks. That's not going to happen, though." There really wasn't much else to be said. He followed, letting Slade lead the way down into the infirmary, and simply hopped up onto a table, toeing his shoes off, watching Slade.
The mercenary walked to a safe, opening it and pulling out a small vial. He returned, rolling it to warm it, and then got a syringe.
//Needles. Goddamned needles again, thought I was through shoving poison in my veins...// Roy thought, trying to keep the thought out of his eyes, sudden flash of apprehension about his choice... but his earlier reasoning came back strongly. //This isn't poison. It's not something I'm going to start craving or get addicted to. It's just an advantage. One-time only thing--and it's not going to drag me down, or turn me into that wasted thing Dinah pulled me away from. The only thing the smack and this have in common is the damned needle. Slade wanted me to step up... I think this counts.// He swallowed hard, then lay back, arm turned to offer it to Slade.
Slade paused, his eye locking on Roy's face. "One way street, kid, and I know it's not for everyone. You better be damn sure you're this willing to follow my boy."
Roy shut his eyes, then opened them and nodded. "I'm his, and this is what I've got to be to keep up with him. Do it, before I lose my nerve."
Slade took a moment to ready the syringe, then very professionally prepped Roy's arm. His eyebrow went up a moment at seeing the scarring there. However, he apparently chose not to mention anything, as he slid the needle into the vein.
Roy just looked back at him, keeping his expression very carefully blank to keep the shame and regret out of them... then liquid fire lanced up his arm, shot through him--and mercifully, sent him straight into black unconsciousness.
*~*~*~*
Slade slipped the needle out carefully and placed the kid's arm gently on the table, studying the old, faded track-marks with narrowed eyes. //Knew you'd had it rough, kid, but I missed this somehow...// The only answer was that it had happened even before he became involved with the Titan's lives, or he would have known. //If you could kick that habit, you'll come through this fine. It explains the issues you and Queen have with pushers, and that comment of yours about that job quite nicely.// That was one small mystery solved.
The mercenary knew Roy would probably prefer to wake up to Dick, but he did not want anything going wrong in that situation. He cleared the tools away into locked drawers, double checked that the room was clean from things to easily hurt people with, and got the restraints out. As they were made to hold him down //Wintergreen, you always did plan best// they would keep Harper in check once the serum had finished remaking him.
*~*~*~*
Dinah groaned softly as she came to, a blinding headache the only real indication of her experience. She sat up, finding herself on the bed in her room, wearing a dress she knew she did not remember as being in her closet. She shivered just a bit, knowing he was responsible for her clothes, yet again. She wondered if it was some perverse payback for her field stripping him on the Dino Island.
Slowly, as she removed the dress and ran a shower, she started recalling the events of the night, right up to him bringing her home and telling her to sleep. Slade had protected her, had even physically intimidated Count Vertigo into not staring at her like she was the next entrée on the menu. That was food for thought as she went to wrap the plastic bag around her broken arm. She stopped short, seeing the cast Slade had just put on there was gone, and the arm, though paler and starting to be less defined, looked as whole as her other one. She had to fight through the various images swimming in her brain to find the point where the Crime Doctor had used her to test some technology that had fallen into his hands. Her mind recognized it as Thanagarian, even as her recollection showed her Slade hovering menacingly as the Crime Doctor used the bonesetter to fix the double break in her arm.
This recollection pushed her to filter through the images more, to try and sort them all out. She went over the events of the night, taking pleasure in knowing that Slade had secured an ally to keep the Society on a tether, in the form of Black Adam. She had read the JSA reports on his attempts to reform, and could almost understand his position on what he had done for Kahndaq. She did not approve the methods, but she understood the motive.
As she scrubbed her skin almost violently, trying to erase the psychic stink of being around so many villains, she flashed over the conversation with Luthor. The bath sponge fell from her hand with a sudden flash of inspiration as she replayed it in her head, rewound through trying to watch him for much of the rest of the night. Even under Slade's drug, her subconscious had seen something, and now she had to follow up on it. She just…did not think she could handle going back to Slade, not after taunting him with his dead son, and then seeing how vigilantly he had shielded her from his allies. Like it or not, and knowing good and damn well Dick knew by now what she had done, the young man was her only choice.
She slid out of the shower, pulling a towel over her skin briskly, then brushing her hair out and leaving it to dry naturally. She drew her towel around her to go find something to put on, searching all the drawers until she came up with a pair of drawstring shorts //his again... bastard must be getting a laugh out of knowing I have to wear his clothes to be comfortable// and a large sweatshirt. She did not look threatening, she decided, looking in the mirror, ad she did not look like she was trying to get over on anyone, either. All she had to do was make Dick see they had a problem, and maybe he would let her live in one piece.
Dick was well towards exhausted at this point, pushing himself to stay awake until it was time to sleep again, despite the recent lack. He'd just sent Rose off to shower, and was starting to wonder where Roy'd gotten off to. He'd seen him in the doorway a while ago...
He glanced up to see Dinah in casual work out attire, just clearing the doorjamb. "Grayson, I need to talk to you." She kept her voice level, using her most professional tone.
His lips set thin, sharp retort springing instantly to mind, but he tempered it. He knew the sound of Oracle's operative when she spoke. He cut off every thought of Babs, and made an attempt at keeping his anger with her in check. "Lance, what can you possibly think we need to talk about?"
"You... employer's allies." Her eyes were troubled. "Tell me, have you actually been around Luthor since coming to work for Slade?" She said the man's first name easily, without any trace of her usual annoyance, without the inflections she usually said his last name in. "Been around him at all?"
"No. I haven't been near the Society. Why?" She sighed in aggravation as she tried to find the words to explain what, to her, was strictly a gut feeling.
"I hoped you had. I know you have encountered him more recently than me, and that you have seen him when out of costume." She sat down on one of the small chairs, backwards, and crossed her arms over its back. "Slade took me to Kahndaq today."
Now that had Dick's attention. "Why take you? And how?" That didn't make sense. He finally processed the lack of a cast on her arm and realized Slade must have had her healed... how in God's name had he gotten them both back out of that nest of vipers safely? "More importantly, what's bothering you about Luthor?"
"He dismissed me, immediately. As if I was nobody. He did not know that the contract against…" She had to swallow hard; Jenny had been like a cousin. "That taking the Oustiders down would hit the rest of us…the rest of the heroes so hard."
"That's not Luthor." The flat statement came hard on the heels of her words, and if he felt anything about her change of phrase, it didn't show on his face. "He knows better than to dismiss your presence... Are you certain he didn't realize? Or is it that he did not care?"
Dinah concentrated, her eyes closing as she realized the imagery was sharper, likely from whatever drug Slade had given her. "He said, 'Did you know, when you took that contract, what it would do to the other teams?' to Slade." She bit her lip for a moment. "He was not...right. Not from my limited knowledge of him."
There was a long, long pause before he answered her. "Let's sit, Lance. That's not like Luthor. He knows too much to make that kind of a mistake--and would never admit it..."
"Luthor's been controlled before," Dinah said. "I've seen files. But he seemed very much his own man." She shuddered, then eased her back by leaning against the chair more. "Talia was on his arm. Is it possible the witch has somehow influenced him? She was running his company? And she has reason to dismiss me. But no, she'd know the connections from Outsiders to the others. She's got Br--she had the Bat Computer files as of a few years ago."
"...She could be, I suppose, but you're right. She would have known, as well... There's something very, very strange here."
"Get Slade to let you be near Luthor," Dinah pressed. "You've had far more dealings with him than I have. You'll be able to tell if I'm onto something or being paranoid."
He nodded once. "I'll work on it--I'd rather be safe than sorry--Hope and Mercy, Canary. Were Hope and Mercy there?" He'd come up against those two too damned many times to ever disregard them.
She closed her eyes again, remembering every trick her father had ever taught her for remembering a scene without having truly looked at it. "No, nowhere in my sight, all night long."
"...Now I know there's something wrong here. They're fanatical about his safety, what it would take to make them leave him..."
"In the middle of that den of thieves, at that." She shivered as she met his gaze. "I think Slade's been played. That man...he's not Luthor, or not Luthor in his right mind. Either way, any contract Slade has with him..."
He nodded once, sharply, hearing what she wasn't saying. He thought about that, wondering how and why this would have happened, and realization dawned. "Slade's never spent that much time around Luthor--our dear ex -President wouldn't want the association leaking out... I'll talk to him. If you're right--and your reasoning seems sound--we've got a problem. Luthor's bad enough, someone with the balls to impersonate him, and less knowledge of the tensions?" He looked almost sickened, and very, very worried.
She nodded. "Someone like that, manipulating villains and heroes alike, Grayson." She hugged herself tight. "We... my team, we screwed up in the worst way. But for someone to take that and use it, to get the world's worst cases together... what’s been promised? What goal is he looking at? There are pieces missing, pieces Slade might have, but he needs these pieces too…the knowledge you and I have."
"When you're right, you're right," he agreed. "That's the real question. Luthor I could believe was doing this for protection. Now? What are we missing?"
"I can't see protection, not after the man squandered his hold on the presidency to try and settle one stupid, obsessive score with Superman," she told him. "The Luthor who fought the League to a standstill on several occasions never considered that he could be hurt. By anything."
"Phrased that one badly." Dick said, shaking his head in negation. "Not protection for himself, but to create a detente between the heroes and villains, with him pulling the strings."
She winced. "You think more clearly than me...too used to letting..." She cut herself off, kept from mentioning Oracle's guidance. "Where is the profit? This detente is making life a tight squeeze for everyone, and the world of civilians is useless if half those psychotics come out on top. Luthor would not want to rule and empty world."
"I've never been sure of that," he replied to her last, then nodded. "That's always the question, isn't it? 'Who profits?' First maxim of detective work--and we've all missed it."
Her blue eyes matched his. "Gr..Dick... I want to see a world where things are right again. And right now, no one is going to profit, because I can only see this coming to a very large, nasty blowout."
He nodded, not reacting to the use of his name. They'd been friends, once, and she was under a great deal of stress. "I hear you, Dinah. I hear you."
She stood slowly, her eyes very calmly flicking over the camera. She had aired her thoughts, knowing Slade would weigh them, but also gotten another great mind working on them. "Thank you for listening."
He shrugged a shoulder, accepting and dismissing the thanks. He wasn't, actually, stupid enough to disregard her concerns simply because he was angry. She repressed her sigh; she knew he would never forgive her, never be able to look at her without that undercurrent of anger. Still, they both knew how to work with people they hated; Guy had taught her that skill years ago. She left him alone, going to the kitchen to see if Slade kept ice cream in his house, in need of comfort food.
Here's the newest part.
Title: The Face Value of Decisions
Characters: the Wilson clan, various guests
Rating: R
Warnings: Nah.
Disclaimer: I wish these guys were mine, they'd be treated better than DC does. But they're not, DC still owns them.
Summary: Two drastically different missions cause two equally radical changes in the dynamic of Deathstroke's little clan.
Notes:
merfilly wrote Dinah and Slade and most people interacting with them. I wrote Dick and Roy, as seems to be the standard. A hard, heavy rap at the door snapped Dick into consciousness and he called out, "Yes?" even as he started to roll away from Roy and onto his feet. God, he was tired. He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep after that bitch's revelations, after the news that--he cut off the thoughts, cut off the surging anger as Slade's hard-edged voice came through the door. "Up and moving, Kid. You two have a flight in three hours and Harper needs to pack his kit."
//Flight? Contract--Information on the way? Not much time to plan (Slade's got that-)--don't care I'd rather do it myself. And what's this about Roy?!// Curiosity to realization to uncertainty to exasperation and then frustrated fear in the space between getting his upper body vertical and his feet hitting the floor lightly, "All right. I'm moving," he called back, scraping his hand hard over his face. "Meet you in the kitchen in twenty?" Thank god for the healing the serum provided, or everything he had would be screaming with pain.
"Make it the office in forty." He didn't hear Slade leave, but that had been a conversation-ending tone, and he turned to look back at Roy--who was stretching and trying to blink sleep out of his eyes. "Nngh. What is it, four am?"
"About 6, actually."
"Too damn early, flyboy. He's a sadist."
A variety of retorts flickered through his mind, but he settled for the only important one. "Why does Slade think he's sending both of us? I never--"
"Because he is, Dick. I'm not going to let him get you killed. I've got your back." Only because Dick knew Roy could he see the unhappiness the determination didn't quite cover.
"Roy... I don't... You don't need to do this..." //This isn't what I wanted, I just wanted you safe you're better than this you're better--// all flashed through his head, possibly through his eyes, "I didn't--I don't--"
Roy sat up, tilting his head, morning sunlight winking off rings and rivets at his throat. "Y' don't what, Dick?"
"I don't want you in this--I didn't--" he found himself silenced as Roy kissed him, long and gentle, a slow smile on his lips when he finally pulled away.
"I didn't think you did, Dick--this isn't between me and you, it's between me and Slade, and I'm not going to back out. I'm not leaving you alone."
"Roy..."
"No, Dick. I love you, I've got your back--besides, it's not like it'll be the first time I've killed for a paycheck." Deliberate carelessness in those words.
"That's not--" //Goddamn it, that was government work and it nearly killed you, yes I want you with me but not-like-this... You're not the murderer here, my own...// Part of him was rejoicing at the idea of having backup again, at the thought of Roy at his back where he belonged--but most of him was desperate to keep his own, his beloved, far, far out of the blood-money world he'd thrown himself into. He opened his mouth again, and Roy frowned at him.
"Dick. Come on. Don't make me argue with you about this--I gave my word to Slade that I'd have your back."
That... ended that argument. But damn it, he and Slade were going to have words about this. Slade knew he wanted Roy safe! He knew! Frowning, he slipped Roy's collar off again, and left it lay on the nightstand as he kissed him, then slid out of the bed to go clean up quickly and dress, Roy right behind him.
Breakfast was almost tasteless in his mouth, and he was hard-pressed to trade the usual quips with Rose--thankfully Canary was nowhere around. Apparently she had at least something of a self-preservation instinct, he noted acidly, finishing up his food and waiting for Roy.
The redhead downed the last bites of his toast and stuck his plate in the sink, then they headed for Lian's room. Dick stayed outside while Roy said goodbye to her, listening to their low voices--then Lian padded out the door in her pajamas to demand a hug, which he was only too glad to give.
"Be careful," she told him, little-girl voice stern, and he nodded. "Yes, Lian. We'll be careful."
"Good," she hugged him tight, then squirmed and he put her down, letting her go back to bed.
Roy rejoined him and they headed for Slade's office--and if his lover was conflicted, Dick couldn't see it. The door was standing open, and Slade called them in, standing at the desk, maps spread across it. Dick glared at his back, lips set unhappily, and Slade seemed to completely ignore it as Roy crossed to stand across the desk from him and he took a spot between the two men. //Okay, pack it in, Grayson. Mission now, deal with this later,// he told himself, and looked down at the maps, trying to recognize the--
"Colombia? Bogotá area?" Roy'd recognized the landscape faster than he had... but then, that was no surprise. He'd always been focused on the US unless there was something specific going on, Roy'd spent a few years abroad--and Colombia only meant one thing.
"Good, Harper. One Hector Rodriguez has become enough of problem to some of his former business associates that they've chosen to contract his death. He's been sending back vital parts of their own personnel, which is why they hired me--us, I suppose."
"Drug dealer, huh? Oh, this should be fun..." Roy's voice implied anything but, and Dick happened to agree. Gods knew they'd busted enough of them over the years, and the encounters were never fun. Slade's soft snort seemed to say he agreed.
"Have a look, both of you. This is everything they could give me. Compound layout, what security they know he has--"
Dick rolled his eyes, "None of which is still going to be in effect if this guy has a brain--and apparently he does--but the maps ought to help. Precision strike, I assume?" More like he prayed. He could handle this--drug dealers were the scum of the earth anyway, and if it was a precision hit he could keep the blood off Roy's hands.
Slade nodded. "They're not interested in the death of possibly useful personnel, just Rodriguez."
Dick kept the relief off his face, out of his eyes, and just nodded. Roy leaned over the maps, tracing topo lines with his fingertip, head tilted. "Insertion?"
"Private plane to our employer's air strip here," and his hand tapped the map, several miles distant. "He's promised a truck, which you'll need to get through the terrain."
"Damned jungle," Roy muttered, and Dick nodded his agreement, leaning in to study the lay of the land. "I'm going to want to hike at least those last two miles, just in case."
Two quick nods, and they started laying out the basic plan. He'd always known Roy was good... but he could tell from tiny shifts in Slade's body that even he approved as they talked it out. Of course, they'd be lucky if the plan lasted five minutes past the first shot, but--that was life. They'd work around it. They always did.
"I'll pack up the maps, you take Harper down to the armory and kit yourselves out, Kid, we're starting to run low on time. There's a suit down there that ought to fit."
Dick had wondered why Roy's suit had disappeared, now he knew. "All right." He turned and headed down, feeling Roy's presence at his back seconds later, and he looked over his shoulder. "Thoughts?"
"It's a good plan--which means something is going to go wrong early... and hey, it's one less damned drug dealer. Suits me."
//No it doesn't, it can't... that's not my Roy--(no, this is what you've done to him),// part of his mind pointed out, and he did his best to ignore that thought, tapping out the code to let himself in... and stopped in the doorway, staring at the table. He'd wondered when this day was going to come, when Slade would stop allowing him the freedom of his lover's black and red and demand that he make his allegiance as plain in this as it was in his mind--his black and red was nowhere along the wall, and two piles of blue and orange lay in front of them.
He walked forward, nothing a pair of hilts beside one pile--that made that one his. He stopped there, hand running over the suit, finding the same feel as ever, and he picked up various pieces, checking to see that everything had gotten moved properly. It was like going back in time to see his suit this brightly colored, and he shook his head, almost laughing--then turned to study his lover, worried.
Roy was studying the other suit as though it might bite him, shoulders and head pulled back. He sighed softly, and reached to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Subtle, he's not, sometimes." Much as he owed Slade (and loved him), he could admit to his faults. And a slight tendency towards... displays... was much in his character.
"...I never would have guessed, Dick." Roy retorted, hand finally going out to lay over the suit, tapping it lightly. Dick studied it too, seeing the striking similarity to his last costume, and the differences, orange mainly in the accents and extras, not replacing the red--for which he was grateful. They'd both worn some truly garish costumes over the years, but putting that much orange on his carrot-top lover would have just been wrong. He squeezed his shoulder, "Roy, I--"
"Leave it, Dick. I'd rather wear his colors doing this than mine," Roy replied, shaking his head as he picked up the top of the new suit. "Just changing in here?"
"Yeah." If Roy was so determined to do this, he'd damned well stop arguing--he didn't actually want to push his own into enough of a corner that he wound up doing this hit solo. He went back to his suit, stripping out of casual clothes and into gear that caressed his skin like a familiar lover, feel and fit the very same, boots and gloves already loaded--the orange wrapped around his fingers, up his arms and over his chest was disconcerting as he moved, but tolerable. Empty back-sheaths called his attention back to the table, and he studied the objects laying there. Slightly longer than his sticks and single-edged, barely curved lengths of razor-edged steel waited for his touch, and he felt the perfection of the balance the moment his hands wrapped around them.
//Couldn't have me not using a blade, Slade?// He snorted at the unintentional rhyme and walked the blades over his hands, testing, then settled them into the sheathes where they belonged. He smoothed the mask up over his eyes, and turned to watch Roy finish, seeing the changes Slade had made, the extra spaces for weapons and ammunition... It was hard not to approve of the functionality, and Roy even looked... contented by it. "Not bad. Not half bad," he said, voice low.
"Y'look pretty damned good," Dick replied--wasn't it the only thing to say?
Roy's eyes finally scanned the rest of the room, rack after rack of ordnance... he whistled, low and harsh; and honestly, Dick agreed. There was enough damned hardware in here to finish a medium-scale war--and all of it was impeccably organized. He picked up a duffle from under the table and moved through the racks, picking out things he needed to restock, and taking a few more... surprises. Some went into spare spaces in his boots, others went into the duffle, and he listened to the sounds of Roy doing much the same. There were things he didn't normally carry that he was going to need for this. Finished, he went to join Roy--just in time to see him pull his hand back from a compact crossbow with a physical wince--and he wrapped around his back, holding him close, butt of a Sig Sauer digging into his hip even through the suit.
Roy turned in his arms, shaking his head. "I'm okay, Dick. I promise. Let me just finish packing."
He nodded and let go, trailing his lover through another couple of racks, watching him finish putting everything together.
*~*~*~*
Slade entered the armory to deliver the maps, and paused at the doorway. He could see the young men, but neither had noted him yet. He viewed the way the costumes flowed over their skin, the perfect fit of his own colors on two of the best young heroes of the maturing generation. There was a substantial feeling of pride in that, mixed with the slight pain of knowing it could have been Grant, possibly Joey. Those final thoughts pushed him fully into mission mode. Those colors also meant his reputation on the line, and they had damn well better not wreck that.
"Boys," he called, and both heads turned instantly, blank white mask-eyes lifting to his, Renegade's head tilting curiously. "Maps. Who's carrying?"
"I've got more space, I think," Renegade volunteered, and he tossed the watertight case to him, watching the quick snap of his wrist to catch it.
Arsenal shrugged, resettling a Winchester Sharpshooter over his shoulder. A long, sharp look told him the kid hadn't picked up a single weapon that tied into his own heritage--he approved at this point, though the boy was going to need to lose that phobia before things progressed much further.
"The usual airport, Kid, hangar 4. Get moving."
"We're ready," his boy nodded and crossed the room to press against him a moment. "We won't disappoint you."
Slade gripped him by the back of the head, nodding. "Do it right, and you won't."
Flash of that cold, precise smile and Renegade nodded slightly--against that grip, that was all he could do, and Slade let go as Arsenal walked over. He finally truly deserved the name, Slade decided as he merely matched gazes with Arsenal. His eye said it all //watch over him//.
The set of the redhead's jaw and shoulders changed, the look saying, //Did you think I'd change my mind now?// Slade watched his boy notice the exchange and tense, unhappiness in the set of his shoulders, //Oh, you don't like this?// That was a wrinkle he hadn't counted on, and would have to be addressed promptly. Renegade checked everything one last time, then nodded again, starting to grin.
"We'll see you when we get home. Don't wait up," teasing laughter lit Dick's playful voice before he slipped past him to head out into the hall. Arsenal followed him without another word, and Slade turned to watch them go.
*~*~*~*
Dick was keeping Roy's attention focused on himself as they moved through the rest of the house, but he couldn't help the instinctive habit of checking every room with an open door, which meant that he saw her and Rose in the living room, apparently working on one of Rose's lessons, given the array of books. He saw her blue eyes widen she took in both of them in Slade's colors, then her face blatantly displayed the pain of losing her brother/son/friend all over again, seeing his full combat regalia. She turned her head away quickly, obviously afraid of letting Roy see her face, and Dick lengthened his stride to get Roy past the door without ever seeing her.
For the first time since the revelation, the very thought of her didn't send him into rage so strong he wanted to hurt something--possibly because he was floored by the realization that he happened to agree with her. How damned disturbing. He shook that off, aided by the fact that some parts of him were entirely pleased with the reminder that Roy'd chosen him--so obviously chosen him. He picked up a set of keys on the way into the garage and popped the trunk open to settle their gear, his blades, and the long gun inside, then slid behind the wheel and headed for the airport, flicking on the radio simply for the amusement of starting a debate about which station to listen to, tinted windows blocking the sight of them. The airport wasn't far.
*~*~*~*
Dinah's skin crawled as she heard the door close. She had to focus to make herself listen to Rose's question about how the rise of vigilantism had actually led to an increase in violent crimes. All her mind could grasp was that her Roy... the man she had watched a scared, hurting boy grow into... was leaving the house in full kit, with Deathstroke's colors splashed boldly over him and not one of his own weapons in sight.
"Rose, I know it's class time, but I'm not feeling well," Dinah said, and she was not lying. Her stomach was turning and threatening full rebellion. //He was laughing, wrapped up in Dick, and he was not hesitating.// "Maybe later, I can look over your work."
Rose nodded, lips going narrow. She had spent the night with Dinah, holding the older woman as the vigilante cried and then went stone silent, lost in whatever had happened between her and Roy. Rose had not been able to pry the cause out of her, and it disturbed the teen. She knew the data her father kept on each and every hero, and nothing in his files had suggested such a breakdown was possible.
"I'll finish up, Dinah, and then go make sure Lian is handling her lessons," Rose offered. Dinah flashed her a look of gratitude, as well as one that almost looked like pride. Rose could not help but sit taller, as Dinah silently admired her newfound responsibility to the younger girl.
"Thank you." The blonde rose and made her way back to the bedroom. She had learned it was no longer kept locked at night, and Rose had encouraged her to go outside with her that morning. Still, the room was the only space Dinah saw as hers, even if it was with a feeling akin to being in a cage.
She had just turned into the hall where her room was when Slade stepped into the hall as well, from a room further down. She had not explored the manor much, so she had no idea what was in that room. She just ducked her head to avoid eye contact, and hoped he left her alone. She did not have the energy to fight with him.
"Dinah," he called. "Join me." The voice was neutral, no undercurrents. It still was not the professional bantering tone he had used on their previous encounters, before the world went to hell, but it was not full of that hatred she had discerned since he displayed knowledge of her shame.
"Alright, Wilson." She pulled at the edges of her resolve to get through this, for Lian at least, now that she had lost Roy so completely. She walked down the hall to the man, and tried not to react when he physically turned her to go into the room he had just left. She glanced around, shuddering, as it was a fully equipped infirmary.
"I have an engagement tonight," he began. "And you will assist me in it," he added, watching her closely. She glanced up sharply at him, her eyes flashing with a hint of defiance. It only lasted long enough for her to make eye contact; then the shame and the feeling of being adrift with no anchor clouded her face, and she looked away.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" she asked him, resigned to her fate. It seemed fitting; having failed to stop such an evil thing from happening, that she should wind up a tool to someone so villainous.
//" but I could see in his eyes that he's planning something..."// Roy's words echoed persistently in her ears, reminding her that Slade only played one game; his own, and his involvement with the Society still did not make perfect sense.
"There are always choices." Slade's voice was harsh; there was that anger, the contempt for what the League had done.
"I won't leave Lian to the fate you would give her," Dinah snapped, her old anger rising to the surface. He merely smirked knowingly, a fitting mask for the fact he was pleased to see her still willing to fight.
"Let me see your arm." He held his hand out, indicating she should lie down on the table, so he could inspect it. Dinah stared at the table a long moment before shrugging and climbing onto it. He busied himself silently with cutting off the bulkier cast, inspecting the arm, and then putting a much lighter, but inflexible cast over it. "You need to exercise the hand more," he told her. "Not even a week, and the bruising is almost gone." He turned her face to one side, then the other. "You heal quickly."
"Kind of have to in my business," she said, her tone low and guarded. He turned away, to put his kit away.
"I'm going to Kahndaq today. Business. You are going with me, and you will have to be drugged, under a hypnotic." He found the exact drug he had in mind. "It will bury your conscious will, but leave your mind open to everything you hear and see. I'll get your impressions after it wears off."
"Why?" Her tone was flat with distaste for the plan. "And how susceptible does it make me to suggestion?"
"I'll set the guards, to make you answer only to me. And this way, I can cover a few angles, showing the Society how far I am willing to go." He came back to her side, the drug and a syringe in hand. "And, as you said, I don't want a world crushed in their fist." He took satisfaction in her flinching from his paraphrase. "You have information, impressions that I could utilize. I will take you with me, as a mind-burned trophy, and they will see you exactly that way. None of the telepaths should be there, and this drug could beat most of them."
"Wilson?" Dinah's eyes were troubled as he prepped the syringe. "Tell me one thing. Was it necessary to send my Roy out like that?" Her sudden shift of the subject betrayed both her nervousness and her resignation to doing as he commanded.
Slade studied her a moment, then responded with both questions and answers, in an attempt to learn what exactly she wanted to know. "In my colors? Yes. His equipment? ...Was his choice."
She winced at that, turning her face away rather than let him see the pain in her eyes. "He's going to kill again. Just like his father..." Her voice was soft, a regretful whisper. //So much blood and it's our fault.//
"You say that as though death's the worst thing that could happen to someone, Dinah... and we both know better than that... Or at least, I thought you did, once." His tone snapped her head around, showing him the tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, refusing to be shed.
"Is it so much, Wilson, to want better for our children than what we've done or seen? I can't for the life of me see you as having wished blood to ever have crossed your younger son's hands, from all I ever heard of him!" she shot back.
His entire body tensed, hand tightening... but he stopped himself, reminding himself he didn't want her bruised tonight, and that this was a parent fighting for her child. "I didn't," his voice dark and cold as arctic night. "With the world you've helped create, Lance, I don't think 'better' is an option." She noted the change to her family name, and it seemed to have an honest effect as she reached out, touching his hand.
"Sorry...Wil... Slade. That was low, even from me." She kept her voice soft, more human. "I shouldn't have mentioned Joseph."
He let her hand connect, almost despite himself, single eye utterly cold. "No. You shouldn't have."
She let her hand fall, even as she looked down. "I can't say I won't let my mouth get the better of me in the future, but I'll try to be more decent than that." She clenched a fist, holding up her arm. She would not ask him for his word, to make sure he was going to protect her, not after what she had just done. She would just have to blindly trust than when the drug wore off, she would still be herself, and under his roof.
Slade studied her, saw all that bravado for the show it was, and his hand was almost gentle as he started to slip the syringe into her arm, holding her in place with his other hand... and if something in his touch was possessive... there was reason. Despite all that had happened, despite her long silence, she was his responsibility now, had been since he chose her to be mother to his two girls, and he would not allow harm to come to her. It would upset too many of his new family, even Rose, who honestly liked the blonde as a teacher.
Dinah felt the burn in her vein, tried to fight it on a level that she could not control. Since she had beaten Savant, she had not felt helpless. Even here in Slade's household, she knew she had a choice, even if it meant dying. Now, though, knowing on a gut level that a man, even one with a code as strict as Bruce's, was going to have complete control over her, she felt fear. It was a cold thought and made the drug burn that much hotter in her vein, as she closed her eyes, swaying slightly. She was already fogging out when his hand slipped to the back of her head, drawing her forward to rest against his chest. His low voice penetrated the fog covering her mind, planting deep hypnotic suggestions, setting her up as the perfect living recorder while protecting her from seeming like a threat to the allies he wanted to learn more about.
*~*~*~*~*
Roy settled back against the plush leather seats, trying to ignore the little, panicking voice that hadn't shut up since he'd picked up the armor he now wore, the one that was screaming about things they didn't do, and Dinah, and the line he was about to cross again. He'd decided already, there was no point in freaking out about it. Lian was perfectly safe--at least for now; Ollie--he couldn't think about the man that had raised him without remembering Dinah's broken voice--could handle himself; the Titans by this point would be a force to reckon with, safe together; and if he left Dick alone like this, no matter what happened he'd never forgive himself. Slade didn't have the best record with his kids, and he couldn't lose the man that had held his heart for most of the last decade. There was still too much of Robbie in Dick to abandon him, too much of that laughing confidence coming back into his eyes and voice as the days ran on--he wasn't letting go. Not that there was any chance he could get out of Slade's home unnoticed anyway, and the threat that Slade would make Dick kill him for the betrayal still made his blood run cold. Slade was cold enough to follow through, and what that would do to Dick... No. Not ever, and if that meant getting more blood on his hands--at least it was just some Colombian coke dealer, someone more than worth the bullet.
He deliberately didn't look around--he didn't really want to know where Slade had secreted them, just in case he got to close to a telepath--and managed to win the radio argument, talking to Dick idly as he drove until they turned into the airport and pulled into the hangar. //Cesna, not enough fuel capacity to make the whole trip, we're going to have to stop. Where? Not my problem,// he reminded himself, shrugging it off.
Dick parked the car in a corner of the hangar and they slid out and went for their gear, then walked to the jet, stairs already in place. They were met by the pilot, shown into the back with very few words exchanged, and then they were in motion and in the air.
As soon as they leveled out, Dick was up and moving, prowling the area like a cat. A very angry cat, Roy amended his thought, and got up to step into Dick's path. "Flyboy. Come on, stop this."
"Damnit, Roy, I wanted you safe."
"Telling me I'm not safe at your side?" Roy tilted his head, one brow arching behind the unfamiliar mask he wore, abandoning logic to slug his lover in the emotional guts. He didn’t feel like spending the next however-many hours in an another fight with him.
"That's not what I meant!" He could practically feel the heat of Dick's glare through the lenses, "It just... I chose this, you didn't get t--"
"I asked Slade for this, Dick. My choice, just like yours--"
"Why?" So much confusion in that one word, none of which made any sense.
"I told you why. I. am not. going. to lose you, and I don't want you pulling this alone. Too damned many things could go wrong." //Did you forget how to listen at some point, Dick? I'd swear I said that earlier... You protected me, Dick, and I know what Slade made you pay for it... My turn to have your back.//
He could see Dick's eyes widen behind the mask, watched him start to say something and stop again, and waited him out. Finally, "Roy, I--all right. I'll calm down, if this was your idea."
"It was," Roy replied, not wanting to get into the details, and the answer was true enough.
That finally made Dick sit back down, and Roy dropped along with him, leaning for the array of maps. They might as well make good use of this damned long flight.
*~*~*~*
Black Adam had been surprised when Deathstroke indicated he was coming early, and that he had a guest. He activated the transporters, and raised one eyebrow at the man as he appeared. He recognized the 'guest' instantly, but also saw that she was not in her right mind, from the way she held onto Slade's arm. Slade had taken the time to dress Dinah in a formal dress, making her seem very much the drape he needed her to look like.
"Consorting with the enemy, Slade?" he asked.
"Merely a trophy, from my hunt to deflect the Oracle," Slade said smoothly. "She's mindless now, an unfortunate side effect of the treatments I used to gain what information I could. Apparently their telepath had instilled certain protocols in her mind."
"A shame. But still, she represents a deep psychological blow." Black Adam nodded. "It must be why I've heard no rumor yet. They know she is one of the few who links into almost every team the so-called heroes have." He quirked one eyebrow at her as she stumbled slightly stepping down with Slade, noting that the man helped her find her balance. "Do you wish to leave her here? I know you will have assumed responsibility over her, but my lands are secure."
"Thank you, but no... I have uses for her." His tone was dark, and Black Adam had to look askance at his guest.
"Enlighten me, friend."
"I did learn the truth of our 'friend' Light's encounter with the League." Deathstroke's voice slid around the words with both contempt and menace. "I think you should hear the tale I took from her."
Black Adam glanced around, and nodded, leading Deathstroke to his office. When the door shut, Slade took a chair, while Dinah stood at his shoulder, resting her hands on it. Black Adam noted the slim cast, noted the completely vapid gaze that turned his way and shivered. The idea that he League could do that to protect their secrets chilled even him.
"Light was on that satellite, and events did transpire as he remembered," Slade began, abruptly. "But you and I have certain guidelines on who the rightful opponents are." He clenched a fist, remembering the sheer rage he had felt, to know what he had protected. "He was there, alone with Sue Dibny. That is why they came hunting Light in face of her death."
Black Adam frowned slowly. "He... was alone, with the woman recently murdered?"
"From what Canary admitted, it was his brutal rape of her that drove the League to take their actions." He raised a hand to forestall the inevitable dialogue of that not making it right. "I still say the League can rot in hell. Specifically, their witch and Hawkman, from what I learned. The Atom and the former Flash both had a hand in pushing it that far, as well."
"The one who died?" Black Adam clarified. "That fits with what we know." His visage was stormy. "I do not like protecting rapists. I despise working with that psychotic little midget, and now to learn our opening gambit was made to protect a cowardly rapist."
Slade leaned forward, causing Dinah's hands to move to her sides. "I do not like it either. And it makes me wonder if Luthor knows..." He sat back, and let Dinah rest her hand back on his shoulder.
"We should find out exactly who knew, and deal with them, to let it be known we do not tolerate such... filth." Black Adam was quite disgusted.
"Dear Teth, you think too straight-forwardly." Slade smiled at the man with a glint in his eye. Black Adam paused, and came to sit on the front of his desk.
"Do tell." The nigh-immortal man was more than willing to match plans with the mercenary whose code of honor and sense of ethics paralleled his in many ways.
*~*~*~*~*
The appearance of the Black Canary as Deathstroke's trophy and drape had an odd power over the assembled crowd of the Society's higher echelons. On one hand, it explained the sudden dispelling of the Birds of Prey from Metropolis, and the reported downtime of Oracle's communications. There were some who still believed Black Canary had been Oracle, based on her surrender to Blockbuster a few years before. There were far too many who watched with predatory interest; her years of being a hero had made her cross a lot of paths.
Slade mingled with the guests, pleased that his command to Dinah to always stay in touch was working. He had no doubt he would hear mouthfuls from her about the meetings, as Talia could not contain her gloating, and Calculator studied her like a living specimen for dissection. Luthor barely noted her.
"Did you know, when you took that contract, what it would do to the other teams?" he demanded of Slade, his demeanor radiating a barely contained anger.
"Yes." Deathstroke had known every single connection each life he executed held. "I supposed you did too, and ordered it for the chaos it would reap." Very neatly, he turned the blame back to Luthor. "Besides, I've given them a scapegoat for the matter. They hunt Cheshire now." He caught a small flicker of something in the man's eye, and it drove him to consider what game the man was playing with him.
"Next time, consider it part of the retainer fee to tell me of complications you foresee," Luthor growled, stalking off with Talia.
//Not on your life.// Deathstroke was not a lackey, even when paid, and Luthor needed to be reminded of that.
*~*~*~*
Roy swore mentally as once again Dick was in his way, blocking his shot--if it wasn't one of them, it was the other, it seemed. He'd screwed up one of Dick's attacks by being too far behind, they'd had a complete misread of each other that nearly let one of the house guards get to a comm. and now Dick was blocking him... The tide of anger probably wasn't making things any better, but...
...this just wasn't good. They were managing, somehow pulling it together enough to control the situation by desperate effort and improvised recoveries, but they were out of synch and misreading each other--and it was entirely his fault, he knew it was. He'd never been as fast as Dick, but Renegade was ten steps ahead of him now, not just a half-step--and he'd never managed to work well with Wally, for just that reason. He wasn't like Dinah in that, of all the lessons she'd taught him that wasn't one of them, and it showed. He just wasn't keeping up, couldn't managed the logical leaps that Renegade and Ravager seemed to thrive on... The worst part was, Dick had realized it, too, and was trying to slow down his lightning-fast mind--which was the last thing they needed. Dick ought to be exploiting the serum, milking it for all it was worth, not hobbling himself to let his partner try and keep up...
He made it to Renegade's side, scanning the corridor, running the blueprint through his head--and Dick moved before he was ready, leaving him to cover his back instead of work beside him... that stung, but he checked the clips of his guns and followed, guarding Dick as best he could with the synchronicity between them so utterly mauled.
*~*~*~*
/Fuck, this isn't working,// Renegade swore with his back against a wall, waiting with a lifted hand for the guard to finish his sweep and head back down. Long moments of not-breathing, then he moved, fast, getting inside their target's bedroom door, having to trust that Roy could make sure they stayed unnoticed.
It was a miracle every alarm in the place hadn't already gone off, with the way they kept screwing each other up--and the more he tried to compensate, the more he tried to slow his mind back to the pre-serum levels, the worse things got. They were off and it wasn't getting better, and he was too damned busy right now to figure out a fix, that was going to have to wait. //I don't know what to do, slowing down's just part of the problem, I almost think I'd be better off running solo...// He pulled a blade as he entered the room, disposable blank high-carbon steel, mass-produced throwing blade in every knife-shop on the planet. He checked the mental portrait of the target against the physical features of the man before him, and one hard throw embedded the blade hilt-deep between the sleeping man's ribs. He snapped a quick series of pictures with a hidden camera, then turned away.
The cartel might have preferred a messier, agonizing death, but he wasn't a torturer and couldn't stand the thought of becoming one--and Slade had laid no stipulations on the manner of his death, would not agree to that one... It was done. No sense in fighting their way back out of the house, not when the man had a balcony beyond sliding doors. He stuck his head back out the door, beckoning Roy in as he went to unlock the door, and he heard him behind him a few moments later. He finished bypassing the security on the door and pushed it open. He crossed the balcony swiftly and dropped to the ground, Roy hitting a few moments later, and they both broke for the dark safety of the treeline--still on the same wavelength about that, at least.
It was going to be a looong damned flight home, with Roy this upset--hell, with his own temper this triggered.
*~*~*~*
Roy'd pretended to sleep for most of the trip back--and had even slept some--curled against Dick's body despite the helpless anger he couldn't get under control. He was fairly certain Dick hadn't slept either, despite the exhaustion they were both feeling. He kept turning the events over in his mind, looking for the details of how each move had gone wrong... and the answer was the same, over and over again. He couldn't keep up with the way Dick was thinking anymore, the bond between them that had always allowed them to work so well off each other was frayed apart by that change... and Dick couldn't be the one to fix it. He'd paid too dearly for that enhancement to cripple himself now.
That only left one choice...
...but could he stand to make it?
//Look at what you've already done, Harper,// part of him said as he carefully settled the Winchester in the truck, duffle dropped beside it. //You know at least two people died from your shots tonight, on one of Deathstroke's contracts. You've already agreed to teach his equally sociopathic daughter the finer points of killing, and you helped him break Dinah... How exactly is this worse?//
//It's... not me. I'm pure human, always have been, and gods know my history with drugs... Not that this is the same thing--am I really considering this?!// He settled back against the leather, wincing against harsh morning light as Dick headed them home, arm thrown over his eyes... and the answer echoed through him.
//Yes.// He was. He wasn't leaving Dick--as if he could and live, now?--wasn't about to let Slade get him killed, and they had to be back in synch before they went out again, before the disconnect between them got one of them killed... He stared at the back of his arm, at the blue armor and the orange--and the certainty of what he was going to do slashed through him. //Hm... wonder what I can win from this devil's bargain,// he thought, and rode in quiet silence until Dick parked the car and slid out, moving with anger coiled low in his spine instead of the usual spring--Dick was rarely that obvious, this was riding him hard... And that was a dangerous thing--he'd seen what could happen when Renegade was riding fury too high. Lady Vic came to mind.
It was odd how much unpacking gear and stripping out of the suits felt like coming home to the Titans, something that could so easily become routine... He slid into the shower behind Dick like after so many missions, kissing along his throat, hands sliding over him until Dick snapped and pinned him to the wall, tongue deep in his mouth. He arched into every touch, whispering to Dick about love and need and hunger, answering Dick's desperate, possessive ferocity with everything he had to give, finally left bruised and aching in the best possible ways as they tried to beat the end of the heater's capacity out of the shower--and failed. Cold spray--god, how many times had that happened--broke some of the tension between them and he laughed as they dove out of the shower and dressed, happy to see his lover's eyes dancing. He kissed Dick goodbye as his lover headed up to report to Slade, and went to play with his daughter.
He put Lian down for a nap and sat there watching her, toying with a pen and a sheet of paper, trying to figure out what to say to the woman that had always been his hero. They... weren't talking--he wasn't ready to talk to her again, but he couldn't take this risk without telling her something... //How can you take this risk at all, Harper? Are you really going to risk leaving Lian all alone?//
That stopped him for a moment, then he shook his head. //It's no different a risk than I take every time I walk out the door on a mission. I could have died last night just as easily as this could make me insane. If something happens--if Slade even agrees to try it, he might say no--Dinah will get Lian out and take care of her. I know she will. Slade'll have to leave sometime.//
Finally he started writing, just letting the words come out of his hand. Finished, he tri-folded it and wrote her name across the back, hoping he'd told her enough to make her understand, and carried it up to his room to tuck into the case of the guitar. Dick wouldn't see it there, and Slade would know where it was.
He went by the gym long enough to see Dick fighting sleep to get Rose through some gymnastic sequence he wanted her to learn, and then went looking for Slade. That didn't take long, given that the man was in the hall between the kitchen and his office. "Slade."
"Yes, Harper?"
"I need to talk to you."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Privately?" He watched Slade's expression shift a moment, then the man nodded and went back towards the office. He followed, and shut the door behind them, then looked up at Slade, green eyes dark. "Did Dick tell you how much things went wrong, or did he gloss stuff over?"
The way that single blue eye narrowed and his lips set told Roy all he needed to know, and he sighed. "He glossed. And I just got him in trouble. Damn." He shook his head. "I thought he'd gotten over the 'can't admit I've got a problem until I've also got the solution'-thing..." Highly annoyed mutter. "Anyway. You need to know that... Things didn't go smoothly. We kept getting in each other's way--we never used to, but I can't keep up with him, he's just thinking too damned fast, too far ahead of me... By the time I knew what he was doing, he was expecting me to be at the next step. He started trying to slow down, handicapping himself, and that just put things in more jeopardy--not that we were ever in danger of screwing up the contract, it was just... we didn't work right. Not like we used to."
"And?" The voice was ice-cold; despite assurances of the contract not being in danger, that was his livelihood, his reputation at stake, and Roy knew it.
Roy winced at the ice in his voice, and it was a struggle to force the next words out. "And that means something's got to change. I dunno, maybe Dick and I could train ourselves back into synch, but I never did work well with Fleetfeet..." Sure, the serum hadn't made Dick a speedster, but it had jumped his brain into that kind of overdrive.
"Spit it out, Harper; at one point did this become my problem, when I can just make you stay here, or send you out on separate work?" The blue eye was narrow, lines of annoyance in his face.
"It's your problem because Dick doesn't handle solo work well... and there's a better option, if you think I can survive it." He couldn't believe he'd said it like that, but it was true...
The face smoothed, as Slade's mind made the jump to what Harper was not directly saying. He studied the redhead a long moment, then gave a sharp nod. "I've refined it, as best I can, and Dick did not truly have a problem. You're not that far from his level, just in different areas. Hell, Harper, you're verging meta already with that aim, but I think you might be rock solid enough to handle it."
Roy couldn't help a bitter laugh. "Rock solid? Me? Now, maybe... I've at least got the stubbornness is spades. All right." //Did Deathstroke really just compliment me? Is the sky falling?// He watched Slade, trickle of unease in his mind despite the man's confidence. He well remembered what had happened with Addie and Grant, remembered when Rose's eyes, plural, sparkled with gentle joy--but there had been mitigating factors there. Addie'd had the original, Grant had already been crazy, and Jericho--//god, Joey//--had overdosed Rose, deliberately making her insane. In contrast, Dick had come through it just fine. He simply had to trust that Slade would make equally certain that he received the right dose. //Slade won't screw up. Dick would never forgive him.//
"Harper, you've survived everything the bitch in green could throw your way; that takes some doing." Slade gave another sharp nod. "Got anything you need to do?"
Roy spent a moment wondering if Slade was insulting Jade or Ollie, but put it out of his mind. //See? I'll come out of this fine. I've got too damned much to live for to let anything beat me. Got to cover all the bases, though.// "Did it already. Slade... just in case. There's a letter in the guitar case, if I don't... Give it to Dinah?"
Slade frowned, and Roy wasn't sure why, but then he nodded briefly. "Sure thing, Harper." The big man moved, and Roy watched as he flicked a monitor on. //Oh. Something about Dinah,// he realized as he saw her stretched out on the bed, apparently asleep in a dress he didn't recognize and didn't think she ever would have picked. "Let's get it done, then." He headed for the door, and Roy trailed him. "If you don't, kid... I'll handle it."
Roy nodded. "Thanks. That's not going to happen, though." There really wasn't much else to be said. He followed, letting Slade lead the way down into the infirmary, and simply hopped up onto a table, toeing his shoes off, watching Slade.
The mercenary walked to a safe, opening it and pulling out a small vial. He returned, rolling it to warm it, and then got a syringe.
//Needles. Goddamned needles again, thought I was through shoving poison in my veins...// Roy thought, trying to keep the thought out of his eyes, sudden flash of apprehension about his choice... but his earlier reasoning came back strongly. //This isn't poison. It's not something I'm going to start craving or get addicted to. It's just an advantage. One-time only thing--and it's not going to drag me down, or turn me into that wasted thing Dinah pulled me away from. The only thing the smack and this have in common is the damned needle. Slade wanted me to step up... I think this counts.// He swallowed hard, then lay back, arm turned to offer it to Slade.
Slade paused, his eye locking on Roy's face. "One way street, kid, and I know it's not for everyone. You better be damn sure you're this willing to follow my boy."
Roy shut his eyes, then opened them and nodded. "I'm his, and this is what I've got to be to keep up with him. Do it, before I lose my nerve."
Slade took a moment to ready the syringe, then very professionally prepped Roy's arm. His eyebrow went up a moment at seeing the scarring there. However, he apparently chose not to mention anything, as he slid the needle into the vein.
Roy just looked back at him, keeping his expression very carefully blank to keep the shame and regret out of them... then liquid fire lanced up his arm, shot through him--and mercifully, sent him straight into black unconsciousness.
*~*~*~*
Slade slipped the needle out carefully and placed the kid's arm gently on the table, studying the old, faded track-marks with narrowed eyes. //Knew you'd had it rough, kid, but I missed this somehow...// The only answer was that it had happened even before he became involved with the Titan's lives, or he would have known. //If you could kick that habit, you'll come through this fine. It explains the issues you and Queen have with pushers, and that comment of yours about that job quite nicely.// That was one small mystery solved.
The mercenary knew Roy would probably prefer to wake up to Dick, but he did not want anything going wrong in that situation. He cleared the tools away into locked drawers, double checked that the room was clean from things to easily hurt people with, and got the restraints out. As they were made to hold him down //Wintergreen, you always did plan best// they would keep Harper in check once the serum had finished remaking him.
*~*~*~*
Dinah groaned softly as she came to, a blinding headache the only real indication of her experience. She sat up, finding herself on the bed in her room, wearing a dress she knew she did not remember as being in her closet. She shivered just a bit, knowing he was responsible for her clothes, yet again. She wondered if it was some perverse payback for her field stripping him on the Dino Island.
Slowly, as she removed the dress and ran a shower, she started recalling the events of the night, right up to him bringing her home and telling her to sleep. Slade had protected her, had even physically intimidated Count Vertigo into not staring at her like she was the next entrée on the menu. That was food for thought as she went to wrap the plastic bag around her broken arm. She stopped short, seeing the cast Slade had just put on there was gone, and the arm, though paler and starting to be less defined, looked as whole as her other one. She had to fight through the various images swimming in her brain to find the point where the Crime Doctor had used her to test some technology that had fallen into his hands. Her mind recognized it as Thanagarian, even as her recollection showed her Slade hovering menacingly as the Crime Doctor used the bonesetter to fix the double break in her arm.
This recollection pushed her to filter through the images more, to try and sort them all out. She went over the events of the night, taking pleasure in knowing that Slade had secured an ally to keep the Society on a tether, in the form of Black Adam. She had read the JSA reports on his attempts to reform, and could almost understand his position on what he had done for Kahndaq. She did not approve the methods, but she understood the motive.
As she scrubbed her skin almost violently, trying to erase the psychic stink of being around so many villains, she flashed over the conversation with Luthor. The bath sponge fell from her hand with a sudden flash of inspiration as she replayed it in her head, rewound through trying to watch him for much of the rest of the night. Even under Slade's drug, her subconscious had seen something, and now she had to follow up on it. She just…did not think she could handle going back to Slade, not after taunting him with his dead son, and then seeing how vigilantly he had shielded her from his allies. Like it or not, and knowing good and damn well Dick knew by now what she had done, the young man was her only choice.
She slid out of the shower, pulling a towel over her skin briskly, then brushing her hair out and leaving it to dry naturally. She drew her towel around her to go find something to put on, searching all the drawers until she came up with a pair of drawstring shorts //his again... bastard must be getting a laugh out of knowing I have to wear his clothes to be comfortable// and a large sweatshirt. She did not look threatening, she decided, looking in the mirror, ad she did not look like she was trying to get over on anyone, either. All she had to do was make Dick see they had a problem, and maybe he would let her live in one piece.
Dick was well towards exhausted at this point, pushing himself to stay awake until it was time to sleep again, despite the recent lack. He'd just sent Rose off to shower, and was starting to wonder where Roy'd gotten off to. He'd seen him in the doorway a while ago...
He glanced up to see Dinah in casual work out attire, just clearing the doorjamb. "Grayson, I need to talk to you." She kept her voice level, using her most professional tone.
His lips set thin, sharp retort springing instantly to mind, but he tempered it. He knew the sound of Oracle's operative when she spoke. He cut off every thought of Babs, and made an attempt at keeping his anger with her in check. "Lance, what can you possibly think we need to talk about?"
"You... employer's allies." Her eyes were troubled. "Tell me, have you actually been around Luthor since coming to work for Slade?" She said the man's first name easily, without any trace of her usual annoyance, without the inflections she usually said his last name in. "Been around him at all?"
"No. I haven't been near the Society. Why?" She sighed in aggravation as she tried to find the words to explain what, to her, was strictly a gut feeling.
"I hoped you had. I know you have encountered him more recently than me, and that you have seen him when out of costume." She sat down on one of the small chairs, backwards, and crossed her arms over its back. "Slade took me to Kahndaq today."
Now that had Dick's attention. "Why take you? And how?" That didn't make sense. He finally processed the lack of a cast on her arm and realized Slade must have had her healed... how in God's name had he gotten them both back out of that nest of vipers safely? "More importantly, what's bothering you about Luthor?"
"He dismissed me, immediately. As if I was nobody. He did not know that the contract against…" She had to swallow hard; Jenny had been like a cousin. "That taking the Oustiders down would hit the rest of us…the rest of the heroes so hard."
"That's not Luthor." The flat statement came hard on the heels of her words, and if he felt anything about her change of phrase, it didn't show on his face. "He knows better than to dismiss your presence... Are you certain he didn't realize? Or is it that he did not care?"
Dinah concentrated, her eyes closing as she realized the imagery was sharper, likely from whatever drug Slade had given her. "He said, 'Did you know, when you took that contract, what it would do to the other teams?' to Slade." She bit her lip for a moment. "He was not...right. Not from my limited knowledge of him."
There was a long, long pause before he answered her. "Let's sit, Lance. That's not like Luthor. He knows too much to make that kind of a mistake--and would never admit it..."
"Luthor's been controlled before," Dinah said. "I've seen files. But he seemed very much his own man." She shuddered, then eased her back by leaning against the chair more. "Talia was on his arm. Is it possible the witch has somehow influenced him? She was running his company? And she has reason to dismiss me. But no, she'd know the connections from Outsiders to the others. She's got Br--she had the Bat Computer files as of a few years ago."
"...She could be, I suppose, but you're right. She would have known, as well... There's something very, very strange here."
"Get Slade to let you be near Luthor," Dinah pressed. "You've had far more dealings with him than I have. You'll be able to tell if I'm onto something or being paranoid."
He nodded once. "I'll work on it--I'd rather be safe than sorry--Hope and Mercy, Canary. Were Hope and Mercy there?" He'd come up against those two too damned many times to ever disregard them.
She closed her eyes again, remembering every trick her father had ever taught her for remembering a scene without having truly looked at it. "No, nowhere in my sight, all night long."
"...Now I know there's something wrong here. They're fanatical about his safety, what it would take to make them leave him..."
"In the middle of that den of thieves, at that." She shivered as she met his gaze. "I think Slade's been played. That man...he's not Luthor, or not Luthor in his right mind. Either way, any contract Slade has with him..."
He nodded once, sharply, hearing what she wasn't saying. He thought about that, wondering how and why this would have happened, and realization dawned. "Slade's never spent that much time around Luthor--our dear ex -President wouldn't want the association leaking out... I'll talk to him. If you're right--and your reasoning seems sound--we've got a problem. Luthor's bad enough, someone with the balls to impersonate him, and less knowledge of the tensions?" He looked almost sickened, and very, very worried.
She nodded. "Someone like that, manipulating villains and heroes alike, Grayson." She hugged herself tight. "We... my team, we screwed up in the worst way. But for someone to take that and use it, to get the world's worst cases together... what’s been promised? What goal is he looking at? There are pieces missing, pieces Slade might have, but he needs these pieces too…the knowledge you and I have."
"When you're right, you're right," he agreed. "That's the real question. Luthor I could believe was doing this for protection. Now? What are we missing?"
"I can't see protection, not after the man squandered his hold on the presidency to try and settle one stupid, obsessive score with Superman," she told him. "The Luthor who fought the League to a standstill on several occasions never considered that he could be hurt. By anything."
"Phrased that one badly." Dick said, shaking his head in negation. "Not protection for himself, but to create a detente between the heroes and villains, with him pulling the strings."
She winced. "You think more clearly than me...too used to letting..." She cut herself off, kept from mentioning Oracle's guidance. "Where is the profit? This detente is making life a tight squeeze for everyone, and the world of civilians is useless if half those psychotics come out on top. Luthor would not want to rule and empty world."
"I've never been sure of that," he replied to her last, then nodded. "That's always the question, isn't it? 'Who profits?' First maxim of detective work--and we've all missed it."
Her blue eyes matched his. "Gr..Dick... I want to see a world where things are right again. And right now, no one is going to profit, because I can only see this coming to a very large, nasty blowout."
He nodded, not reacting to the use of his name. They'd been friends, once, and she was under a great deal of stress. "I hear you, Dinah. I hear you."
She stood slowly, her eyes very calmly flicking over the camera. She had aired her thoughts, knowing Slade would weigh them, but also gotten another great mind working on them. "Thank you for listening."
He shrugged a shoulder, accepting and dismissing the thanks. He wasn't, actually, stupid enough to disregard her concerns simply because he was angry. She repressed her sigh; she knew he would never forgive her, never be able to look at her without that undercurrent of anger. Still, they both knew how to work with people they hated; Guy had taught her that skill years ago. She left him alone, going to the kitchen to see if Slade kept ice cream in his house, in need of comfort food.
