Ta-Dah! Sard Borken.

You sighed and let your arms drop to your side, readjusting your footing from a shoulder wide stance to a regular standing position. You wiped your brow with the back of your hand.

“Where?”

You pointed to your ribcage on the left side.

It had been months since your temporary death, and you were still going through your healing journey. With most of your ribs broken, you had spend weeks in that bed, only being able to stand and move with a walker after your upper ribs and sternum had made significant progress mending back together. However, there had been a few ribs that proved to be trickier, healing all wrong to the point you had to have Bruce break them again to reset the process. Your second to last rib on the left had been the biggest thorn at your side—you did laugh at your own pun when you said it out loud to Alfred—requiring not one, or two reset, but three.

Even now that you had been cleared to begin gentle activities to recondition your body, it still followed you. You had been diligent in your pain management, making sure to flag to Bruce any discomfort during your remission. In fact, you barely had the time to even say anything, as he seemed to have developed a sixth sense to call you out before you could even think of doing it.

This new dynamic was strange to say the least, but you weren’t sure yet how you felt about it. On one hand, it felt somewhat overbearing at times, reminding you of the first years you spent training with him when he took you in. He insisted to personally supervise your progress, and to coach you through your return to the mats.

But at the same time, it felt like the dark cloud hovering about your heads had dissipated.

You had the talk with Bruce about what happened that night. It was new territory for the both of you, clumsily broached through pinched lines and stiff replies. It was uncomfortable, and tears were shed, but not as many as sincere apologies and promises to do better. Ripping this wound open was as painful as you thought it would be, but as much as you hated to give this to the therapists, you truly felt lighter afterwards, and you believed this would actually improve your relationship with your father in the long term.

“Still bothering you, huh?”

You nodded, slowly turning your torso to stretch the sensitive spot. “Can’t seem to shake it off”

He hummed. “Pulling? Or inflammation?”

“Pulling”

“I see” He nodded. “I’d be worried, if it wasn’t for the number of times we’ve had to fix that one”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Yeah, don’t know what could have happened. Okay, let’s go again”

“You sure?”

“Yeah”

He nodded and got in position again, followed by you. You started the routine from the beginning, chaining the movements without thinking much about it. This Tai Chi sequence has been one of the first he ever showed you, long before he began training you in fight, strength or speed. Your body, despite spending months resting, inactivated, still knew it like it was innate. The movements came naturally even through the stiffness of your muscles, and despite being right beside Bruce as you went, you didn’t need to watch him to move with him, never once stepping into his space.

You didn’t wince this time as the movement came and went, managing the stretch and the pain not to let it show on your face. Bruce would probably know anyway from how you moved alone, but he didn’t stop the sequence this time.

“You’re healing well” Bruce said as you finished the movements.

“I thought it would be worse” You agreed. “Still not as fast as I’d wish, but I guess I’m just glad there is progress”

He gently pat your shoulder. “You’ll get there sooner than you expect. Just don’t rush it, okay?”

You sighed. “I know, I know”

He bend down and picked the two bottles of water on the floor and handed yours to you. You took it with a quiet thanks, taking a sip right away. The cool water felt good against the encompassing heat of the room.

“I’ve been monitoring the rogues’ activity lately,” He began, and you raised an eyebrow mid sip. “—more than usual” He grumbled out.

“Okay?”

He stretched his neck. “I think Scarecrow’s developing a new fear gas”

You paused, your bottle halfway down to your side. “Oh?” Now that was interesting. “That’s not good. Media monitoring?”

He shook his head. “No, surveillance cameras in the Bowels. I can’t confirm yet it’s him, and I don’t know if he’s already testing. But I’ve picked up suspicious air composition after sending the drones to investigate, and the cameras caught suspicious clouding too”

“Shit” You breathed out, passing a hand down your face. Bruce had only managed to develop a fully rounded antidote to Scarecrow’s fear toxin very recently, and now you’d have to start, most likely, from the ground up. “Need me to start the research job?”

“We’re still stretched thin and with patrol, we don’t have the time right now to do frame by frame deep analysis” He sighed, shaking his head. “I would have rather waited, but I need to bring you back in”

“I’m ready, I can do this” You nodded. You knew your mind was sound enough to undertake this task.

“—But to be perfectly clear, this is not a field job. This is strictly paperwork with no possibility whatsoever of ground deployment, understood?”

“Understood” You replied, knowing he would pull away this offer at the slightest sign of hesitation. “I’ve not been doing research since I’ve been out of school, I’m actually quite excited to pick it up again”

He smiled at that, a little teasing but clearly satisfied by your reaction. “Glad to hear you say it. Because we don’t have a lot to go off of, and we need to be certain it’s that before moving against Crane”

“No pixel will go un-analysed, mark my words” You grinned back. “It’s not like I don’t have the time to do a thorough job either. Was getting restless”

He gave you a funny look. “Weren’t you saying just last week how insanely busy the Foundation’s been?”

You let out an exaggerated ugh.

“The three three donors I was talking about the other day? Yeah, they now decided to "renegotiate" their funding agreement after a change of CEO and the project managers are freaking out” Just talking about it riled you up the wall. “Every day and night has been spent on the phone trying to explain to a finance bro in fucking Dubai who literally just stepped in the game that they can’t just refuse to adhere to their contracts because they took over, and that a formal negotiation has to be undertaken and that can take up months! And that’s not even my job but they won’t listen to my project teams, they barely even listen to me”

He blinked.

“Okay I see what you mean” You nodded as the realization hit. You had been pulling all nighters lately, managing the stupidest crisis caused by human entitlement and the sudden trend of private donors no longer caring about their public image. It was like they all somehow knew you had more time than usual and decided to waste it to the most of their abilities. It was technically not your monkeys, but it sure as hell was your circus and you weren’t about to send your project managers in major distress or burnout just because some rich kid taking crypto too seriously decided they wanted to talk shit­. “But this is different. It will be almost relaxing. Like therapy”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose searching for a chemical terrorist’s next weapon is more relaxing than contract management”

You gave him a deadpan stare as he tried (and failed) to conceal his amusement. “Don’t act like you’re normal, when we both know you’d also rather investigate terrorism than dealing with corporate bullshit”

He smirked and shrugged.

You rolled your eyes and walked off the tatami, taking another sip of water as you went.

“Let me know when you find something, alright?”

You turned to face him. “You got it”

You went straight for the showers, then made some tea and got comfortable in front of your monitor, ready to do some digging on your next target.

Your throat was sandpaper dry and swallowing became a painful task as every movement of the muscles felt like a thousand needles prickling the delicate inner membrane. Your tongue rested heavy in your jaws, barely responding to your commands. Your gums, no more hydrated than the rest of your mouth, felt swollen and tight around your teeth, and you could feel your headache bleeding down into them.

Your entire skull felt like it was being compressed by a thousand rubber bands, squeezing tighter and tighter until it popped right off. It most definitely held back the speed to which you regained your senses, forcing you to fight against a current much, much stronger than you were at the moment.

Like sensations were coming back one by one, you couldn't help but feel a sharp pain all around your torso, like a python squeezed you viciously in its grip. Your breathing was staggered and each intake or air was burning like molten lava dripping down your lungs. It almost made the pain in your legs feel like a mild cramp compared to it.

Still, the blurriness of your vision started to dissipate after a moment, allowing you to notice a slumped figure next to you. There was a warmth on your hand that connected to them. If any of your muscles would have been responsive, you would have smiled.

“Dad?”

It probably sounded more like a screech than anything else, but it was enough for him to jolt awake. His whole body became alert, his eyes finding you in a fraction of second.

“Hey, hey sweetheart” His voice was rough from the sleep he most likely didn't get. His eyes were red and dry, brutally contrasting with the steel blue of his irises. He gently squeezed your hand, and even in your half conscious state, you could see about three metric tons of stress lifting off his shoulders. “You're okay, you're safe”

You tried to nod, but your whole body flared with pain. You grunted, and Bruce sat straighter, suddenly more alert. “Careful, easy, try not to move too much. Do you need water?”

You made an affirmative sound, and seconds later a glass was pressed to your lips. Bruce titled it up very lightly, and cool water flowed down your throat. You weren't even in control of yourself as you drank, your body taking over in survival instinct overdrive. You finished the glass in seconds, a light panic taking over you when the flow stopped.

Bruce refilled the glass in seconds, then brought it back to your lips. You regained control just enough to drink slow this time, letting the water hit every inch of your mouth and throat. The relief was unlike you had ever felt, and already you could tell that just these glasses of water helped you feel less dizzy.

“Ugh” You sighed as Bruce took away the glass. You raised your hand slowly to rub at the bridge of your nose, trying to massage the headache away. “I feel hungover. What the hell happened?”

Bruce didn't laugh, not even a barely concealed chuckle like you had expected. His expression darkened as he stared back at you, more serious than you’ve seen him since…

Worry washed over you as you recalled the last time you had seen him like this, haunted and deeply sorrowful. A visceral reaction of grief triggered within you, freezing your nerves as they stood and letting you sink into the abyss.

… Since Jason died, you realized.

“Dad?”

He sat back slowly on the chair, his hands carefully encasing yours again. He looked down at it, softly closing his fingers around it like it would break. He kept his stare low, then swallowed hard.

“What do you remember?”

His words were spoken barely above a whisper, weighed down with a mournful heaviness that only dragged you down further. Moisture gathered in his eyes and panic rose in yours—you had seen Bruce cry exactly once before and you certainly didn't want to lead your mind there, not ever again.

“I— I don't know?” You stammered, trying to catch whatever flashes or memories hurdling around your brain right now. “There were fifteen guards, but I… I disarmed fourteen. He, he was about to shoot me”

You had mostly a coherent picture of the scene now. You miscounted, he was about to shoot you, but he didn't, because Deathstroke appeared. Or you thought he did, you'd need to confirm later. But just having to deal with Deathstroke would not have Bruce in this state— something else happened. Something terrible.

“I think I passed out” You finished your thoughts where your memory went dark, connecting the dots with the information you had on hand. “Did—Did something happen? Where's Tim? Is Tim ok?”

He squeezed your hand again. “Tim's fine. He's resting in the next room”

The relief you felt was only temporary.

“Then what is it?” You pressed, feeling dread creeping up your spine, higher and higher with every seconds that passed.

He blinked away tears, taking a deep breath to appear stronger than he felt. He finally met your eyes again.

“You, um” He cleared his throat to hide the wavering in his voice, then his hands left you briefly to rub his palms over his eyes. When they returned, they were wet with teardrops that he caught before they could roll down his cheeks. He turned his face away from you, took a deep breath, and looked back at you. “We brought you back in the jet and um, you… god”

You squeezed back his hand, you didn't know to reassure whom the most between you and him.

“You flatlined”

He finally got it out, voice cracking on the word. You swallowed hard, but you didn't say anything as you knew there was somehow something worse after that. It wasn't common, but not unheard of that some of you, even him, would flatline on occasion when injuries were too severe. You braced yourself for the worse when he couldn't even look at you for what came next.

“We couldn't restart you heart” Each of his words were like a double blow colliding with his jaws and hitting you with the rebound. Your heart broke to see him like that—he tried so hard to remain composed for your sake, but every time he shut his eyes, all he got was violent flashbacks of being helpless as Jason died. It was so obviously written in his eyes, you could see it too through him.

He slowly dragged a hand down his face.

“We tried. I tried. I tried over, and over, and—” His eyes locked onto your sternum, flashes of memory replaying in his eyes and in his muscles recalling the incessant effort he had dished to keep you away from the point of no return, away from death's cold cradling arms that had threatened to take you away.

Your gaze followed his, connecting his words to the radiating pain coming from your ribcage. Absentmindedly, your free hand gently rubbed your chest, flaring a sharp pang at the gentle contact. You hissed, understanding your sternum must have been broken along with several ribs. Your eyes met with your father's again, horrified and distressed at the realization that this much damage would have meant prolonged, violent CPR.

“How long?”

Your voice was small, terrified, barely recognizable, like your were a child again. You were no stranger to death, but it did feel different, alien when it comes for you instead.

“You…” He took a deep but shaky breath as he tried to bring himself to tell you. “You were out for almost three hours”

It was like the air was abruptly sucked out of your lungs as the number registered in your brain. Your ears were ringing as you tried to make sense of it all, your headache definitely not helping you think straight. Three hours? You could barely believe it now, you couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like to be outside and watch as you laid there unresponsive, unmoving, dead.

You couldn’t imagine what it was like for Bruce.

Guilt enveloped you like a cocoon, locking you behind a thick curtain, unable to breach out. I was your decisions at every turn that led you to there, that ended up with your father watching you die, seeing you lifeless for almost three hours, trying with everything in him and more to the point of dishing inhumane efforts to bring you back.

“I couldn’t stop” He choked out a sob, his hands squeezing a bit harder on your hand subconsciously. You didn’t care for the crushing pain that followed. “I couldn’t lose you— I couldn't— not again, it would've—”

It would have killed me.

He didn't need to finish his sentence for you to hear it nevertheless.

With surprising strength considering your condition, you pulled him to you, having him stumble not to crush you as you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. Then pressure hurt like a bitch, but you didn't, couldn't care less about it. Pain was good. Pain meant you were alive.

He tried to protest at first, but when you didn’t let go, you felt all resistance leave him. He cradled your head gently against his shoulder that shook in time with his silent sobs, and you couldn’t help but cry along with him.

“‘m sorry I made you go through that again” You mumbled against him. “Dad I’m so sorry”

“No, no baby I’m sorry, I should have never left you there alone—”

“No” You shook your head as best as you could against him. “You didn’t have a choice”

He kissed the top of your head, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling back. You wiped the tears away from your eyes as he sat back in the chair. “It’s my job to protect you and I failed”

You sniffed. “And it’s mine to protect Tim—” He was about to interject, but you spoke before he could tell you that it’s not, that it shouldn’t be anyone’s responsibility but his to protect all of you. Tears started rolling down your cheeks again. “Dad… You know I couldn’t take that chance”

Despite guilt gnawing at his bones, exacerbating the full body ache that had blanketed him like a shadow ever since the monitor hooked up to your chest picked up a heartbeat, Bruce understood where you came from. It was probably why he even agreed, albeit reluctantly, to come back for you so he could evacuate Tim from the collapsed building—because he knew damn well what Tim meant to you. He was also well aware that this recklessly protective behaviour most likely stemmed from the rift he himself created from you after Jason died, a void that you filled with any means you could at the moment.

Was there ever a course of action after that, that didn’t lead exactly where you were?

Perhaps one other.

In a way, he was grateful things turned the way they did, knowing every other outcome to this would have left you on that operating table. Still, the same darkness hung low above the two of you, a shared cloud of grief inadvertently passed down from father to daughter, mistakes being repeated and rectified a bit too late. He saw more of himself in you every single day, and what used to fill him with pride leaves him a little bit more terrified every time he catches his reflection in you. You had been on this path too long for him to be able to course correct you, but seeing you there, bruised and battered but alive, he vowed to himself that he’d do better.

And he knew it would have to start by opening a very uncomfortable can of worm, and facing feeling neither of you would be particularly thrilled to bring back to the surface.

“I…” He paused, then took a deep breath. “We’ll need to talk about this—not now, but you and I… We’re overdue for a check in”

His words did not come as a surprise to you, especially not after what happened. You and Bruce had fallen into the unhealthy routine of burying your grievances as they came, an unspoken accord struck when the night was dark that some thing were best left to die quietly, only addressing it if the embers ever picked up intensity.

Thing was, you learned a bit too late that the only way to put out the fire for good is to let it out.

It would hurt to reopen these wounds; you’d have to dig and claw to the source of the rot, cutting off the necrosed tissue on your way down. Your wounds, but Bruce’s as well. You’d have to say out loud what you both already knew, and admit how much it hurt back then, how much it still lingered in every fibre of your being. Jason’s death, as annihilating as it had been, had only been the catalyst to a broader chain of event—Bruce’s withdrawal from everyone but Batman, leaving you navigating your grief by yourself; your own rapid descent into ultra violence that had been barely noticed; your fallout with Dick—all swept under the rug, forgotten but left unforgiven, more so to yourselves than the others involved. The sinkhole was cemented over, smoothed out, but the ground below it had never stopped eroding inch by inch.

You weren’t looking forward to rip off the lid and properly patch it, to be honest—to dive back down to the worst years of your life and finally confront the feeling you’ve spend more than a decade beating down until your fists were raw. But Bruce was right, it had to be addressed, and it had to be sooner than later. You had a feeling he wouldn’t let you back on the field until you had that talk— luckily for the both of you, it seemed like you’d have quite some time before that happened.

You sighed, ignoring how the pain surrounding your chest became more and more noticeable as the fog in your brain lifted. “We are, aren’t we?”

He smiled for the first time since you woke up, and most likely since that mission that almost took you out of the game for good, even giving you a chuckle that was halfway to an actual sob. He leaned and gave you another forehead kiss, before sitting back in his chair.

“It’s almost time for your medication” He changed the subject. “Alfred will want to see you”

You gave him a genuine smile, and like he had summoned the man himself, Alfred quietly pushed the door to the room open, small silver tray in hand with a insulated tea cup and a small meal for Bruce. He froze in his tracks when his eyes fell on your, and you watched in real time as pure relief swept over his form. He hurried to put the tray aside and rushed to you, scanning you over as if making sure his eyes didn’t deceive him.

“Hey Alf”

“My dear” He breathed out, gently placing a hand on top of your head. “You’re awake”

“Not without a few struggle, or so I’ve heard” You said, reaching for his hand as he stood by your bedside.

“What matters is that you’ve made it, dearest” He smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Ready to get back in the field and kick ass”

Bruce let out a warning sound while Alfred levelled you with an unimpressed stare. “Make it out of this bed in under five minutes and I’ll unlock your gear”

The spark of laughter that came out of your mouth was so loud and unforeseen that it genuinely hurt your ribs, and the subsequent noise of pain covered Bruce’s scolding.

“Ow, yeah, I know, ‘m not going anywhere anytime soon” You chuckled. “You won’t have to worry that”

“I’m glad to hear it” Alfred smiled. “And it’s good to see you back to yourself, alive and well”

“Me too, Alf” You nodded slowly. “Thank you, for taking care of me while I was out”

“Always, my dear”

He took a deep breath as you let his hand go. “I believe Tim is gonna be very happy to hear of this development. Would you like me to bring him here?”

Your eyes widened. “Yes please”

He nodded in understanding. “Very well”

You watched him walk out of the room, then turned to Bruce still on your side.

“You should go to sleep, dad” You mumbled. “The worst is behind us, and I’ll still be here in the morning”

He seemed to be conflicted for a moment as he hesitated, then his eyes found the doorway where Tim’s chatter grew louder. Like he convinced himself that you were right, he stood up, but not before giving your hand one last squeeze. “I won’t be far, if you need anything”

“I won’t” You smiled, then added for his peace of mind, “But good to know, if ever I need”

He nodded, then began making his way out of the door. You weren’t sure if he was dragging his feet on purpose, if he was sluggish from the lack of sleep and proper food, or if he was stiff from staying hunched over in that chair for days. Most likely all three, you decided. He waved at Alfred and Tim, not even bothering to hide his yawn.

Tim, however, looked bright and awake as he was wheeled in your room. His excitement at seeing you alive was palpable, and you felt a tremendous amount of relief you didn’t know you still carried lift off of you in seconds. Your brain finally erased the images of seeing him unresponsive in the rubble, putting the omnipresent thought of losing him at rest for now.

He immediately pointed at you. “Alive!”

You laughed. “I know right?”

Alfred parked the wheelchair next to the bed. “I will give you a moment, and I will be back a bit later for your medication”

“Thank you Alfred” You replied, watching him quietly exit the room. The second his footsteps were far enough, you crossed glances with Tim, instantly knowing he had the same idea as you.

You giggled like school kids as you carefully scooted to the left of the bed, trying to help him as best as you could as he manoeuvred his leg in a cast and various bandages out of the wheelchair and onto the bed. After a few winces and ows, he finally got settled next to you, reminding you of sleepovers when you were teenagers.

“Isn't this painful for you?” Tim asked as he leaned back until he was shoulder to shoulder with you.

“Oh, very” You didn’t even try to hide it.

He gave you a deadpan look. “Then why are you even—”

“Hush” You cut him off, looping your arm with his. “Let me have this. You gave me one hell of a scare out there, I need you close for a little bit”

“I gave you a scare?” He replied, incredulous. “I'm not the one who died!”

“And I was trying to have you not die out there, which I succeeded at”

He took a deep, long breath, momentarily closing his eyes as not to yell. “You literally almost died for me. And hearing you now, I’d say you were also fully ready too. Why do you keep doing that? I can— I can take care of myself, you know? You don't have to jump between danger and me every single time”

Now that was the question, wasn’t it? Why did you keep doing that?

You had long realized that your love was not for the faint of heart, and not for most people you’ll encounter. Your love was born of grief, raised through desperation and loss. It grew into something ugly and overwhelming, only to be expressed through violence and all consuming possessiveness. Just thinking of losing your loved ones drove you to the edge, trapping your thoughts in the same darkness that clung to your being like a lifeline, the same darkness you’ve been suffocating to the confines of your mind for years now.

You had often wandered there, to the dreadful what ifs— what if one of your siblings dies? What if Bruce never comes back from patrol one day? what if what if what if— and they all end at the same place, into the same dark hole looming over your shoulder, crawling under your skin and nesting in your bones.

The choice was always easy when it came to you or them. You could deal with their frustration, you could deal with their anger— everything would be a better option than losing them and losing the last threads holding you together along with them.

“I know, but Tim, I can't… If something—”

“I know” He sighed, resting his head on your shoulder. “Well I mean, I don’t, but I understand, considering everything. Remember I stalked you too”

His attempt at lightening the mood was enough to return a smile to your face, chasing the darkness away for now. “One day, when I’m not just returning from being dead, we’ll talk about why I do what I do”

He groaned. “Don’t baby me”

You grinned. “I’ll always baby you. You’re my wittle baby brother”

He laughed, lightly slapping your hand as you threatened to grab his cheek. “Stop! You literally sounded like you were about to tell me you’re not my real parent”

You donned a fake solemn face. “Tim. I’m sorry to tell you, but… You’re adopted”

“Shut uuuuuuup”

You laughed with him, bumping your shoulder with his as much as you could with your very limited mobility. You let the moment die down quietly as your breathing settled, giving respite to your broken ribs and achy muscles. You only looked down when Tim scooted closer against you.

“I’m glad you’re not dead” He mumbled, staring at his hands.

“Me too” You covered them with yours and squeezed.

“We really thought we lost you the third time, you know?”

You froze, eyebrows drawn into a frown. “… The third time?”

He looked up at you from where he was comfortably tucked.

“The third time what, Tim?”

“… Didn’t B tell you?”

You shook your head slowly, unfortunately already figuring out that your father had left a couple of important details from your round trip to Death’s all inclusive resort.

“Oh boy”

“Tim” Your tone took a warning edge despite the rasp of your voice, and even though he knew it wasn’t aimed at him, a shiver travelled his spine. He still wasn’t quite used to you being scary as a civilian. “What third time?”

He swallowed hard, momentarily breaking eye contact while he motivated himself to be the unfortunate messenger. “I guess he told you how long he stayed in that jet doing CPR and refusing to move you around?”

You nodded.

“Well” He had the courage to look up again. “You stabilized around daybreak. I woke up a few hours later, I had no idea what had gone down at that point. As Alfred explained to me how many screws I’d have to get in my knee, your vitals dropped, I think, because they all rushed out of my room like their life depended on it. Didn’t know what was happening, but I heard that damn monitor screech to death,” He then added under his breath, “We all did.”

He blinked, shaking his head. “Dick stayed with me and told me the big lines of what had happened, and that you had flatlined again. They brought you back after a few minutes that time around, and we all thought you’d be fine. You spent two days stable after that, then crashed again for 27 minutes. I can’t even fathom how he did it for three hours, because this half hour was pure hell. Bruce refused to leave the room after that. He’s been here ever since”

“Oh my god” It was all you could say to this revelation.

“He didn’t even go out on patrol. The rest of the team’s been working in shifts to cover for him”

You blinked slowly, nodding. You felt like crying again, but managed to hold it back in. “How’s everybody holding?”

He stared at you for a good minute before shaking his head. “Girl”

“Don’t girl me”

“Once again, I’m gonna remind you that you’re the one who died” He spoke pointedly. “They’re worried about you”

“And I’m worried about them now!” You argued back. “We’re pretty much known to act stupid when one of us gets fucked up. Are they eating ok? Sleeping ok?”

“No they’re not!”

“Where are they? We need to let them know—”

He sighed, cutting you off. “On patrol, it’s the middle of the night” His head then tilted as he looked at nothing in particular. “Although I suspect Alfred and B will have already informed Oracle that you woke up, so they probably know by now”

You nodded, slumping in the bed. At least they’d get good news today, which was not the usual currency that was dealt to people like you.“I suppose I should expect a whole delegation when they get back, huh?”

He let out an evil laugh. “You’ll say the same things so many times you’ll mumble the lines in your sleep”

You groaned at the same time as Alfred returned to the room. He gave you an amused expression, a fake scolding raised eyebrow indicating that he disapproved of Tim somehow climbing next to you despite both his and your injuries, but he wouldn’t even bother to ask how he got up there in the first place and ignore the whole thing this time.

“Perhaps I could suggest rehearsing these lines a bit later?” He asked, making you chuckle. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist not to delay any longer your dose of morphine, otherwise you might not enjoy the following hours, Actually, the both of you need it sooner than later”

“Aight” Tim said as he began worming around, careful not to accidentally hit you as he sat up. “Not gonna say no to painkillers—”

Alfred, ever so quick, shot out an arm as Tim tilted dangerously off the bed and steadied him just on time. He helped him in the wheelchair and made sure his leg was properly placed. He then turned to you, handing you two small bottles.

“Take two of the yellow ones, and one of the white” He explained. “If that’s not enough, we’ll return to intravenous painkillers, alright?”

You nodded. “I’ll let you know. Thank you Alfred”

“Always, dear. Always”

You watched as he wheeled Tim back out of the room, leaving you in a quiet room from the first time since you woke up. You moved back in the centre of the bed, getting comfortable as you read the labels on the bottles. Bruce’s favourite, strong stuff that didn’t quite impair your judgment as what the hospitals usually gave you, balancing off the drowsiness of the morphine tablets. You rolled the bottles in your hands, then looked around the room.

Your eyes found your phone on the nightstand, duly plugged in a charger and neatly placed along your emotional water bottle, your chapstick and a bottle of painkillers. You couldn’t help but smile fondly at the thoughtful display, knowing Bruce had meticulously collected your stuff for it to be ready when you woke up. The almost obsessive way the items were perfectly placed and spaced gave it away that it couldn't have been anyone but him. You slowly reached over the bedside table, careful not to strain your ribs, and grabbed the phone, gently disconnecting it and letting the cord drop on the floor.

You unlocked it, movements deliberate as you pretended to think your actions over. Before you knew it, your phone app was open and your fingers mechanically typed the eleven digits that had been floating in your mind for weeks now. You brought your phone to your ear, waiting barely two rings before it picked up.

“Miss Wayne” You expected nothing else than a gruff, annoyed voice on the other end of the line. “How did you get this number?”

You smiled, tongue sucking on your front teeth to hold back a chuckle as you looked down at your laps. “It’s cute that you think I wouldn’t be able to find it”

“Much to my dismay, I assure you”

“How did you know it was me?”

You knew for a fact that your phone number encryption was most likely one of the strongest, if not the strongest in the world. There would be no way he could have gotten any type of call ID from it, especially with how fast he picked up.

“You see, there’s only one person I can think of who has both the will and resources to find this number, and the audacity to actually call it in full knowledge of who’d pick up”

This time, you couldn’t contain the small chuckle that escaped your lips. “This might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me”

“Your sense of what constitutes a compliment may be truly fucked up if you think that was meant to be nice”

You shrugged, even if he couldn’t see it. “So it might”

There was a long pause stretching well over a minute, but it wasn’t uncomfortable per se. You twisted your fingers in your laps, waiting for him to actually hang up. He never did.

“So …” You began, actually moving towards the reason you called. “I heard through the grapevine that you did some pre-tty heroic stuff the other day—” You could hear the scoff of disdain at the word as if he had been right beside you. “Saved my life, allegedly”

“Lies and slander” He snarled back, but it was hard to miss the amusement behind it. “Defamation, even”

The laugh that erupted so suddenly from your lips hurt your ribs, but you you wouldn’t even have been able to contain it if you tried. It was something pure and genuine, something unbeknownst to you would haunt your interlocutor for months onward.

“So you dispute these claims?” You challenged. “You would swear under oath that it didn’t happen?”

“I’ll deny everything, and nobody will believe you”

You gasped softly. “You wouldn’t dare”

“I would” He tsked. “Got a reputation to uphold”

You sighed. “I know, I know”

Another long pause, only interrupted by the quiet sound of each other breathing. This time, he was the one to speak up.

“Got home ok?”

“Ish” You flinched as you nodded slowly, opting not to tease him on the sudden shift in tone. You acknowledged it surely couldn’t have been easy to even ask about it. “Died a couple more times between then and now, or so I’ve been told. Didn’t quite wanna stick, obviously”

He scoffed again, gentler this time. “Too stubborn to die. Why am I not surprised?”

You bit your lip, weighing between two type of replies to his half sarcastic remark. You decided to bite the bullet and go with the more risqué line, feeling like you didn't have anything to lose at this point, especially after quite a brutal reminder that life was short, as cliché as it sounded.

“Despite your best efforts, I believe you're starting to get to know me, Mr. Wilson”

This time, the pause felt stunned, like he was trying to process your words. They hung in the air above your head, but you stood calmly, sure footed behind them. The ball was in his camp now, leaving it to him to keep playing or call it quits.

You knew your gamble paid off when he let out a breath, resigning himself to entertain whatever this was, at least for the time being.

“… Terrible ordeal, Miss Wayne”

You smiled again at his deflection, right about to use one yourself. “Why'd you do it?”

“Hm?”

“You could have left me to die with none of the wiser that you could have helped. I believe it would have made your life much easier too, in the long run” You spoke slowly, pointedly, knowing he knew exactly what you meant the first time but spelling it out anyway. “So why did you do it?”

You could almost see him frown, probably attempting to come up with some bullshit tough guy rebuttal to justify his action back at the facility.

“You think you get to die before I get a rematch from Monaco?” He finally scoffed, the sound weak and halfhearted. “I don't think so”

You clicked your tongue. “So pride it is”

“Call it however you wish”

“You’re still going to lose, by the way. In that rematch”

“We’ll see”

“Mh hm”

It sounded like he was about to say something more by his staggered intake of breath, but the words never came, or at least, obviously not the ones he originally would have said.

“… You’ll be alright?”

You smiled. “I reckon so. ‘s nothing I can’t shake off”

“Obviously”

“Thank you. For checking up on me”

He grunted something inaudible on the other end of the line.

“I’m…” You took a deep breath, wincing as your hand instinctively reaching to cover the flaring pain in your ribs. “I’ll let you go back to your business now. It’s meds time, and I might fall asleep as soon as they kick in”

He hummed. “Take care then, miss Wayne”

“You too, Mr. Wilson”

Upon his unresponsiveness, you bent down and hovered your cheek above his nose. A faint hot breath reached you, sending at least a little bit of relief for now. He wasn't in a good shape either; his face was bloodied and cut, and one of his legs was bent in a position that definitely wasn’t natural. You tried to stand up to bring him away from the mess, but you couldn't. Your legs couldn't support both you and him right now.

“Batman?” You tried your comm, hoping Bruce hadn't been caught up into the explosion too. “Batman come in”

“Nightsh-” Relief could be heard in his voice cutting in and out. “What- hell -ppened? -re are you?”

“Explosion, building collapsed and trapped us. Seems like comms are partially damaged” You resumed. “I'm with Red Robin. Neither of us are in great shape but he's unconscious and won't wake up–” You coughed, visible blood red droplets flying on the grey dust. “I can't walk him out”

“Turn on -ctive signal, -coming”

You brought your watch up to your face and turned on the emergency beacon, allowing any tracking device in the area to pick up on it. It was a risky move, but in a life or death situation, it was a lifeline. Now you just had to hope Batman was faster than whoever didn't want you there, because you'd be sitting ducks for a few minutes.

You waited for Bruce with your fingers on Tim's pulse, never taking them off. You counted each faint heartbeat pulsing underneath his pale skin, making sure there would be a next one. A quick overall scan of his body showed he didn't have any gash that would make him bleed out, ruling out this problem at least. Only a broken nose painting his face red and most likely several other broken or fractured bones, as well as what you could only guess was a nasty concussion.

Moments later, you heard footsteps stepping through the debris.

“Over here B!”

The steps quickened until a bat shaped shadow loomed over your position. He jumped down and carefully landed on his feet, then hurried to Tim's unconscious form. His glance also stopped on his bent up leg, taking in the damage, before returning to his face. He picked something from his utility belt, then, gently, his gloved hand covered his forehead and he lifted his eyelid with his thumb.

“Red Robin?” He asked, but Tim didn't answer. He flashed a light on his pupil and asked again, more intently this time. “Red Robin”

Hope of him finally coming back to this plane of reality sparked up when he mumbled a handful of incoherent words, but he remained out of it.

“We need to get out of here” Bruce said, sending you a quick glance over his shoulder. “The building is unstable, and the explosion alerted the guards. There are five more men coming, maybe more later”

You nodded.

He carefully picked Tim up and stood up, waiting for you to do the same. However, as soon as you tried to raise your leg to push yourself up, you collapsed with a whimper of pain. You tried again, but you could never get further than on all fours. Your legs refused to cooperate, confirming what you had initially believed: the injuries to your legs were severe enough to ground you entirely.

“I can't get up”

Bruce readjusted Tim on his shoulder and held his arm to you. “Come on, grab on”

You did as he said and gripped his arm like your life depended on it, and for a moment you managed to stand up, but your first attempt at putting a foot forward sent you to the ground again. You broke the fall with your hands and transferred all your weight forward on them to help out your legs. You let out a frustrated grunt and punched the ground.

“Get him out of there” You panted as you realized there was no way he could bring you both out of there at the same time, not while making sure Tim did not break more bones. “I can wait”

“No” Bruce immediately shut the idea down. “Guards are coming and you are in no state to defend yourself”

“Yeah, and if you try to carry us both, they'll catch us and then you won't be able to defend yourself” You replied as you let yourself fall on your side and flipped to properly sit down, emphasizing your point. “I can hold them back while I wait for you”

“Nightshade” He spoke your alias as a clear warning if you had ever heard one, shaking you to the depth of your soul. It was enough to compel you to listen to him. “You are coming too. Now”

“You can't carry us both in our state” You shook your head, but your rebuttal was weak. “It's either me or him, and he needs it more right now”

“I will not choose between you two. You're both coming”

With a perfect balance, he crouched down to your level and grabbed something from his belt. You quickly identified his epinephrine shot by the shape of black plastic of its handle.

“I have my own, you know?” You scoffed as you watched him position it on the side of your thigh where there was no seam on your suit.

He briefly looked up, expression stoic. “Mine has more”

And with that, he jammed the needle in your thigh. You stiffened, biting back a hiss at the sudden intrusion in your muscle. Quickly, you could feel the effect of the adrenaline spreading; your vision became too clear, the pain in your legs became background noise and your heart was pounding like a drum in your ribcage.

Bruce carefully stood up and offered you a hand again. This time, your body complied with your request and got you on your feet. With the support provided by his arm, you could follow his pace, dodging the debris as you went.

… Until you came face to face with a literal pile of what used to be the first floor, full of jutting metal rods and sparkling electric wires poking out. It would either require you making a steep climb while dodging hazardous material–which you definitely couldn't do in your state–or go back on your steps and find another exit, which would probably bring you face to face with the reinforcements that were without a doubt coming sooner than later.

Batman saw you coming before you even opened your mouth. “No. Don't even think about it. I will not–”

Unfortunately for him, he raised you.

“Choose? Okay. Then I'm choosing for you” Came your rebuttal, cutting him off. “Take Red Robin to safety and provide him with medical attention. I stay behind”

“Our rule is that nobody gets left behind–”

“It’s my choice” You cut him off. “And you're wasting time. Get him out of here. You can come back for me after”

He hesitated. You both knew that the chance of it having an after was slim, but you had a point; he couldn't really climb those debris carrying you both, and Tim's broken bones situation was too risky to rough handle him. It didn't mean he didn't absolutely hate it though. With a grunt, he pulled out his taser and a handful of batarangs and gave them to you.

“I'll be back as soon as I can” He said, his voice heavy. “Turn off your active signal, turn everything in stealth mode. And hide. Those are for last resort. Do not engage, Nightshade. Do not engage unless you absolutely have to. Am I clear?”

You swallowed. “Yes, very clear”

He gave you a firm nod. “Hang on in here. Remember, let your instinct work for you, and keep your head clear”

“Go!”

He once again hesitated for a second, then climbed the pile of debris and disappeared. You turned off your signal and went into ghost mode, letting your back hit the half crumbled wall behind you.

You gathered the taser and the batarangs, placing them in your belt in a way they'd be easily accessible. You decided to move somewhere more covered while the adrenaline still lasted, helping yourself with the wall.

There wasn't really a good cover around, but you found a dark corner to lurk in, blending in the shadows. At this point, your skin was clammy and you were sweating through your suit. You must have been a sight to behold as well, panting and grunting as the pain reared its ugly head, progressively making itself known again. You let your back hit the wall, using it to stay upright.

It didn't take long for the guards to reach your area. The debris on the ground made it hard for anyone to be quiet, and you suspected they weren't really trying to be in the first place. You readied your first batarang between your fingers, and waited until the first man stepped into your field of vision. You waited as Bruce instructed you to do, but you knew there would be no way they wouldn't see you. They were so close, and you were sure your laboured breathing would give you away. You were partially obstructed by obstacles, sure, but fundamentally, you were more dissimulated than hidden. Any security guard with a good training and a decent instinct would notice you in this state.

It took 47 seconds before the man combing the area the closest to you went rigid. You had a view of his side profile, but his body language was clear about the fact that he had found you. Despite not having a straight shot at him, you knew your aim was true enough to hit its mark.

He had a semi automatic in hand and a bulletproof vest on. You aimed for the gun, and let the batarang fly. Half a second later, it stuck into the chamber, rendering the firearm unusable. Shouts ensued and the four other men rushed to him. You readied four other batarangs, and in rapid succession, disarmed everyone before they knew what hit them. You then grabbed the taser gun and began shooting them with electric pods to take them down.

However, as there was only one left, the gun jammed. You cursed under your breath and hit the damn thing, but the man already took cover.

And called for backup.

“All units converge to the west wing” You could hear the CB loud and clear. “The bats are here”

You limped deeper in the shadows and pressed yourself in another corner, swallowing back a moan of pain. The adrenaline was already wearing off and it was a matter of minutes until your legs gave out again and made you fully vulnerable. You realized at that moment there was no way you could actually make it through, unless Bruce came back really, really fast.

You looked down and checked how many pods you had left in the gun. Four. In your own experience, the term all units meant there would be many more people incoming than you had pods left. You still had three batarangs left, so you'd have to make them count. Aim for the eye or the throat. Shoot to kill. You would deal with the consequences with Bruce later.

You brought up a shaking hand to your comm and pressed. “B? I'm about to be cornered. All units, he said–It's my fault, I wasn't fast enough to take them down before they called for backup. I'm sorry”

You surprised yourself with how calm your voice was.

“I just secured Red Robin on the jet's medical support” He replied, ever so methodically. “I'm coming back in”

The unmistakable sound of boots running followed through. There were many. Too many. And he wouldn't get there on time.

“I don't think you'll make it” You sighed, closing your eyes. “The runway will be cleared if they're converging here. Take the opportunity to get out safely. I'll hold them back”

“Absolutely fucking not” It was a rare thing to hear Bruce swear on patrol. You felt it jolting your spine like a thunderbolt. “You’re getting out of here alive and that’s an order, Nightshade”

You cleared your throat and nodded, even if he couldn't see. At least he had enough faith for the both of you, which was admirable because you didn't believe you could hold them off long enough in your state. Still, an order was an order, and you were too exhausted to argue it this time.

“Okay” You nodded again. “Copy”

“I’ll be there soon. Batman out”

You waited as the area filled with more and more armed guards. You could hear them surrounding you, not quite seeing you yet. They'd find you soon enough like the batch before them. You turned the batarang around in your hand as you held your breath for what would inevitably come next. Your legs were shaking and sending strong pain signals to your brain. You wouldn't hold up for long.

But you had to try.

With your free hand, you hovered above your own epinephrine shot that was still full and ready to be used. It was a stupid, stupid thing to even consider, as a double shot of epinephrine in such a short time lapse might just be too much for your body to process. However, if a number of guards found you all together like this, you'd be dead anyway. You hovered the jamming point over your opposite thigh and waited.

There was a sudden commotion further down the collapsed building and you let out a sigh of relief at the thought that Bruce had joined the fight. Still, that relief was short lived as you observed a group still searching around for you, not having taken the bait. At least fifteen, that's how many you counted. They were right on you, and it would be a matter of second before they turned around and spotted your wobbling frame in the shadows.

Without thinking twice, you jabbed the needle in your thigh.

You didn't know if it was the quiet sound of the injector hitting the ground that tipped off your location, or if they were already turning around to where you were, but there was no doubt they had now taken notice of your presence.

You shut your brain off and let your training speak, shooting the four electric disks remaining in the first four guards, sending them unconscious on the ground. You threw the now empty gun on the ground and your hand instinctively found the familiar handles of your karambits, yanking them out with a clean pull as the next guard closed in. Even in this state, your body knew what to do, targeting the crook of the elbows first to decommission their arms and make them drop their weapon. Three of them saw you coming and made it more complicated for you, forcing you to slice their femoral artery by dodging your movements that grew less and less swift as the adrenaline burned out.

With each hit you dished, you had to dodge three bullets, often using the guards you had neutralize as a last second shields. You were more than aware at this point that you were running on pure luck in dodging and landing your hits, because your vision was growing more and more blurry, casting duplicates of your targets. Experience still guided your hits live a divine hand, but your situational awareness was fading at an alarming rate.

The fifteenth guard finally ran at you, aiming his weapon. Your feet were wobbly, your arms heavy, but you had just enough energy to ram the fuck out of him before he could shoot. That full body check had him gasping, and the brutal fall with you on top cut his airways entirely. Blinking quickly not to crash out right there with him, you grabbed his weapon, unloaded it completely and threw the gun away, then you felt for the back of his nearest knee and cut the ligament to stop him from standing up.

You rolled off of him and with great difficulty, pulled yourself back on your feet. Your hand went to your ribs when a cramp formed as you took in your surroundings. Last one standing, it seems. All fifteen guards had been neutralized—

You counted in your head, retracing your hits. You took down fifteen, right?

Right?

The very quiet sound of a gun safety being taken off came from behind you. You flinched, then turned around and sliced down…

You hadn't even noticed your hands shaking until you realized that slice, much more aggressive in your mind, had virtually no strength behind it when it hit the man's cheek sideways, leaving a scratch but nothing serious.

Your eyes widened as the guy swore and wiped the blood away, then aimed at you with his gun. You couldn't even hear what he was saying; your heart was beating so loud it echoed in your eardrums. Then came the sound of a gun going off, and you fully believed for a moment the adrenaline hid any sensation of being shot at all. You felt nothing but the pain you already had.

Until the man dropped to his knees, then fell face first in the dust. Your heartbeat only accelerated as more gunshots followed suit. Soon enough, the only gunshots resonating in your head were the distant noise from the other fight. Yet, you remained paralyzed, unable to tap into that fight or flight instinct, not even as slow footsteps whose rhythm you were unfamiliar with approached you.

Maybe that second epinephrine shot was a mistake.

Your vision blurred as the pounding of your heart got louder, and you felt like you were falling. Your feet swayed and threw your balance off, sending you stumbling forward. But you didn't hit the ground as strong and solid arms caught you. Blurs of black and orange spun behind your eyelids as you fought to stay awake, followed by a deep voice you couldn't quite make sense of, yet, could only ever attribute to one person on this planet.

“Slade?” You mumbled, looking up at him. “What are you…”

You felt like you were falling again, but this time, darkness swallowed you swiftly, shutting off your body and making you limp in his arms.

—

Slade watched your unconscious form slightly dumbfounded.

When he had heard the explosion, he had sworn up and down the motherfucker who had ruined his stakeout. He had the usual culprits in mind–the bat shaped pain in his ass that came back to bite him every time he stepped foot in Gotham–and he knew he was right when he saw, through his sniper lens, a shadow running around with an unconscious Red Robin in his arms. He paid it no mind, electing to remain in position until things cleared out and the usual routine resumed. But then, a whole group of guards ran to the area and began surrounding it in formation, telling him there were most likely more batlings present. Out of curiosity and in hope of watching a good fight play out, he had gone down and sneaked around the debris to observe the action. And hey, if he found his target in the melee, he could subtly take him down and exit without being noticed at all.

But then, he saw you. He immediately noticed how you had blended in the shadows, making yourself almost unnoticeable in a corner. You usually were very loud and very mobile, as your strategy, from what he had learned in the few encounters he had with you, was to throw your opponent off their rhythm by taunting and baiting until your target bit. When you played it from the shadows, it was intentional. This was not.

It didn't take a genius to figure out you were injured and in no shape to fight, let alone go against fifteen guards that all had it out for you. Still you tried and mostly succeeded, and he couldn't help but find it both admirable and annoying. No, relentless, as he was certain you’d correct him again if you could. You had made a valiant effort, but even then, you wouldn’t have been able to fight the third wave that was already converging onto you.

No matter how well you fought, you wouldn’t make it out alive without help, Slade observed, and much to his dismay, he came to term with the fact that his course of actions had already been decided long before he accepted it.

His hands moved on their own, taking out his pistol and shooting the guard that was about to do the same thing to you. Would his employer be pissed that he got involved and made a scene? Definitively. Would he leave anyone alive to tattle tale he was the one who did it and disallow him to claim plausible deniability? Absolutely not.

The attention of the new wave shifted to him instead of you, and he could feel the air around changing from confidence to fear impressively quick. He was able to shoot another man before the rest sprung into action, but none of them managed to hit him before he took cover, taking your unconscious form with him. He put you on the ground out of the crossfire, then waited for the reload, and shot three other guards down. He repeated until they were all down, and went back to you.

You weren't better from up close, now that he was really looking. Your skin was clammy and cold to the touch, despite your fever burning through his glove. He could see your rapid, erratic breathing as you were fading in and out, barely even reacting when he spoke your name. Not knowing what else to do, he picked you up again and moved toward the exit.

Before he knew it, a mass of black blocked his path. He stopped walking and stared at the Batman, unimpressed.

“What did you do?” Came his gravelly voice.

Slade rolled his eyes hard, then glanced at the carnage over his shoulder. “Saved her life. She was about to get shot in the head. You're welcome by the way”

Batman only grunted as he took a step forward. “Hand her to me”

Slade instinctively took a step back, hovering almost protectively over you. His mind had worked incredibly fast to put two and two together, remembering how he had seen him run away with Red Robin in the first place. For a reason he couldn't explain, he was furious at the thought he had left you behind.

“Deathstroke” Batman's voice took a dark edge. “I swear to–”

“You left her behind”

That singular jab was hard to swallow for Bruce. He already hated the fact that he had to come back for you, but Deathstroke out of all people to remind him of it? He was overcome with the urge to break something, preferably one of his bones.

“And for what, to save one of your little copy paste soldiers?”

Bruce flexed his fingers into a fist until his knuckles turned white under his gauntlets. He did not have time to take the bait and argue about the fact that you forced his hand to do so, something he would likely never forgive himself for agreeing about. “She needs immediate medical attention. Hand her to me now, or else”

Slade scoffed as he walked around him. “Alright then, let's go”

He didn't go far before Bruce blocked his way again. “You're not coming”

“Oh but I am” He replied, halfway between smug and pissed off. He knew taunting him with such an upper hand should feel great, but somehow, it didn’t. There was just no way he’d let you out of his sight now, and the fact that it angered Batman was barely auxiliary to the whole thing. “I am not leaving until I know she's fine”

It took every drop of restraint in Bruce’s body not to engage in a fight with him. White hot anger flared from his head to his toes, and his jaw was clenched so tight he thought he might crack a tooth. Still, one look at your unconscious form whipped some discipline into his brain and he managed a string of thoughts rational and coherent enough to guide him towards the best course of action for your sake. He repeated a few times in his head that it wasn't about him right now and swallowed his pride like he never had to before. The more he waited, the more you risked developing complications. He wanted you safe more than he wanted Deathstroke gone.

“Fine”

Slade smirked under his mask. Winning still felt good though. “Lead the way, Batsy”

“Follow me” His voice was strained. “Don't you dare try and bring her elsewhere–”

“Or I'll live to regret it, yes” He rolled his eyes. “Believe it or not, I have better things to do than get chased by you and your kids to the end of the Earth”

Without another word, Bruce returned to the jet with Slade in tow. The ramp had been lowered and gave onto a makeshift medical bay with two tables, once currently occupied by an unconscious Red Robin.

The second they boarded, the jet took off and disappeared in the clouds. It only took minutes for cruising altitude to be reached.

Once the jet stabilized, Alfred came out of the cockpit to assist, and if he was surprised at the sight of Slade's towering form hovering above you, he didn't let it show on his face.

While he and Bruce began to work on Tim, Slade took off your mask and pulled back your hood, holding your head as he slipped it past your neck. Your skin was sticky with sweat and dirt and dried blood, and even unconscious, you somehow looked like you were about to pull out some clever one liner that would both piss him off and lure him in in equal measures. Unbelievable.

He stepped out of the way as Alfred hooked you to a machine, your vitals soon appearing on the screen. Your heartbeat was a little fast, but there was nothing alarming on the monitor. Unlike Drake on the other table, you had no bent out of shape limbs or visible respiratory struggles.

Slade remained by your side, awkwardly standing by as his presence was completely ignored. He hooked off his mask and put it down on a bench, realizing that this flight might trap him there for a hot minute. Now that medical attention was provided, he had a mind to just go stand in a corner until the jet landed again, but his pride and stubbornness made him stay right next to you. He had won the tug war against Batman; he wouldn't just stop rubbing his presence in his face.

So he occupied himself by studying the facilities of jet. It was unremarkable at first glance, but he was half impressed with all the medical supply available. IVs, surgery material… X-ray machine?

He had to blink a few times to process the fact that an entire X-ray machine was hiding in a locked compartment. He raised an eyebrow, truly wondering how many of those he had scattered around in vehicles and safe houses if one was casually stowed on a jet.

Drake was the first one being subjected to a full body scan. One didn't have to be a radiologist to understand that his body was most likely shattered, and that his lungs were probably partially filled with blood by the way he's breathing. Still, Bruce and Alfred were cautiously waiting for the results.

Paying barely any attention to you, or him for that matter.

He actually notices something is wrong with you before the monitor picks anything up. There was something abnormal about the way your heart was beating, an almost imperceptible difference in the cadence of the blood being pumped.

“Something's wrong”

Both Alfred and Batman paused, taking a glance at the monitor instead of Slade, like they were purposefully ignoring him. When the monitor showed nothing out of the ordinary, they returned their focus on studying the X-rays.

“You need to–”

Slade interrupted himself, seeing that the two other men were not interested in what he had to say. He looked around the room and spotted the defibrillator, then brought it closer to your table. He turned the machine on, and the two minute counter before full charge began. He had a looming feeling that it would soon be needed, even if he hoped he was just over exaggerating.

“What are you doing?”

He didn't even look in Batman's direction at the harsh question, he only kept his ears on your heartbeat and his eye on your chest movement. “I said something is wrong”

Batman took a good look at your mostly still form, feeling dread creep up his spine. As much as he wanted to believe Slade playing a long game to get to him and to you, the restlessness in his voice caught his attention. Looking closer, he just got the gut feeling that Deathstroke was right and you were absolutely not fine.

“It's her heart” Slade mumbled with a confused frown. “It's beating like it's about to–”

He didn't even have the chance to finish his sentence as the monitor caught up with what he already knew. The beeping went crazy, and that did it to catch their attention. In a blink, your shaking body was surrounded by a flurry of movements.

Despite his calm, there was an unmistakable blanching of Bruce's face as he spoke his next words.

“She's gonna go into cardiac arrest–”

Without thinking, Slade reached for one of his sharpest and sturdiest blades and tore through the suit that would have taken dozens of precious seconds to properly take off. There was no way the charges would go through all the layers of your suit—his blade had barely been able to reveal your soft shell underneath. With a tug, he pulled the thick, heavy fabric away from your torso to make space for the defibrillator, which had only a few seconds left on the charge before being ready. He then made sure to throw away your belt, gauntlets and all metal blades on your person, so you wouldn't get electrical burns from the discharge that was to come.

The charges were carefully pressed on your chest, and your body jolted as Alfred set the machine off. But instead of the comforting beeping of a restored heartbeat, the room was suddenly filled with a dreadful screech.

You weren't in Monaco for pleasure reasons, even though the lanyard around your neck gave you access to one of the most anticipated events in the world and quite frankly, a fun time overall. Bruce had come to you for an undercover mission, a grab and go that coincidentally happened during the Monaco Grand Prix. The target, a man that had boldly snitched on a handful of crime bosses, was thought to currently be in the small principality to meet with people that could smuggle him beyond the reach of the mafias he crossed. However, Bruce had dug up significant intel saying those people would not get him to safety, and instead drag him back to Italy to face their own justice.

Now that had gotten Gordon worried. The man, Bruno Marcosio, had revealed the operations of the crime syndicates within Gotham, which meant the trial would happen there. But if Bruno couldn't make it back to the courthouse for whatever reason–say, he was permanently diving with the fishes in Monaco Harbour–the charges would have to be dropped, fault of the key witness not testifying.

Gordon’s hands were tied too. Nobody up high was willing to send forces abroad and create a diplomatic nightmare, not for some Gotham drama. In fact, nobody in the US government was willing to touch Gotham with a ten foot pole at any given moment. Which was kind of understandable, considering the rate at which shit happened specifically there.

So Gordon had relied on your family for help, and you were the one who got to go. You actually volunteered, first of all because undercover missions were fun, second of all because you had the best knowledge of the city layout of the family after Bruce, and most importantly, it gave you a reason to attend the Monaco Grand Prix without working PR for the weekend.

Bruce was there too, as himself. He would assist you at a distance, but he wouldn't be out on the field at all. His role was to be seen there without your company to throw off any spark of rumours that could arise if somebody was attentive enough to put two and two together. If you were being seen there as yourself, and Batman and Nightshade coincidentally operated in Monaco for a weekend at the same time, you could jeopardize the solidity of your cover. So he was the decoy and the backup, while you were the ghost hands.

“I'm about to enter the paddock” You said as the credential checkpoint came into view. “I'm turning off my earpiece”

“Copy that. Keep your eyes open, we'll talk later”

“Over and out”

You turned off the devices as you held up your pass, the screen flashing green to let you in. It had been ridiculously easy to clone the pass that had been made for you; it had taken an entire seventy nine seconds for Babs to duplicate the credentials and change the physical copy to your fake identity. The credentials belonging to Miss Wayne were still in the system, but since she wouldn't use them, you went in without any protest.

You pushed your black cap down on your head as you threaded around the people bustling around, hurrying to the grid to watch the cars from up close before the start of qualifying. You instead went to your designated hospitality terrace and sat down to a table with a nice view of the track. A parasol kept you in the shade, but you still put on your sunglasses for even more anonymity and sat back.

The qualifying began soon after and you alternated watching the action and scanning your surroundings. You were on the lookout for flagged faces that you recognized from the files, so you could link associates and potential threats to your stint later tonight.

Last night, you had gotten a good look at the mansion where the meeting would take place and spotted all the fastest ways to exit the property. You had marked your waiting spot and made sure you had cracked open the access code to the security system and the cameras. All you had to do now was to be patient.

The loud noise of the cars flying by drowned every sound on the terrace for a handful of seconds.

You didn't hear footsteps approaching.

A large hand clamped down on your shoulder, holding it tight. Without even thinking about it, your reflexes kicked in. You reached above your shoulder and grabbed the wrist, yanking it forward. But as you did so, you noticed the resistance of said wrist, and realized your rather hard yank did nothing to even destabilize the grip.

“Nice try, little bird”

Your eyes slowly closed as your shoulder was released, and it took everything in you not to slam your head on the table hard enough to make yourself pass out. When you opened your eyes, Slade had taken a seat across from you, a smug expression on his face. He was dressed with a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, and black slacks. The sunglasses on his nose hid his missing eye, leaving only faint scars peaking around the lens. You decided not to indulge on the fact that he once again looked absolutely delicious.

“Of course you had to be here” You mumbled harshly as you tore your eyes away from further ogling at him, knowing he'd hear. “I'm surprised you even recognized me”

He eyed you cryptically. “Nice new wardrobe, by the way. Trying something new?”

You rolled your eyes at how he deflected the topic. Probably because he couldn't answer it without admitting he had stalker tendencies. “Why are you even here?”

“Now, now, Miss–”

“Don't say it”

He paused, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “What should I call this… version of you then?”

“Literally any name but my government name will be fine”

He sat back, somehow even more smug now than he was a minute ago. He waited until the cars passed on the track before speaking again. “I'm not sure I like this look better, though”

“I don't remember asking you” You gave him a sarcastic smile. “What I did ask though, is what are you doing here”

“I'm on a contract” He shrugged. “Imagine my shock when I saw little Nightshade running around Donatello's mansion last night. Little bird so far from home, once again messing my plans like you were born for it”

“Oh you must be fucking kidding me”

Fuck. You had no idea he was even in Monaco, you would have been so much more careful had you been aware he could have been lurking around. Now, that complicated your stint tenfold, because with him in the way, there would be no smooth sailing like you had originally foreseen. You noticed you had grown stiff, so you forced your shoulders to let out a bit of tension.

His expression became dead serious as he leaned forward. “Marcosio is my hit. He's gonna be dead by the time sun sets tomorrow, with or without you in the way” That was a clear warning if you had ever heard one. “Count yourself lucky I'm warning you ahead of time”

… Too bad you had a tendency to ignore warnings.

“Gotta have to disagree on that one” You tsked, shrugging your left shoulder. “He's my mission, and he's not gonna die”

He slowly sat back. “Then I suppose you'll have to fight me for him. Can you handle that?”

You frowned, slightly vexed. “Why would you think I couldn’t?”

He only raised an eyebrow. The cars passed once again, giving you a few extra seconds to understand his meaning. When you did, you let out a dry laugh.

“Oh, oh that’s rich. I know you’re old but I didn’t think you were that fucking out of date” You snapped. Thankfully, everybody else was busy with the action on track to listen to your outburst, except for Slade. It was his turn to be vexed. “You think that changes anything huh? Because we had sex suddenly little me couldn’t possibly function around you?” Your tone turned condescending on these last words.

Then, you added. “You’re good, but not that good”

“Why so hostile?” There was a tick in his jaw that was hard to miss. That did it to bruise his ego just a little bit, and you were just glad he didn’t catch onto the slight lie of your last statement. “Wasn't the tone last time now, was it?”

“Why are you the one getting sentimental about it all of a sudden?” You blinked rapidly, suddenly confused at his persistence to talk about it. After your hookup, you had been worried you would let yourself be tempted to crawl back to him, knowing he most likely would ignore you since it was very clearly a one time thing. You had actually found it quite easy to get past it and move on, so it seemed to you like one hell of a curve ball to have him throwing this back into the conversation.

“I’m not getting sentimental” He scoffed. “Just making sure you're not planning on distracting me again this time around”

You raised an eyebrow, now definitely interested in the outcome of this discussion. “Are you saying it would work again?”

“Would you like to find out?”

A small self satisfied smile appeared on your lips. “If I say yes, will it be able to convince you to let me slip away with Marcosio?”

You could feel the pointed glare even behind his shades. “I said there would be none of that”

You shrugged. “Can't blame a woman for trying”

“I can certainly–” He paused his train of thoughts as his attention drifted towards something above your shoulder. His relaxed demeanor turned to a tensed posture and displeasure overwrote his perpetual light annoyance he kept around you. “Fuck's sake”

A subtle look behind you had you following his example, your body growing rigid at the sight of Donatello Ricci, the man very much planning on assassinating your extraction package within the next 24 hours. Shit. You hadn't expected to have that type of company before the stakeout. You returned your eyes on Slade, and the look on his face was so clear you could practically hear his voice in your head.

Play along, little bird.

Slade forced a wide smile on his face as he stood up, pulling on your arm to do the same. “Don!” He greeted with a booming voice as they shook hands. “I wasn't expecting you to see you here so soon”

Donatello didn't answer him yet, instead, his eyes locked onto you, glancing up and down in appreciation. It took everything in you and then some more to give him a polite smile instead of biting his face off.

“Yes, yes, early” He brushed off, then returned his eyes to Slade. “And who might be your… Lady friend?”

He exaggerated a frown, then turned his head to you as he pinched your waist. “What's your name again, sweetheart?”

You hated every second of the playful smile you gave him, and he knew that very well. You returned your attention to the man in front of you and invented a fake name, knowing Donatello would make no effort whatsoever to remember it.

“Come on Don, take a seat” Slade gestured to your now empty chair, and before you could voice your opposition, or even react for that matter, he wrapped his hand around your waist and pulled you against him to sit you in his laps. You should have known then by the pit forming in your stomach that nothing good would come from this conversation.

It took all your training for both your civilian and vigilante persona combined to shove back the absolute fury that ignited in your eyes. Considering Donatello, whose eyes were already ogling your low plunge top, hadn't flinched, you deduced it had been a successful mission. You arched your back and pushed your hips back against Slade, playing the game for now.

Donatello sat himself with a smug little face you were dying to cave in and took his sweet time lighting a fat cigar.

“I did the last checks for tonight” He began as he blew the smoke right in your face. Now THAT'S an interesting topic, you thought, as you subtly tuned into his words. He waited a second for the cars to go by before speaking again. “The men will be ready and at your command to–”

He paused his words and you could feel the slow, deliberate motion of Slade's head shaking from side to side. Donatello's eyes went from him, to you then back to him.

“Ah, I see”

“Let's not bore the lady with technical talk” Slade dismissed, his convivial tone masking well his irritation with Donatello's carelessness. But not enough to fly past you.

“Talking of which,” Donatello voiced out, his eyes and lewd grin returning on you. Much to your dismay. “Will the lady be joining us tonight? Could be a… suitable entertainment for the men”

Every single muscle in your body froze as the meaning of his words settled in. You recognized a feeling that hadn’t iced your veins since you were a teenager as you were suddenly reminded you were a sitting duck, currently very vulnerable to the man under you. It wouldn't take much for him to throw you to the wolves, only to take the opportunity to incapacitate you for the night that was served to him on a silver platter. At this point, you were certain he would. After all, you were nothing but strangers who had a moment once. He owed you nothing, you owed him nothing. If he could take out the only thorn at his side and only obstacle to his paycheck, he most definitely would.

That line of thought was probably why you did not see his next move coming.

Instead of laughing along and agreeing, his arm around you tightened almost possessively as he pulled you back closer to his chest.

“Sorry Don,” His voice carried deep displeasure and slight murderous fluctuation. “I think I'd rather keep this one to myself. I'm sure you understand”

His face fell just a little bit, probably not expecting such a cold response, but the smile sprung back nevertheless. “All good, Mr. Wilson. When you have a pearl, you gotta keep it close”

“Exactly”

The matter was dropped, but his arm still kept you locked against his body. Not that you were trying to get out; you weren't sure you could move right now. This little bout of conversation managed to shake you up like nothing else in years, neutralizing your training against situations like this like you never had it in the first place. You were angry at yourself for letting it affect you way more than it ever should have, but you felt naked and gross after his comments.

The silence left was filled with the roaring of the engines on the track, then the speaker voice announcing the qualifying results.

As if sensing the uncomfortable and tense feeling lingering around, Donatello put off his cigar and cleared his throat. “Well, I will be expecting you at the… convened time then”

“Yes” Slade agreed politely, then you felt his eyes on your side profile. “What do you think sweetheart? Should we go get ready for dinner?”

His voice lacked the condescendence it was supposed to carry and your smile didn't quite reach your eyes.

“Whatever you want” Your reply fell flat, but you couldn't make it credible even if you had tried.

Both his hands grabbed your waist and put you back on your feet as he stood up with you. You didn't put up a fight for that, nor when he firmly guided you away after one last handshake. You barely registered walking out of the paddock, reaching the lobby of the Hermitage or the elevator ride on one of the top floors.

You only realized you had moved at all when the hotel room's door slammed behind Slade. You blinked rapidly, then spun on your heels to face him. His sunglasses were on his head and his expression was unreadable. You held eye contact for a moment, then sighed and averted your eyes to the window.

“I…” You trailed off, your arms wrapping around yourself. “Thank you, I suppose. For not… y'know. I owe you one”

He nodded, visibly uncomfortable at being thanked. Probably for anything, ever. “Could I convince you to use that favour on letting go of tonight?”

A small, but genuine smile finally lit up your face as you shook your head. Your voice remained rather quiet as you gave your answer. “Not a chance”

He rolled his good eye to the ceiling, but a low chuckle still gave a single shake to his shoulders. “Figured” He then gestured to the room around him. “Take all the time you need here. Nobody will bother you”

You nodded. “Thanks”

“See you tonight, I suppose?”

“That's probably what's gonna happen”

“Yeah”

“Yeah”

You nodded again, watching him retreat. You had half a mind to tell him to stay, but you stopped yourself before the words could tumble out of your mouth. You would be poor company right now, and asking him to stay would send the signal of you wanting to sleep with him, which you were so not in the mood for.

The door closing after him left you standing there with a hurricane of mixed feelings.

—

By the time you had gotten back, you had shook off whatever had happened during the day and your focus had been fully regained. You had your stealth suit on, testing the comm system with Bruce before taking off for Donatello's mansion.

“Radio check”

Bruce watched his monitor, then nodded. “Loud and clear”

You adjusted the lenses of your domino mask next, exposing them to different luminosity for calibrating.

“Lenses are good to go”

“Alright” You nodded, then checked the integrity of your gloves, hidden compartments and weapon straps. Then, you made sure everything was properly stocked. “I think I'm all set”

Bruce only sat straighter on the computer chair, then turned around to face you. You didn't make much of his stare on you while you set the last details of the operation. You only addressed it when he didn't let go after several minutes.

“Yes?”

“You're off your game”

Of course he would sniff you out immediately.

“Why would I be?” You asked back, knowing it was almost pointless to try and lie but doing it anyway in case he decided to drop it.

He, in fact, did not.

“I don't know. Something you want to tell me?”

You grabbed one of your karambit and gave it one last sharpening for good measure, all the while avoiding looking at him again. “Not particularly, no”

He leaned forward, then narrowed his eyes. “Something happened during recon”

… He was still the person who knew your tells the best.

“What happened?”

“Something inconsequential” You brushed off, switching your now sharpened karambit for the second one and repeating your actions.

“It's not inconsequential if it's throwing you off your game” His tone became just a bit harder, tethering between Bruce Wayne and Batman.

You sighed loudly and exaggerated the action of putting back your karambit in your thigh holster. “It did shake me during recon, but I got over it. I'm good, I swear”

He only grunted and you heard the chair roll away. You were about to internally celebrate the fact that you won the tug of war against the most stubborn person you knew when your instincts screamed at your limbs to move, catching two batarangs coming straight for your neck in rapid fire. Without thinking, you threw them back at him, and he easily stopped them inches away from his face.

“REALLY, DAD?”

He nonchalantly put back the batarangs on the computer desk. “Your reaction time was sub-optimal. Not enough to compromise the mission as is, but I'll expect you to have that sorted out by the time you reach the mansion”

You scoffed and shook your head. “Unbelievable”

“Will you have that sorted?” He insisted, the tone of his voice alone letting you know he was expecting an actual worded answer.

You held his unwavering stare, then sighed. “Yes, my reaction time will be up to your standards even by the time I leave this lair”

“Good” He returned his attention to the monitor in front of him and took a sip of coffee. “Everything else is in order?”

“Yes sir” You confirmed, giving him a mocking military salute. “Unless you need to check if my glove is truly all the way in?”

He didn't even flinch at your sarcastic rebuttal. “I'll pretend I didn't hear that”

You shook your head as you left the control room of the grounded jet and slammed the door behind you. You got in your car and turned on the engine, revving once for good measure knowing it would annoy Bruce, and drove off the jet’s ramp.

—

Deathstroke paced the entrance of the mansion as the sun slowly set in the horizon, knowing you’d be knocking at this door sooner than later. Despite having changed entirely the layouts of the guards around the mansion and tripled the number of boots on the ground, he knew it would somehow not be enough to stop you. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe your willingness to leverage your civilian identity to succeed in missions was a sign that Nightshade was anything else than deadly efficient.

“I still don’t understand why you demanded so many more guards on the payroll” Donatello’s rough, smoke clouded voice echoed beside him. Slade had heard his shuffling from miles away, and had hoped for a second the old balding man wouldn’t try to speak with him. Wishful thinking. “How many of these vigilantes are coming?”

“One” He grunted, keeping his attention on his visual sweeps. “And we should have had five times the effective, not three”

Donatello choked on his cigar. “One? You make me spend tens of thousands of dollars more on security for one guy?”

His finger twitched on the trigger of the massive, military grade automatic weapon in his hands. One glare at Donatello was enough to quell his sudden anger. His eyes then returned to the tree line. “You should get inside. I have a feeling she’ll kill you first if she sees you here”

Donatello’s face soured. “She?”

He didn’t answer.

“What do I even pay you for?” He sneered. “Just fucking kill the bitch”

Darkness started to close around the mansion. Slade wanted to take the bait, but surprised himself that he avoided giving any reaction. That in itself was confusing to him, as to why, this time, his apathetic disinterest hadn’t come quite as naturally as usual. He didn’t enjoy that foreign urge to defend you in front of Donatello, nor the anger on your behalf at being so grossly underestimated. He didn't enjoy picturing your reaction to it either. All he could fucking think about right now was what you'd do, likely having shed your earlier shock and turning fully confrontational. Driving your karambits in Donatello’s neck like you had done to the poor fucker on the docks last time, no hesitation, no second thoughts about it. Or perhaps you'd let him run around scared first, even letting him think he'd have escaped before you’d strike? You seemed like someone who enjoyed toying with her food.

He especially hated the fact that he was becoming less and less reluctant to admit he'd actually like to find out.

Donatello seemingly grew tired of talking to a wall, because when Slade escaped his own mind, the older man had gone back inside and the sun had fully set in, leaving him in complete silence outside. He noticed that nature had gone still around him, not a bird chirping or critter ruffling around foliage, the telltale of an apex predator stalking, waiting in ambush. With one last visual sweep that predictably revealed nothing, he turned around and returned inside, heading for the monitoring room.

“In position” He commanded the men on his path, who then scrambled to attention or double checked their weapons weren’t jammed. “Shoot to kill. You’ll be lucky to even have one chance at it, so don’t fucking miss”

A chorus of ‘yes sir’ echoed around him.

It took him only a few strides to reach the secure room, where dozens of monitors covered each square inch of the property, from the treeline to the pond to the inside of the mansion. He shut the door behind him and engaged the mechanic and electric locks. He approached the screens, eyes flickering between each of them in search of a shadow. Donatello was sitting behind him, still smoking his his fucking cigar like he didn’t care about choking to death. Still, he ignored the suffocating cloud of smoke, knowing he’d be out hunting his target soon enough.

“I have seen it all” Donatello croaked, insufferable arrogance dripping into his words. He audibly sucked on his cigar, then purposefully blew the smoke in Slade’s direction. “Deathstroke, scared of a little girl”

He only gritted his teeth, forcing his eyes on the monitors.

“What, nothing to say?”

Movement on camera 17. His whole being snapped into heightened attention, noticing blurs moving from one view to the other.

You had arrived.

Donatello didn’t even notice as he kept rambling. “Big bastard can’t even defend himself”

Slade’s eye narrowed, unbothered with the background noise. There was something wrong, obviously beside you trying to steal his hit–his instincts told him what he was seeing was not what was happening. The time stamp was correct, the barely perceptible refresh period rolled in steady and on the right mark. But the shadows passing quickly from one camera to the other, conveniently on the other side of the mansion, was obviously a bait to lure him away from his strategic position between you and Marcosio.

Clever little bird.

But then.

All feeds refreshed at the same time, which they were not supposed to be doing, and what he saw through the monitors made him grip his gun tighter, almost crushing the handle. Most of the 36 men guarding the mansion were sprawled on the ground, their weapons visibly emptied beside them. None of the motion or pressure sensors had been triggered, and yet, you were already in the mansion. His eyes landed on camera 52 on time to see you neutralize the last three of his guards after sneaking up on them. There were still the few guards around Marcosio’s holding spot, but they wouldn’t be a problem at this point, clearly. He checked the time again, remarking with tremendous dismay that it had taken you about eight minutes to go through the security undetected.

And as if it wasn’t enough, instead of running to his position, your eyes met the camera as if establishing eye contact with him directly.

“Hi Deathstroke” You greeted cheerfully, yet unable to hide the taunting in your voice. “I’ve got to say, this is disappointing. I was expecting… more from someone who knew I was coming. You're not even out here trying to kill me!”

That was enough to make Donatello scurry on his fat little feet and weasel his way beside him in front of the monitors. His face had blanched several ghastly shades as he understood that Slade had not been exaggerating when he requested five times the amount of regular security. He was much, much smaller than ten minutes ago, and that was most likely Slade’s only consolation in this shitshow.

You visibly, insincerely sighed. “Now I feel like this was an unfair fight. You let me know you were there and gave me a heads up to expect more shit than I thought I'd deal with. Makes me want to give you a freebie too”

You wanted to piss him off, and it was working. He could tolerate Donatello’s stupid jabs, but he drew the line at being seen as lacking the skills for a fair fight, as needing a freebie like you had so eloquently put it. You knew that, and he had to remind himself multiple times you were just baiting him so he wouldn’t storm off this smoke house and show just how wrong you were.

“Tell you what. We're gonna play a game” You kept going on. “Come and get me before I find where in the mansion you moved Marcosio, and I’ll declare you the winner and leave without a protest. Sounds good?”

You waited for a few seconds, then chuckled. “Of course you can’t answer me. Cameras don't talk back, but I guess you don't really have a choice. So… see you soon”

You blew him a kiss, then all of his feeds went dark.

He hit his fist on the desk hard enough to make it splinter, letting out a string of curses that made Donatello flinch. “Your men are fucking useless” He seethed as he pivoted to face the cowarding man. “I’ll take care of this myself. Stay here. Or run, I don’t fucking care”

Slade didn’t leave any space for discussion before he stormed out of the room, locking it behind him. He lowered his scope in front of his eye and readjusted his grip on his weapon, then began to track you. His steps were completely silent as he carefully advanced, staying attentive to any movement coming from ahead of him.

He would never admit to a soul, not even the devil, that the sudden static coming in from his earpiece took him off guard enough to slightly squeeze the trigger—not enough to fire, thankfully.

“Ah wait, did we finally get it? Deathstroke? Hello? Helloooooo?”

As if chasing you around wasn’t enough already, you had found a way to hack into his ear piece's supposedly hidden frequency. Because of course.

He sighed. “I won’t ask how you got on this frequency”

“Took a while longer than I wanted, but hey, we made it! Don’t you think it’s better this way? You can talk back now. Makes me feel less of an asshole if you can defend yourself”

“You’re an annoying one, aren’t you?” He kept his voice low, eyes still trained on the junction in front of him. His steps were slow, quiet, and deliberate, knowing you’d start throwing the distractions now. Like the rest of ‘em. Perhaps if he could have you yapping, he could locate you by the grating sound of your voice. “Talking too fucking much”

Perhaps if he had known that you were stalling until the entire mansion could be remapped through your thermal lens to find where they had moved Marcosio, he wouldn’t have wasted time with this chase altogether.

You tskd. “I thought told you before. I prefer the term—”

“Relentless” He said as the same time as you did, rolling his eye. “I remember, even if I’d rather not”

He just could hear your shit eating grin through the comms. “So the old dog can learn. Miracle!”

“That’s twice you called me old today” He grumbled.

There was a pause on the other side of the line, then “Alright then. Young man”

He blinked, unamused, even if you couldn’t see him. “Don’t say that either. Somehow worse”

You laughed, hard enough for him to hear it coming from outside the earpiece. He locked on the source of the sound, then began closing in on you. From how he heard it, your relative position would be North East of him, placing you in the Foyer—a likely place to wait him out, get around him and find Marcosio.

“I gotta say, you’re funny when you’re not trying to act like a big tough man”

“Are you flirting right now?” He deadpanned. “Don’t you have anything better to do at the moment?”

“Um, it’s called multitasking sweetie, look it up” You replied, your voice steadily growing louder, telling him he was right on your tail. “Kicking ass and twirling my hair, giggling. Uwu”

He groaned, grimacing before he could stop himself. It’s not like you could see him anyway. “Don’t— say that either”

“What, giggling?”

Ten steps away.

“No, the other thing”

Six steps away.

“What thing?”

Three steps away.

“You know what thing”

Right around the corner.

“Just tell me it, so I’ll know not to say it again”

Slade rounded the corner, weapon high and ready to shoot.

… Only to find a cartoon drawing of Nightshade stuck to a small speaker that was clearly real-life sound quality. His ears were ringing loud as he realized what had just happened.

“Deathstroke Deathstroke Deathstroke” Condescendence was dripping from the voice in his head. “You fell from the oldest trick in the book!”

He swore loudly, then backtracked to the control room. His steps were fast and loud, not caring he could be noticed. In fact, at this point, he hoped you’d hone on him and try your luck facing him in a fight. Unlikely, since you got way ahead without. He returned to the room in a record time, seeing it still shut. He only had the time to pound once on the door, making the whole wall shake under the sheer force of the hit, before Donatello opened the door and threw himself out of Slade’s way— probably having seen him coming back.

He took one look at the monitor on camera 75 just on time to see you slip away with Marcosio.

He took off running again.

You couldn’t believe you managed to slip such a dumb trick to Slade and for it to actually work. The second Bruce confirmed the location of Marcosio on the north wing’s second floor, instead of the west wing basement where he had been kept yesterday, you set the speaker, thinking he’d go opposite and already planning an elaborate path to walk around him to confuse him, and potentially yourself as well. But when Bruce told you with a mix of disbelief, great humour and a spark of smug satisfaction that Slade was heading for the speaker, you changed course and went straight for your target.

“C’mon Mr. Marcosio, we’re almost out” You encouraged as your feet hit the grass outside, lightly jogging towards the tree line.

“I don’t understand what’s happening” He kept repeating, but followed you nonetheless. “Am I not safe?”

“Not at all” You answered, slowing down to his shoulder height. “Tomorrow they were going to take you to Venice—”

“To see my family”

“Yes, but they’re not too happy about you deciding to testify” You explained. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe”

“O-Ok?”

You picked up the pace again, almost reaching the tree line, when the unmistakable sound of an automatic weapon being cocked stopped you dead in your tracks. Fuck.

And to say you were so, so close.

“Leaving so soon?”

You mouthed the word back derisively.

“Turn around, little bird”

You pivoted slowly on your heels, holding your hands up. When Marcosio didn’t turn around, Slade nodded at him, and with a roll of your eyes, you gently turned him too.

“Would you look at that” You gave him a fake placating smile. “You caught me. Hurray for you”

He did not react.

“Unfortunately,” You flinched. “I’m afraid our deal is expired. I already found him”

“I don’t care about your deal” He snapped back. “Give him back, little bird”

You held his stare for a moment—you could see as clear as day how much he was pissed off, seared in the fury in his one abyss-dark eye. You wondered if you could talk out of this one after taking the piss out of him just minutes earlier. Most likely not, but the fact that he hadn’t opened fire yet tilted the odds in your favour and increased it with every second he didn’t shoot you to death.

You shook your head slowly. “No”

You didn’t like the way he relaxed—relaxed? and let his weapon hand by its shoulder strap. He straightened his back and crossed his arms against his chest, looking at you like he knew something you didn’t. Quite frankly, you would have been more reassured if he had tried to break your spine. Oh, you did not like this at all.

Slade shifted his position to be facing Marcosio instead of you.

“It’s not safe to be out here at night, Mr. Marcosio” The fake concern in his voice had you on the back foot, but not as much as Marcosio’s reaction to his words. “Plenty of ill intended people lurking in the dark”

You understood his game when Marcosio glanced at you nervously. What..? You quickly wiped off your stupor and probably agape mouth and made yourself as non threatening as possible, realizing you were dealing with a total imbecile. There were always a few civilians with no survival instinct whatsoever that somehow always managed to make your job harder than it needed to be.

You came to the unfortunate conclusion that Marcosio was probably very, very highly ranked in that category.

You took a deep breath and tried to keep your voice calm and not condescending. “Mr. Marcosio, I am trying to get you to safety. I am working with the Batman, and we will keep you safe if you come with us” You explained like he was 7 years old, then gestured vaguely to Slade. “That man over there is being paid to kill you the second you tell your family who you talked to in Gotham”

Marcosio’s glance began shifting between you and Slade rapidly, but his non-verbal expressed clear distrust of you and a favour toward Slade’s words.

Slade shook his head solemnly. “She's lying to you, she's the one trying to kill you”

You could barely contain your disbelief at the scene unfolding in front of you. It would truly have been comical if it wasn’t so ludicrous and moronic. “Mr. Marcosio, please don't listen to him. We need to get out now while we still can”

Just as fast as you finished your pitch, he contradicted you again. “She's trying to lure you away from protection”

Marcosio hesitated. You would have said he was genuinely thinking it over if you believed him capable of having a single intelligent thought. Made you wonder how he survived all those years. Was he even aware of where he was? Aware he was alive? Your understanding of his character only proved itself frustratingly true when he took a step away from you. Your expression fell.

“I'm sorry but he has a point, I don't know that I can trust you”

Well, clearly, if there was ever a god above, they were testing the fuck out of you today. Deep breath Nightshade, deep breath. “Mr. Marcosio. Please, I beg of you, listen to me. Your life depends on it” You began, closing your eyes for a second to think of what to say to him to convince him. “Look at all the weapons he has strapped on him. Does that look like the good guy to you?”

Involving him and jump starting his critical thinking ability (if he even has it altogether).

His face contorted in a pitiful attempt to appear deep in thoughts. You refrained from making any internal judgment on that. Well, any more than you already did.

“Well, I don't know…”

Great first step.

“You know this man?” You pointed at Slade.

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s Mr. Wilson. Donatello’s head of security”

“Do you know what is his alias when he wears that orange suit?”

He nodded again. “Deathstroke”

You waited for him to connect the dots, blinking a few times. But he gave you nothing. “His name—” You began a bit forcefully, then took a breath and tried again, softer. “His name is literally Deathstroke. Death. Death. Stroke.”

Undeterred, and even amused, Slade jumped in the conversation again. “Well, her name is Nightshade”

Bruno hummed. “Some Nightshade are deadly indeed…”

Like a lighter to gasoline, these simple words were enough to blow your lid to the stratosphere. He chose now to have his one single thought?

“Oh come on!” Your voice carried out across the yard, hands flying in the air harshly enough to startle Marcosio beside you. Needless to say, you had just ruined whatever effort you had made to remain gentle and professional. At this point, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad about it. “Not even all nightshade variants are– that's beside the point! For fuck sake!”

He took one careful step away from you, then another.

“See?” Slade cooed condescendingly. “She’s unstable and violent”

Now pretty certain of his decision of who to side with thanks to your outburst, Marcosio slowly inched closer to Slade. Which clearly emboldened his confidence and self importance, considering how he relaxed and matched Slade’s expression.

“Women, am I right?”

…

This single offhanded comment from Marcosio made time screech to a halt, with your head whipping towards him and your eyebrows rising and rising all the way to you fucking hairline. Even Slade hesitated—he had been dangling the comment above your head as bait but never thought the dumb fucker would dare to say it out loud. He realized his mistake when your glare felt even through your domino mask then settled on him, waiting for him to say what he had to say about that. The few seconds it took him to finally speak had been the most silent of his life.

And then, he just went and made it all worse.

“Always so emotional”

He said it like he was replying to Marcosio, but he kept his stare on you. You knew enough about body language and verbal cues to know that he didn’t particularly believe his insult, but said it anyway to win against you. To land a blow where he knew would elicit a reaction. Well, two could play this game.

“Alright” You lifted your hands in front of you, then dropped them heavily to your side. Your voice was surprisingly steady as you said your next words. “I see you’ve learned nothing from your divorce, no fucking wonder she left you. I admire the commitment to dying alone and sad, though”

Slade did not expect the divorce gun, but you fired it anyway. He couldn’t identify the feeling settling over his bone as that particular bullet replied through his body. He couldn’t help but think this was the find out part of the fuck around he started. Maybe he deserved it.

The both of you were so caught up in the stare war that you kinda forgot about Marcosio standing right there, until he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“You two are together?”

“Fuck NO”

Both your voice yelling in unison made him flinch. Yet, it somehow didn’t register in him that he should most definitely drop the topic. To be fair however, you had practically already involved him in your stupid drama.

“This seems… unresolv—”

“Alright, that’s enough” Slade cut him off, well annoyed now. He already hated even thinking about the possibility of sharing his business, even less with the subject of his business plus a stupid stranger who couldn’t take a hint. “She's the good guy, I'm the bad guy. She's trying to save you. I'm going to kill you”

Marcosio hesitated again, clearly confused by the numerous shifts in tone in the last few minutes. “Well, I don't know–”

You grabbed Marcosio’s forearm, having the feeling Slade was done playing now. You were pretty sure he didn’t care about the term of his contract anymore and would slaughter Marcosio where he stood.

Slade reached above his shoulder, pulling out an even more enormous weapon than he had before from the holster strapped to his back and cocking it. “Run. now.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. “Ok shit we need to go now— NOW”

This time, he didn’t resist as you dragged him back and followed you as you made a dash for the tree line.

The first bullet whistled past your ear as you reached cover, no doubt a warning shot that could have made its target if Slade had wanted it to. You swore under your breath, cursing his smug ass but kept going on, knowing your car was near.

After expertly navigating the woods in almost total darkness, and most importantly, without losing Marcosio, you finally reached the clearing where your car had been waiting for your return. He paused in his steps as he reached your car, his eyes excitedly roaming over the vehicle the second he saw it.

“Is that a 911 GT3?”

“Under a ton of modification, yeah” You hurriedly answered as you made a beeline for the door. However, before you could get in, he put his arm between you and the car and stared at you with a serious expression.

“It's not an easy car to drive” He began, and you were about to ask you what the hell he was talking about when he beat you to the punch. “I've actually had a two hours driving training with a professional driver on a real life closed circuit with the 911, perhaps I should be driving”

You returned his stare with a blank expression, half expecting him to be joking, but you realized with horror when nobody came out of the bushes with cameras and Ashton Kutcher in tow that he wasn't, in fact, joking. Every time you thought he couldn't get worse, he hit a new low.

You knew at this point there was no use trying to tell him anything, but you just couldn't help yourself. “... I've been driving this car that I personally modified to my needs almost every other night for almost two years. I think I'm good.”

“Still, I think it would be prudent to leave it to someone who knows what he's doing–”

“Passenger seat. Now.”

Your tone did not leave room for arguments. He quickly hurried around the car and got in, and once the door shut behind him you followed suit. At least he knew how to handle the over shoulder seatbelt, you silently remarked with surprising contentment.

You didn't like that Slade still hadn't busted through the clearing by now, suspecting it wasn't because he had given up on Marcosio just yet. You still fired up the engine and engaged the hand brake, turning the car around on a dime and speeding out of the woods through the path just wide enough to accommodate the vehicle. You reached the main road soon enough, tyres hitting the pavement with a screech. You gained speed, keeping your headlights off and your engine as quiet as if could be. There were much less people on the road this time around, making it easy to swerve around them before they even knew a car was coming.

“Um…” A lightning quick glance to your side revealed Bruno Marcosio holding on for dear life to the seat, pale and sweating and clearly stressed out. “You should turn on your headlights”

As he spoke, you easily swerved around a little fiat, proving your point.

“Don’t need to”

“I think it would be safer—”

“—If you let me concentrate” You cut him off dryly. “I agree”

He swallowed and shut his mouth. You barely had two minutes of open road after that, that your scanner detected an unmoving obstacle ahead at the same time that your comms came alive.

“Shade, trouble ahead”

The proximity alert began blaring and you pushed the brakes hard, sliding to a stop barely a few meters away from whatever was in the road. You already had a pretty good idea of what it was, only confirmed when you turned on your headlights. You came face to face with the barrel of that terrible weapon, held by none other than a fully masked Slade on his motorcycle.

Time stood still for a moment, then resumed when you put the car on reverse and he fired three times. The windshield cracked under the impact, but the bulletproof glass held on. For now. You waited until you reversed far enough to shut your headlights again, then put it in forward again. You sped past Slade, driving around him as her put half a dozen new bullet holes in your car’s body. You couldn’t help but think how many hours you’d have to spend in the batcave to fix this mess.

“He’s on my tail but I got around him” You spoke in your comm. “We’ll have to do a flying boarding, I don’t think we can afford to stop”

“On my way” B answered. “Keep heading North on D53, I’ll come to you - over”

As if on cue, gunshots came raining in your rear window. Once again, the glass held, but if he kept shooting at it, it would soon shatter entirely.

And with you being on the road with other vehicles, you just couldn't drop spikes or tiny mines to drive him in the ditch without sending every other motorist on the road with him. You decided to slightly lift the pressure on the throttle, letting Slade close the distance to you. You waited until his bike appeared in your rear view mirror, then, with a flick of your left hand, downshifted the car a few gears. Before he could react to the sudden proximity to your bumper, you flicked the flamethrower switch, lighting up the road behind you.

Slade wasn’t quite quick enough to fully avoid it, but his timely swerve avoided the worst of it. While he was regaining control of his bike, you upshifted again, speeding away from him. Still, your radar picked him on your trail again, unrelenting. He started shooting again then, further weakening the integrity of your rear window.

The bullets kept raining until your dashboard lit up like Christmas, warning you of that the window was about to shatter. Your hand hovered above your handbrake again as the integrity percentage decreased in front of your eyes.

“This is where the fun begins” You sighed under your breath, then addressed Bruno. “Alright. Hands on the over shoulder strap, and be prepared to brace”

He barely had a few seconds to react, letting a nervous-sounding noise but obeying nevertheless. The moment his hands closed around the strap, you yanked the handle and pulled your wheel to the side, sending the car in a tight 180 degree just as the 1% integrity was about to switch to 0.

You found yourself face to face with a fast coming motorcycle, Slade momentarily stunned enough to pause his shooting. You put the car in reverse and accelerated, now moving backwards. The bullets began pouring again, but you knew your front windshield had a few minutes more of heavy fire capacity.

You were about to loop Bruce in the new development when he beat you to it. “Shade… Why does the satellite says you’re driving backwards?”

You didn’t answer him right away though, as your radar warned you of a couple of car to overtake. The picture from their perspective must have been quite a surprise, to see a car racing backwards while being actively shot at.

“About that—” You paused, following the slight curve of the road. “Prepare for a backwards boarding. Rear windshield is one bullet away from giving, front windshield still got about a hundred rounds. ETA?”

“Thirty seconds—” There was a pause on this end. “Did you say backwards on road D53?”

“Uh huh”

“… We’ll talk about this during debrief.” The displeasure in his tone was so evident you were sure Marcosio felt it as much as you did. “Coming on your position now”

Just as he said it, you felt the jet fly right over you, lowering itself almost ground level as you hit a longer straight bout of road. The cargo door lowered into a ramp as your navigating aid synchronized with the jet’s, automatically matching your speed and leaving you with the task of piloting the car in the cargo. Your hands lifted from the throttle and clutch, instead wrapping fully on the handles of the wheel. You made sure you still had enough window integrity left, 19%, then glued your eyes to the proximity alert. You closed the remaining distance at the pace of around 42 meters per second, with 382 meters left.

12%.

257 meters.

10%.

You flickered your high beams, managing to blind Slade and at least slow down the onslaught of bullets.

196 meters.

9%.

115 meters.

7%.

89 meters.

5%.

47 meters.

3%.

Your hand found for the ultimate time the handbrake, timing it perfectly with the slight wheel crank you had to manoeuvre to slot your car in the cargo without crashing. As you smoothly slid in the cargo, nailing your boarding, a hook was shot into your door, then pulled backwards hard. It was so strong that you felt the wheels of the car give in, leaving you barely enough time to react before the car was dragged out of the cargo. You couldn’t engage full reverse thrusters if you didn’t want to melt the jet off, but you did have the instinct to engage full wheel locks on your brakes, creating hopefully enough resistance not to get pulled off.

“B, put the jet in hover mode now” You hurried to say in your comm, and much to your relief, the jet stalled there.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what fuel he puts into his engine but it’s strong as fuck” You said as you undid your seatbelt and rushed out of the car.

“Waiting in standby for green light”

You made eye contact with Slade again as his bike held the rope connecting it to your car. With a defiant tilt of his head, he began pulling back.

“Slowly forward”

At your command, B moved forward, snapping the tension in the rope. You could hear it groan and pull itself, but it held strong despite the opposite forces. Predictably, after a few seconds, the jet’s power began to win over Slade’s bike, gradually pulling him along and dangerously toward the steep slope giving into a valley. Yet, he still didn’t give up.

Let go, you moron, you mouthed, hoping he’d take the hint as you looked down the dark ravine he was about to plunge into.

If he read your lips, he ignored it and kept pulling.

Right as he reached the ledge, you grabbed your heavy duty knife from your back holster and cut the rope. The jet lurched forward with the sudden release tension, but you remained on your feet, not looking away (and neither did he). You gave him a small salute as the cargo door folded shut, leaving him behind.

You sighed, shoulders sagging in exhaustion as you slid the knife back in its sheath. You waited a few seconds standing still, glaring at the cargo door until you shook your head and dragged your feet to go around the car to the passenger door.

You grabbed the handle and pulled the door up, revealing Marcosio still gripping the over-shoulder straps like his life depended on it. You began undoing the seatbelt when he squirmed, looking down in shame. It's only after you followed his gaze that you noticed the stain on his light grey dress pants.

“I'm sorry I—”

“It's ok buddy” You gently cut him off as you kept undoing the straps, unbothered. If you had to count the number of times you had to deal with body fluids since your started as Nightshade, you’d never get to the end of it. “I know it got scary for a moment there. You're fine”

“But the seats—”

“Don't worry about it” You brushed off as you helped him out of the car. He was visibly shaken from being shot at about a thousand times in the span of fifteen minutes, and quite frankly, based on your experience, you would have expected a worse mess. “They're just seats and they’ve seen worse”

He just nodded as you guided him out of the cargo area and into the living quarters. You took off your glove and pressed your thumb on the fingerprint scanner, opening the door to reveal a small but cozy room. You gestured to Marcosio to go in, and he was visibly too upset, or perhaps too tired to argue.

“There's a shower and a toilet behind that door with towels and fresh clothes. When you're done you can take a nap if you want, we still have a few hours of flight until we land again” You explained, gesturing accordingly to the amenities. “There are snacks and drinks in the fridge over there, feel free to dig in if you're hungry. The door's going to lock behind me for your safety, but if anything comes up just call by pressing this button. Alright?”

“I huh, yeah, got it” He said as he blinked rapidly. “Thanks”

You nodded. “No worry”

He made a beeline for the shower and you left him to it, shutting the door behind him. You then made your way to the cockpit, knowing Bruce was waiting there.

The door opened with a dramatic woosh, and moments after you slumped into the empty seat to his right. You pulled your hood back and yanked your mask off, throwing it on the top of the console. You closed your eyes and rubbed the bridge of your nose, already more than done with this stupid mission.

You could feel Bruce's stare on you, knowing there would be one more kick to the ribs before you could put it past you and move on. He didn't even have to fucking speak for you to hear it all, and you didn't have to look at him to see the disappointment lingering in his eyes. You knew what you did and what you said, and you knew a lot of it was out of line and overall poor behaviour for interacting with a civilian.

“Is Marcosio secured?”

You nodded. “Tucked and locked in the guest room to cool off”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause before he broached what he truly wanted to address. Here it comes.

“Do we need to have a talk about professionalism on the field?”

You gritted your teeth. “Nope”

“Are you sure?”

You exhaled sharply, finally meeting his eyes. Upon seeing the exhaustion in them, his lips tightened for a moment, then he let out a dragged out sigh. You didn't need to say a god damn thing for him to understand his lecture was thoroughly unwanted.

He released the tension in his shoulders and his voice softened. “I understand—”

You shook you head slowly. “You don't”

He was taken aback for a second, an ephemeral flash of hurt shadowing the blue of his eyes at the underlying bitterness of your tone. You looked down, trying to escape the guilt that collided hard with you moments after your words came out of your mouth.

You sighed quietly and stood up, halting your steps beside him and placing your hand on his shoulder.

“I know you mean well,” You paused, taking a deep breath. “And truly it means a lot to me that you're always conscious of it. But you don't, can’t understand.”

Silence followed your words as they sank in. You were proud that your father trained you and your siblings with that in mind, and without even needing to be reminded about it. You also appreciated his effort in taking social perceptions in consideration and how he was always trying to better himself despite not being personally affected by the issue. But it didn’t change the fact that he would never fully get it. Batman’s qualifications would never be questioned by civilians the way Nightshade, or Spoiler, or Orphan were. And it was fine, you weren’t asking him to punish himself for something he had and would never have any control whatsoever on—all you wanted was for him to recognize that he’d never face that kind of frustration and manage the situation accordingly.

You nodded to yourself, knowing you effectively ended that conversation to be locked away in the box of all things you’d never speak of again.

You gave his shoulder a small squeeze. “I'll take 15 before debrief to let the dust settle, then we can go over everything”

You were about to leave when he caught your wrist in a gentle grip, calling your name.

“You did good tonight” He spoke quietly, in a way that you knew he meant it and didn’t say that just to placate you. “I know it was tough, but you did good. Go rest up, we’ll debrief back in Gotham”