#his weapon

You had stayed at the Kuala Lumpur safehouse for less than three minutes, quickly topping up the rebreather's scrubber and replacing the empty oxygen cylinder with a new one. You'd kept your feet off the ground for most of the quick supply stop, clearly itching to get going again. When your new rebreather was finished, you could easily complete a full circumnavigation without stopping at all.

He had been able to tell when you were eating during the trip as your speed had slowed. Each time you must have been scoffing it down faster than usual as you were back at pace within only a few minutes. When you'd finally made it back to the bunker before midnight, you were excitedly telling him how much fun you had, how weird but cool it felt going from one hemisphere to the other in such a short time frame, feeling the opposite spin of the winds. Near the west coast of Mexico, you felt the anticlockwise spin of a tropical storm and you mentioned that you could sense where it was heading.

By the time you made it down the stairs into the bunker, you proudly announced you were going to start the celebration by taking a much needed shit. He rolled his eye at you, more so out of amusement than anything else.

After you'd. . .started the celebration, he put your suit and helmet back onto its mannequin in the armoury while you put your boots and backpack away underneath it.

“I can put a zip on your ass if you want, kid,” he teased and for a moment it looked like you were seriously considering the practicalities of taking a shit while you were flying.

“No, that's okay. The piss zip's enough.”

Earlier that evening Slade had accepted a time critical job that needed to be completed tomorrow, in less than fourteen hours to be precise. He explained that you'd be on a reduced training schedule tomorrow after you had a full night's worth of sleep. The day after next, you'd resume training on a full schedule.

You told him to be careful on the job, as you had the tendency to do, and you bid him goodnight with a squeeze of his hand before levitating in the air and heading further down the range. He'd be leaving in a few hours, enough time for some sleep and to cook you pancakes for breakfast. It would be a little surprise for when you woke up, to continue your celebration. You'd more than earned it.

- - -

Something had gone wrong.

The telltale ache in his gut was a sensation he'd come to rely on over the years. They were pulling out the teams they had searching for you in Guatemala. All of them. It was a complete withdrawal which meant they had insurmountable evidence that you were not in the country. The breadcrumbs he'd been leaving had suddenly become totally irrelevant.

Something had gone very wrong.

His mind cycled through the possibilities of failure. Villain stood out as a weak link, not the man himself but the visits to New Jersey. Though he was rather insufferable he was loyal, not to Slade personally, but to the intrigue of being the personal physician of a powerful metahuman who had a compatible physiology to his own. Villain had taken a liking to you, he'd wanted to tell you himself that the trial had been a failure and insisted that Slade tell you sooner rather than later about it.

Villain had been excited when Slade first told him about you. That insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge was dependable and continued to be so. Now perhaps, with how Villain kept firmly taking your side, there might be some sort of loyalty to you on the horizon. The thought of Villain putting you above him wasn't bothering him like it should be. Regardless, it wasn't Villain himself that was the weak link.

The clone was a consideration, however the boy scout's movements remained normal, he'd saved a damn cat that got stuck up a tree in Metropolis earlier that morning for Christ's sake. Slade hadn't caught wind of the clone's whereabouts after the boy scout and Grayson extracted him. At least those do-gooders were doing that right.

His next consideration was you being the weak link. He had been aware of your exact location ever since you got him out of the facility, and he had been privy to every single conversation you had since, bar two. He wasn't including your hallucination with fake him.

The first was when you met Joey for the first time and you were signing to each other. It did amuse him how good his girl was at casual distraction, not good enough to fool him of course, it made him wonder whether she might be able to one day. Missing that conversation hadn't irked him, his boy was no doubt making sure you were okay, filling in the gap was rudimentary.

The second conversation he wasn't aware of was between Wintergreen, his children and you. That had been. . .frustrating. Rose's signal blocker was a gift from Grayson, it wasn't just top of the line it was in a class of its own. Wayne and his endless R&D budgets. It had unfortunately stopped the bugs he had in Wintergreen's living room from recording the conversation. The backup analogue audio recorders which he had to manually retrieve at two o'clock in the morning while Wintergreen was snoring upstairs were fruitless as you'd evidently thinned out the air and no sound was picked up on the recordings.

Your earpieces and phone were supposed to be his fail-safes like they had been the previous times Rose had used the signal blocker with you. He had listened to you and her speaking retroactively as your phone was programmed to constantly record audio. That second time however, his redundancies had failed and he'd been left in the dark. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch, the more he thought about it the angrier he was going to get.

He tucked his phone away, waiting impatiently for the oil heiress he had tied to a chair to wake up so he could get the ball rolling and be done with this time critical kidnap job already.

He had other pressing business to attend to.

- - -

Slade told Wintergreen not to take any contracts for the time being until he found the weak link. It took only a day to understand what happened. After dinner, he went into the surveillance room and was greeted by an alert, categorised as requiring his immediate attention.

It was an email his boy had written to his manager which had a letter of resignation attached to it. He quickly checked the live feed from Joey's apartment and rewound the footage back over an hour, watching him pack clothes into a bag while he was visibly upset. On another screen, he checked Joey's tracker and he was now in Blüdhaven with Rose.

Bringing up the live feed from Rose's apartment, Joey was hugging Rose and he was crying. After rewinding back the footage, he saw Joey signing the second she opened the door.

It was Ma. Ma's the reason why Pop got captured. She did that to him, she-

He held his face in his hands, his shoulders juddering as he cried. Rose wrapped her arms around him as she consoled him. Slade brought up the text messages between Joey and his mother, the last message Joey sent was to tell her to stop calling him, that he didn't want to talk to her. Rage ballooned out from his chest, this. . .this wasn't supposed to happen. How did-

“Kid!” He called out, blacking out the screens and taking to his feet. You hurried into the room, your face a picture of concern and he began his interrogation before you could ask what was wrong. “What did you tell my boy?”

“He. . .wanted to know what happened to you.”

“You should have kept your mouth shut.”

“He wanted to know. Rose and Billy did too.”

“You have no idea what you've done,” he berated you, taking a step forwards. “They know we didn't separate after the escape and they have now redeployed their assets to the states to hunt you down. Aside from their own people, there is only one other person on this earth who knew about what they did to me. So when you blabbed your fucking mouth, my boy told his mother and she came to the only conclusion there was to make. She knew that I would never tell him what happened.”

“They. . .wanted to know.”

“It wasn't your story to tell.”

“I told them what I saw,” you replied defensively, trying to justify yourself.

“You hurt my boy.”

“I. . .I know I-”

“You don't know. He quit his job today and he's left his entire life in LA behind. He's not talking to his mother and that boy needs his mother.”

“What?”

“She's the reason why I was captured and now Joey is aware of that when he was never supposed to be.”

“But you told Rose that-”

“I was trying to protect my son.”

“I'm sorry I upset Joey. If you never wanted him to know why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't think you'd show such poor judgement and be so fucking stupid.” Your eyes flashed with hurt as you took his words to heart.

“Don't say that to me,” you murmured.

“It's the truth. You don't have anyone. You don't have a family, you don't understand what it takes to protect one. Were you trying to weasel your way into mine? Hmm? Is that it?” Tears spilled down your face, his words deeply upset you, but there was tension in your jaw and a simmering rage laid beneath the hurt marred across your eyes. He wanted to splay that anger wide open.

“Did you enjoy being the centre of attention again?” He asked quietly, your expression contorted with rage, your pulse was quickening, he felt the air pressure in the room suddenly drop. How far did he have to push until you snapped? How devastating could your rage be? He wanted to bear witness to it, he needed to be at its epicentre. “Have you missed that? Is that why you did it?”

“You are not blaming me for this,” you responded slowly, each word punctuated with anger.

“Do you need a lesson on cause and effect.”

“Joey's mother had you captured because of what you did to him, didn't she?” A deep swell of shame hit him when he realised he didn't know which time you were referring to. You were quickly becoming more and more enraged, and so was he. “And you're blaming me?”

“This is only happening because of you. This is your fault.” His accent was leaching away, the drawl seeping out of him.

“No, it's not! You do not get to tell me that I have poor judgement and that I'm stupid when you're the one who put a fucking job over your own child!” His eye twitched, he clenched both of his fists as he leaned down closer to you.

“Reconsider your words,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“No!” You shouted, pushing the air under your feet until you were right up in his face, eye to eye with him. “Reconsider your fucking words!” You were vibrating with rage to the point he thought you might have been angrier than him. He stood his ground, body tensed and ready to immobilise you if you tried to make a move. You stared at him, unyielding, almost foaming at the mouth, unwilling to back down.

You were indomitable.

The wind shear alarm started going off as you were subconsciously moving the air above the safehouse in your fury. The sudden noise made you glance away from him and it forced the wind out of your sails. You realised what you were doing and the alarm stopped sounding, you lowered back down to the floor.

Without looking at him, you rushed out of the surveillance room and into the living room. It took him several minutes to calm himself down and work through a number of breathing exercises, otherwise he was going to break something. On one screen, he brought up the camera feed of you sitting at the desk in the living room, continuing language training on your laptop.

The memory of the night Joey almost died played over in his mind. His boy's confusion at who his father was, the way he said Daddy, the last word he ever spoke as he pleaded to be saved, the blood then gushing from his neck, that look of fear in his eyes as his boy was dying before him, the feeling of his gloved hands trying to stem the bleeding, the pain of the bullet going through his skull and out through his eye.

Slade could feel the dead weight of Grant's body as he uselessly clutched his eldest in his arms, the sheer agony he felt in that moment was the worst pain he'd ever known in his entire life.

He slid the door to the surveillance room shut, sealed it up and managed to make a call to Wintergreen without crushing the mouse or the desk.

“Wintergreen.”

“Rose called me, Joseph is with her now. He's upset but he's alright. I'm heading over in the morning.”

“I'm aware. So you pumped the kid for information, hmm?”

“It wasn't like that, Slade, and don't blame them for telling us. Your children wanted to know what happened to you because they care about you. As do I.”

“They were not supposed to know.”

“Relationships are not pieces on a board that you can manoeuvre at will. Rose and Joseph are not children anymore, they deserve the truth. And why did you not inform me about what happened to you? Could your ego simply not allow it?”

“It wasn't relevant.”

“Well I suppose your desire to keep us in the dark wasn't relevant either, was it?” Wintergreen hung up on him, Slade pulled out the earpiece and crushed it against his fingers.

He brought up the feed from Rose's apartment on another screen, Joey and Rose were now sitting on the sofa watching TV. He then checked the feed from Wintergreen's safehouse where he was writing something on the kitchen counter and proceeded to place the piece of paper right in front of the camera, 'bugger off' it said. Slade looked at the screen which had the living room feed, you were trying to focus on learning more signs but you were evidently struggling to concentrate.

Joey and Rose ordered take-out, and Slade did a quick background check of the driver who was delivering their pizzas. A few parking tickets, late payment on a credit card bill, that was it. Slade heaved out a sigh and watched his children for the next few hours until he saw that you were moving out of the living room and heading for the infirmary.

It was exactly 8pm, the end of your scheduled day. You took the antidepressant before going downstairs, you walked past the armoury and went into the bathroom, going up next to the vanity mirror to-

He practically jumped to his feet, wrenched open the door, making it clang loudly as he stalked down the corridor. He forced himself not to leap over the stairs and to take one step at a time. His jaw clenched as he watched you placing the black wig and makeup kit into your backpack, then you pulled your suit off its mannequin to start putting it on. You didn't look at him when he spoke.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“It's my personal time,” you told him, zipping up the suit and then putting your boots on.

“I've told you that they've redeployed their assets to hunt you down and you think now is the time to leave?”

“Well I'm fucking stupid, what did you expect?” He set his hands on his hips, failing to conceive of a reply that wouldn't provoke a negative reaction. You finished putting on your boots, grabbed your helmet and backpack which already had the rebreather inside and headed to the stairs so he followed you.

“Where are you going?”

“Wherever the fuck I want,” you retorted without sparing him a glance. You weren't actually leaving him. . .were you? Were you going to the bedroom to grab all of your clothes? Would you take some provisions with you from the kitchen? What you'd said would suggest you weren't leaving him, but he wasn't certain.

“Your training starts at 0500,” he reminded you as you went up the stairs.

“I know when it starts.” He tried again to gauge how he could respond but all he thought about was taking you by the shoulders, spinning you around and forcing you to look at him. He continued to follow you along the corridor, past the infirmary.

“If you're late-”

“I'm not going to be late,” you shot back, opening up the secondary door while using the air to keep the helmet hovering beside you. As you headed up the stairs to the blast door, the sensation of his control slipping away was extremely uncomfortable. He'd lost total control of the situation, nothing but brute force was going to make you stay. If he did that, there'd be no going back. You'd never forgive him.

What if you never came back to him? What if you decided there was nothing to come back for? He was in uncharted territory, unable to predict your actions with any degree of certainty like he always had before. He had to pull you back somehow, the only way he was going to do that was if he conceded. The thought of backing down even an inch rankled, but his need to keep you superseded the discomfort.

“What if I need you?” His question made you stop before you opened up the blast door. Was it enough? Did he miscalculate? Was it too late? Had he hurt you too much? You lowered your head before turning around to face him a few moments later.

“Then just. . .call me,” your voice softened, you were finally looking at him. “Okay?” He blinked at you, in lieu of an actual response as he wasn't able to formulate one. He didn't follow as you walked up into the basement.

The way you spoke took him by surprise, it was like even when you were furious with him, even when he'd hurt you, you'd always be there for him if he needed you. How could you care about him that much? Was it really about him or was it that need you have to do the right thing and to put other people before yourself?

He went back down to the surveillance room, you were already in the air by the time he checked your marker on the map. You were angry, but you weren't irrational so you'd heed his warning and stay in the country. Toronto, Ottawa and Montréal were far too close, you needed to blow off some steam so he started looking up nightclubs in Vancouver.

Crossing the North Atlantic was pointless due to the time difference, the nightclubs would already be closed by the time you got there. Vancouver was over two thousand miles away, far enough to stretch your legs and vent some frustration. However the city had a three hour time difference, he assumed that you'd fly over the Pacific for a few thousand miles, turn back when you reached the international date line if not before. He reviewed satellite imagery of the city, considering which building you might land on and store your gear.

He tracked your progress as you were flying west, altitude remained steady around 85,000 feet, speed was just over Mach 2, all the while he was probing the online security of several nightclubs in the city after ruling out a couple that weren't open that night or had private functions.

Your altitude started increasing, he supposed you were going to do a high altitude fall to pick up more speed. He focused his attention back to hacking into the surveillance systems until he checked your altitude again. His eyebrows furrowed when you kept going past 135,000 feet. You hadn't flown higher than that before, you weren't supposed to.

You were above 145,000 feet now with no signs of slowing down. At 160,000 feet, he started grinding his teeth together, what the fuck were you doing? When you were above 170,000 feet, he thought that you might not stop, that you'd keep going past the mesosphere and then. . .what if they had merely conditioned you to believe that you couldn't commit suicide, when in reality you could? What if that suicide attempt before you were captured was merely a psychological block rather than a genetic modification? Villain was still looking into it, Slade didn't know. What if you were going to burn up on re-entry?

Was he about to lose you?

He hesitated as he was about to call you, wondering what was he supposed to say. You'd believed every insult he'd thrown at you, any apology he made right now would ring hollow. He put an alarm through to your earpieces so you heard a beeping noise at 175,000 feet and a computerised voice repeating radiation warning. His eye was fixed onto the screen.

You turned off the alarm using the wrist device and he watched with bated breath as your speed began to slow. A sigh of relief escaped him only when your altitude started to decrease. What the fuck were you playing at? He wanted to give you a piece of his mind, he needed to grab you by the scruff of your neck and remind you that your body belonged to him. It was his.

It was his.

You picked up speed on the descent until you were nearing Mach 3. Thankfully you didn't pull anymore stunts and as he predicted you kept flying west over the Pacific in between Hawaii and the southern islands of Alaska. He sat watching the entire duration of your flight which took about six hours.

You had turned around when you'd reached the international date line and flew to Vancouver. After landing on one of the buildings he'd already scoped out, you looked up nightclubs in the vicinity, finding one that was a few blocks away. While you put yourself in disguise, Slade was bringing up the live feed from inside the nightclub. It was pretty spotty coverage with numerous blind spots but it was all he had to work with, at least it was something.

As he couldn't access the surveillance cameras that were outside the nightclub, he intently watched the inside feed closest to the main entrance, waiting for you to appear. When you came into view with the black wig on he couldn't glean much from your expression as the quality of the footage was rather poor.

You immediately headed to the dance floor even though it was mostly empty and positioned yourself by some speakers as you danced. It didn't matter that you could sense things around you, you shouldn't have your eyes closed like that, you were exposed, he wasn't there to cover you.

Over the next twenty minutes, more and more people started dancing, none of them were moving like you. You were in a world of your own, dancing enthusiastically and non-stop like you were on something. He turned on the audio very briefly, listening to what was supposedly classed as music these days. Wintergreen would have called it a bloody racket.

The “song” was effectively just a bass line and yet you were enjoying yourself, it was evident for everyone to see. The thought of someone approaching you and dancing with you was setting him on edge. What if you danced for them like you did for him in Berlin?

He couldn't help but recall how you'd made him hard and he had to rush to the bathroom like a goddamn teenager to get himself off so he could gain back some composure. Christ he was pathetic. What if. . .what if someone touched you? Would you let that happen? Or were you too angry to seek comfort? What if you didn't want comfort at all and you simply wanted to get off?

After you'd been dancing for forty minutes without a break, he was getting aggravated that you hadn't stopped to get a drink, you were dehydrated. It was almost 3am, almost midnight where you were, you needed to leave soon if you were going to make it back in time. You wouldn't have slept at all the whole night and if you thought he was going to take it easy on you during training, you had another thing coming.

When you'd been dancing for an entire hour and you were still going strong, he considered calling you to remind you what time it was. You told him you weren't going to be late. Did you fucking lie to him? You are supposed to take care of yourself, so what the fuck do you call this? Why did-

Your movements slowed as you pulled out your phone, presumably to check the time. You moved through the crowd to the bar, bought what looked to be a bottle of water and downed about half of it in one go. Water wasn't going to cut it with the amount you'd been sweating.

He waited impatiently while you were out of sight, presumably you went to use the bathroom, but what if you met someone along the way and he didn't know? Turning up the live audio coming from your phone, he could mostly hear the excessively loud music before he could hear the buzz of conversation. It sounded like there were lots of people in the bathroom. He listened to you taking a piss before you washed your hands.

The music got even louder and he stewed in his anger until he could see you again as you were leaving the club. It took you several minutes to reach your backpack, suit up and return to the air. You were heading towards the bunker, you were coming back to him.

He watched your tracker moving across the map, thinking that he was glad that you wouldn't be late and you would keep your word, but also annoyed because he wanted to punish you and that would have been the perfect excuse.

Part of him wanted to wait for you upstairs, the second you landed he'd chastise you for dehydrating yourself, he'd lecture you about not getting proper sleep, how tiredness severely degraded your performance during training, that it wasn't acceptable. He held himself back, and watched the live feed of you landing on the back porch, pulling out the key with its orange keyring and unlocking the door. You looked exhausted when you pulled off the helmet and climbed down the stairs into the bunker.

As you walked along the corridor, he wondered whether you were going to acknowledge him at all or if you'd stalk straight past. He turned the chair, smelling that ozone smell of yours and the dried sweat on your body before you came into view. You slowed and gave him a slight nod of your head in greeting before you went downstairs. Hmm, had your anger merely been reactive? Were you going to apologise to him? Were you going to beg for his forgiveness? He did enjoy it when you were on your knees before him.

He began general physical training with you not ten minutes later. Your movements were somewhat sluggish to start with but you were performing as usual, obviously exerting much more effort to compensate for your fatigue. When he cooked you breakfast, you continued your little routine of making him coffee. He sipped at it with intrigue, wondering whether you might have spat in it, he was almost disappointed that you didn't.

You were eating much slower than normal, each mouthful was a concerted effort. Was it because of your exhaustion or because you'd lost your appetite? When you'd finished, you told him how good it was and thanked him politely for the meal as you usually did. It was like you'd forced yourself to say it out of some kind of obligation to be polite regardless of what happened yesterday.

No. You weren't going to apologise to him, were you? You were going to be the epitome of being civil and professional. You had proved him right as you continued in that manner throughout the morning. You responded to him politely when he addressed you, everything you said had that muted, neutral tone, regardless of the fact that he was pushing you more than usual during training, scolding you for the slightest mistake.

At lunchtime, you made coffee for him and thanked him for the food again though you struggled to eat. He was annoyed that he didn't have to prompt you to keep going as you were making yourself swallow every mouthful. Your stubbornness was becoming aggravating. In combat training, he vented some of his frustration by taking you down and pinning you onto the mat, wrenching your arm behind your back.

“I told you to focus,” he growled, expecting you to fight back, wanting to revel in your rage once more.

“Yeah,” you responded, voice strained from the discomfort of the position he had you in. He slowly shifted your arm upwards, making you grunt before you started groaning in pain. If he kept going another few inches he'd break your arm. Instead of you using the air to push him away, instead of getting angry that he was going too far, your body relaxed underneath him, in acceptance of his punishment.

You just took it. You didn't want to hurt him even when he'd hurt you and he'd given you every reason to retaliate. He let go of you and took to his feet when he started getting hard, glaring as you got up off the mat. There was a steely look in your eyes. You were immovable, firmly in control, you didn't take the bait, you didn't want to stoop to his level, you were above it. You were above him.

“Again.”

- - -

“Physical health?” Slade asked at your next check up two days later.

“Unsatisfactory.”

“Any remaining side effects from the antipsychotics?”

“I don't think so.”

“Are you still getting headaches?”

“Now and again, yeah.”

“Do you have any injuries?”

“My arm hurts a bit.” You glanced away briefly before focusing back on him.

“Sexual health?”

“Extremely poor.”

“Last sexual partner?”

“What?”

“Who was your last sexual partner?” You blinked at him for a several seconds, you were both confused and disgusted by the question.

“You think I fucked someone in the club?”

“Sexual partner means someone that you've had any kind of sexual contact with, not only intercourse.”

“Right.”

“Answer the question.”

“Well. . .one of them I crushed their skull against the wall. . .or maybe the ceiling, I'm not sure, and the other two you executed point blank. Do you want me to describe how they raped me in the showers? Or did I provide sufficient detail for you during the two day debrief?” He was able to a relax a little knowing that no one had touched you without his knowledge and he ignored how you were trying to be crude.

“Have you masturbated this week?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I've been a bit preoccupied lately.”

“I expect to see improvement during your next check up.”

“Sure.”

“Mental health?”

“Poor.”

“Why's that?”

“You being a cunt.” He paused for a brief second, taking in your conviction.

“Can you elaborate?”

“You were irrational. You chose to blame me rather than accept responsibility for what you did. The things you said to me. . .were vicious and cruel.”

“It's not my responsibility that you-”

“Stop talking,” you interrupted him. “I'm not going to listen to you try to justify yourself. You were wrong. I am never going to believe otherwise. And this is my check up. This is about me, Slade. Not you. I'm the centre of attention right now. So ask your questions and keep your comments to yourself.” Never going to believe otherwise, hmm?

“Do you feel guilty for hurting my son?”

“Yes.”

“But you accept no fault?”

“No. I don't,” you responded firmly, unwavering.

“Did he tell you that he's an addict?”

“What?”

“Did he tell you that when he gets upset he starts overdosing on painkillers and he self-harms by cutting his arms and his thighs?” You looked shaken, the thought of his boy doing that to himself was distressing to the point you couldn't speak and you shook your head. “I want a verbal response.”

“No,” you muttered quietly, maintaining eye contact with him.

“Did he show you his scars?”

“Not those ones. . .just his neck.”

“Do you feel guilty that he's hurt himself because you couldn't keep your mouth shut?”

“I already told you yes.” There was anger in your tone which he was not going to accept.

“No. I asked you whether you felt guilty for hurting my son. I am now asking you whether you feel guilty that my son is hurting himself because of you.”

“I do.”

“Do you still believe that you were faultless?” You didn't respond for a brief moment, your lip curled in revulsion.

“Is nothing off limits to you?”

“This is your check up. You will answer my questions.”

“It wasn't my fault. You'd do anything to win, wouldn't you? Even use your own family.”

“I am making sure that you understand the reality of the situation.”

“You know what is reality, Slade? For someone so desperate for control, I don't think you realise that you're not in control of the most important thing of all. Yourself.”

“You'll find that I have a total grasp over my mental faculties. You, however, do not.”

“You don't though. I don't know whether you've convinced yourself that you're in total control and you're too scared to consider otherwise, or if that's the way they made you and you're incapable of thinking that you're not actually in control of your actions. Just like I can't kill myself, you can't be anything but a perfect soldier.” He rolled his eye, irritated by your attempt at psychoanalysing him.

“Are you done?”

“I know that I'm not. . .that I'm out of my mind. But at least I'm aware I am. You're not.”

“I don't need to hallucinate imaginary little sky friends because I'm not lonely and pathetic like you.” Your eyes flashed with hurt exactly like they did before, but instead of the hurt morphing into rage, your expression turned to one of resignation. You shrugged at him, trying to appear nonchalant like his words didn't affect you.

“Guess not.”

“This check up is concluded. Your tests start in fifty-four minutes.” He stood up from the wooden chair and stopped the camera from recording before taking it off the tripod. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” you half-whispered, eyes looking up at him. He ignored the twisting sensation in his gut and went to the computer, taking the chair along with him. After uploading the footage, you still hadn't moved from the server room. He headed to the kitchen to make himself another cup of coffee, perhaps you'd leave when he was out of sight, perhaps you simply couldn't bear his presence right now.

This would be his seventh cup of the day and it wasn't 9am yet, one of those cups you had made for him at breakfast. You'd kept making them for him yesterday and you'd kept thanking him for every meal too. Exhaustion wasn't the reason why you were struggling to eat, you'd evidently lost your appetite even after a proper night's rest. You continued being civil towards him, responding when he addressed you but you never started a conversation, not like you did before. You hadn't smiled at all either.

With the coffee ready, he still hadn't heard you move. He leaned against the counter, pulling out his phone and bringing up the camera feed in the server room. You were staring into space, disassociating. He chugged down the entire cup, the coffee scalding his mouth and his throat. You'd snap out of it soon enough.

He went down to the training area and pulled off his shirt before he started doing press ups on his knuckles, resting his feet on the bench. Maybe you were thinning out the air and he simply couldn't gauge where you were. Reaching a thousand, he checked his phone again. Goddamnit.

He did another thousand before taking a shower and getting dressed. You still hadn't moved. He let out a sigh and went upstairs to the server room where you sat with a blank expression on your face. You didn't respond when he called out your name, he hadn't used it for months.

“Kid,” he spoke softly. It took you a moment to get your bearings and glance up at him. You now seemed despondent.

“I'm late, aren't I?” You asked dejectedly, it was as if you were expecting him to punish you for something outside of your control.

“No. You're not.” You were. “Come on.”

You followed him to the training area to begin the day's tests. Extending out the power staff, he explained that he wanted you to use the air to deflect his blows. He began circling you on the mat and you matched him in kind, body tensing in preparation, the air shifting around your body.

As he feigned going right, he went to strike your left side but was stopped by a pillow of air. He gave no reprieve and continued his attack over the next few minutes, probing at where you were concentrating your defences. He gradually increased speed and the strength of his blows until he caught you out and had to stop himself from striking your head.

“One blow to the head can take you out. Don't leave it defenceless,” he instructed dispassionately, spinning the staff in his hand absent-mindedly.

“Okay,” you panted with a nod, taking heed of his word. You continued giving him your best for the duration of your tests where he didn't berate you for minor errors. In your personal time, you were topside listening to music on the back porch. He watched you sitting on the wicker chair. To think of the last time you sat there, defending him against a hallucination. Were you thinking about fake him? Were you regretting your decision not to leave? Normally you'd be tapping your feet or showing some sign of how much you were enjoying the music you were listening to, but you remained motionless.

He was at a stalemate with you. If you were going to waver, you would have done it by now. You were obstinate, you hadn't accepted his position like you always had before. Perhaps a new environment would have you changing your tune, though part of him highly doubted that. He made the call to Alvarez.

“Coronel Wilson. ¿Cómo está usted?”

“General de brigada Alvarez. Tengo a alguien para ti.”

- - -

Three days later, Slade was waiting for you on a track in the Venezuelan jungle two miles from the camp's outer perimeter. He was leaning up against the jeep, sweating, and holding back the urge to smoke otherwise his armour was going to reek of it.

Checking your tracker on his phone, he watched as you flew overhead instead of descending and you began circling at 36,000 feet, with no apparent intention of landing early. It didn't surprise him. When he had told you that you'd be training with the militia your expression had immediately darkened.

“How long for?”

“That depends on how you perform.”

“And if I don't perform well?”

“A few months perhaps.”

“Months?” Your eyes had widened, his answer obviously distressing you. To no avail you tried to force a neutral expression on your face to conceal how upset you felt. Were you going to miss him? Could you not bear the thought of being away from him for so long? Were you going to beg for his forgiveness?

You'd been exceptionally withdrawn the next day, only looking at him when he addressed you during meals and training, all the while continuing your little thanks and compliments. He outlined the logistics, showing you satellite imagery of the concealed camp, maps of the territories they had under their control in the south of the country, the drug cartel's territories in the west and the regime's territories in the north. He explained that you'd be assigned to a unit and you'd train, eat and sleep together.

“But that means I can't sleep in the air.”

“If you can sleep on my bedroom floor, you can sleep on a cot.” You shot him a hard look, there was something akin to betrayal across your features.

“You expect me to be in disguise night and day?”

“That won't be necessary. You won't be recognised there.”

“What do I say about my scars?”

“No one will ask you about them, I've made sure of that.”

He watched on his phone as you began losing altitude, the cloud cover came down to mask your descent. Technically you weren't late, you waited right up to the last second before you landed several yards from him, obeying him but pushing it to the absolute limit, a display of your rancour.

You quickly unstrapped the pony bottle from your thigh, denying him the opportunity to do it. He handed you a set of fatigues and a pair of combat boots to put on when you stripped out of the suit. After he packed your gear away, he climbed into the driver's seat and you reluctantly sat in the passenger's seat.

On the drive to the camp, he could hear your heart start beating faster and faster until it was pounding. It wasn't just nerves, you were genuinely scared. He considered turning back but this was going to be good for you. The militia were motivated, driven, they wanted to take back their country for the right reasons, it wasn't about control for them, it was about liberation. Wintergreen would approve. This would also give you the opportunity to socialise and train in a new environment, two things you couldn't experience in the bunker.

Most importantly, you needed to understand the impact your actions can have. Before he put his helmet on and drove up to the outer perimeter, he turned to you.

“If anything happens, you call me. Understand?” Your head hung low as you nodded meekly, his words didn't reassure you at all.

This was going to be good for you, he reminded himself.

────────

°✦｡･Chapter Sixteen･｡✦° Taglist: @tenyasfangirl @okari-blackpaw @lordandmistress @jyaartist @shadowdoom20 @redhooduwu @celestia0473 @mewocc @ohhrats @bohdupibaba @repostingmyfavs

Two days had passed since you'd left Caracas and flown Slade back with all of his gear. You'd caught up on more sleep and the next morning Slade had debriefed you on the breakout and your time at the camp. In the afternoon, you were on a truncated schedule, completing combat training with Slade and navigation before dinner and then language training after that. The next day you were back on a full schedule.

Things with Slade weren't awkward but they weren't comfortable either. He wasn't angry like he'd been before, he wasn't berating you for making a small mistake, he treated you like normal. You sensed this tension on him though, brimming right under the surface, unquantifiable yet tangible. Was he still upset with you? After what happened with Joey?

Had you misinterpreted him making you believe Tovar was going to die and getting you to free those prisoners as a fucked up apology? Had it actually been punishment? With training done for the day, you headed out of the living room and into the infirmary to take the day's antidepressant. You had almost finished the month's supply and you'd be visiting Dr. Villain tomorrow for a refill and a health check.

When you'd swallowed the pill, you walked into the corridor and Slade suddenly called out for you. Your body almost stuttered to a complete stop, mind recalling with painful clarity the last time he'd called you into the security room and the fight that had followed. Reminding yourself that he didn't sound angry, you went inside where he was sitting at the desk. A metal case was positioned on the floor beside him and you sat down when he gestured to it.

“I have something for you,” he murmured, handing you his phone. As you hesitantly took it from him, you looked down and saw. . .it was a photo of Kon. He was grinning at the camera, the smile reaching his bright blue eyes. He wore a black t-shirt and his hair had grown, though it had been shaved at the sides. He seemed. . .happy. Your chest ached with warmth, eyes welling with tears at the sight of him.

“The boy looks happy, doesn't he?” Slade commented.

“Yeah,” you whispered, managing to hold in your emotion. “How did you. . .?”

“A favour.” You raised an eyebrow, knowing that his favours were more than meets the eye. Taking in the photo again, you wondered at the efforts he'd gone to to get this. It must have been through Nightwing, maybe Rose? This was him trying to clear the air with you, wasn't it? An apology in actions rather than words. Was he trying to make things right with you? Did he not really mean what he'd said?

The problem was that Slade was exceptionally skilled at damaging people, the things he'd call you, pathetic, stupid, lonely, they weren't lies. He was no holds barred, going for the jugular was where he began, not where he ended. He'd weaponised the truth against you because that's what would hurt you the most.

For someone who excelled at killing people and had 'the Terminator' as a nickname, for someone who had been turned into the perfect soldier, he could be. . .inept. Unable to think past his anger, incapable of truly admitting fault, failing to realise that his perception was marred, hurting people when he was trying to help, retaliating against those he believed harmed his family without thought and with extreme aggression.

Apologising to you by manipulating you, having people lie to you, making you believe Tovar was going to be executed because of you. Was it like what Joey had said before? That Slade's heart was in the right place? Even if that was expressed in the most fucked up ways?

Or was he simply placating you? Is that was this really was? Him getting that photo of Kon because he wanted to get himself back in your good graces so that you would continue being his compliant weapon?

“Thank you,” you told him, handing his phone back after a final look. “Can you. . .”

“I'll send it to you.” With a nod, you made yourself give him a small smile. You couldn't discern anything from his expression. You sat with him in silence for a few moments, the air between you continued to be filled with tension. Were you really home? You didn't feel. . .welcome. Did you really belong here? Not able to stand it any longer, you bade him goodnight and left the security room. Somehow you felt worse leaving than you had going in.

- - -

Slade had been watching you intently during breakfast and lunch the next day. You weren't eating quickly, you'd fallen out of that habit. You thought he'd be pleased considering his initial annoyance of it, but now it seemed like he wasn't pleased. He probably had a lot on his mind and you were incorrectly making it all about you.

Before you flew to New Jersey, you went to Vermont as Slade said Billy wanted to see you. While you were having tea with him, you recounted your time at the camp and the subsequent prison breakout.

“It appears that freeing people is becoming your forte,” Billy remarked with a smile on his face. Slade must have told him about Kon because you hadn't.

“Uhh. . .I guess.”

“And how are things between you and Slade?”

“They're fine.”

“After what passed between you?”

“He told you about that?”

“He did. I was most pleased that you were able to give as good as you get. He can be a real bastard when he wants to be.”

“Yeah. . .he can,” you muttered, trying not to think about how much his words had hurt and angered you.

“So?” Billy prompted gently.

“Things are. . .fine.”

“He's not acting untoward?”

“No.” Not anymore at least. “How's Joey?”

“He's doing better. Adeline's been a friend to him as well as a mother so it was difficult for him.”

“Is he still with Rose?”

“Yes and he's started a new role in Blüdhaven. That was Slade's doing and Joseph is aware that his father owns the company he now works for. Normally Joseph would have protested against such nepotism. After all he had to work his way up his mother's company. She made it a smooth ride of course but he paid his dues. At the moment he wishes to keep himself occupied and I encouraged him to take the position on a temporary basis so he can find his footing.”

“He likes it there?”

“He's enjoying the routine and his colleagues have been very welcoming.” You nodded at him and had a sip of tea. “I don't suppose Slade's told you but Joseph visited Dr. Villain quite a few weeks ago now on account of his migraines. They're not being caused by a physical ailment, instead it appears to be a mental one. Joseph now regularly meets with a psychiatrist that's been fully vetted by the Titans and the Martian Manhunter himself no less. And Slade, though that's by the by.

“Joseph is exploring taking antidepressant mediation as well and mentioned to me that you'd been very open in discussing the medication that you're taking.”

“I. . .mentioned it.”

“I believe that you helped to encourage him to look into them. Not explicitly, you made it a possibility for him.” You didn't know how to respond, you'd only mentioned the antidepressants because Joey had asked why you had painkillers from Dr. Villain.

It wasn't long before Billy was waving you off from the back porch and you were heading east to New Jersey. The health check went all fine, Dr. Villain was meticulous and professional as he always was. You liked being in his company, you understood what he expected of you. On the way back to the bunker, Rose texted you, she was inviting you to go to a club in New York with her and Joey tomorrow night. You replied to her text when you landed at the safehouse, apologising and saying that you couldn't make it because you had training.

It wasn't a lie but it wasn't exactly the truth either. It would be best if you stayed away from them, you'd caused enough trouble as it was. What Billy had told you as well only highlighted how much of an effect your words had. They weren't your family, or your friends. Billy was. . .was he your friend? Or just someone that spoke with you as a favour to Slade? You weren't really sure.

With Rose and Joey though, they definitely weren't your friends. You didn't need to be their friends in order to protect them and that's ultimately what Slade wanted. You didn't want to say the wrong thing again to his children and end up hurting them and him too. After pushing the air into the hole above the door frame and disarming the fail safes, you were about to unlock the back door with your key when the earpieces beeped as a call came through.

“What do you mean no?” Rose asked without a greeting.

“Hey uhh. . .I have training. I hope you and Joey have a great time though.”

“What time do you start?”

“What?”

“What time do you start training?”

“Five.”

“When do you finish?”

“Eight.”

“In the morning?”

“8pm.”

“You train for fifteen hours a day?!”

“Well. . .that includes meals so. . .”

“You train for fifteen hours a day and you can't possibly spare a couple to celebrate?”

“Tomorrow's Sunday so I don't train for-”

“Come on, S! You freed like two hundred people from a gulag, we need to celebrate, it'll be fun! When was the last time you had a day off?"

“Uhh. . .”

“Slade hasn't given you a day off?” She was starting to sound angry.

“I need to train, Rose. There are people that are trying to find me.”

“So you didn't go to that club in Berlin then?”

“Well. . .I. . .” you trailed off, you didn't know what to say.

“You're a shitty liar, S. We'll meet you behind the club at eleven thirty.”

“Rose, I'm not-” The line went dead, she'd hung up on you. With a frown, you opened up the back door and started texting her to make it clear that you couldn't make it and ended the message with another apology. You knew you were doing the right thing, this would be better for everyone. Rose and Joey both had lots of friends who they could ask to go with them. They weren't losing anything in your absence.

Later that evening, you were sitting at the wooden desk halfway through profile learning when Slade came into the living room. Your stomach rolled seeing the anger on his expression.

“You stood up my children?” He half-accused, half-questioned. You looked up at him without a clue as to how to respond. Surely he. . .wanted you to stay away from them? After you had blabbed your mouth and hurt Joey? Why was he acting like you did something wrong? You didn't understand.

“Rose is upset, she thinks I'm not allowing you to see them and Joey is threatening to have the Titans start hunting my ass. Why did you say no?”

“I. . .” Was he testing you? Is that what this was? He wanted you to do the right thing even in the face of his rage? He needed to see you hold firm and refuse to see his children despite the fact he was acting like he wanted the opposite? He would teach you this lesson until it was irrefutable, wouldn't he? They weren't your family. You didn't have a family. You didn't have anyone. “I have. . .training.”

“You have personal time, don't you? You said it yourself you can go wherever the fuck you want, and you did exactly that before, so what is the problem?” You couldn't swallow down the growing lump in your throat. Maybe this wasn't a test. Then again he liked to make things seem as real as possible in order to gauge your true reaction.

“I don't think it's a good idea,” you replied quietly, lowering your head and hoping that would be sufficient for him.

“You'll be in disguise and Rose and Joey are getting a ride from a speedster. There's nothing to be concerned about, alright?” Slade's tone had softened, it was like he was genuinely trying to convince you to go and see them. What were you supposed to say? “Go and tell my girl before she finishes plotting to skewer my eye.” You stared at the floor, your mind went blank.

“Kid. Kid, look at me.” Slade's face filled your vision, he was crouched down by you. You forced yourself to comply otherwise he'd be more upset. You had to look at him when he was talking to you. “Tell me what's going on.”

“I don't want to cause anymore problems,” you muttered, desperately hoping that he'd stop, that the test would be over.

“You're not going to cause any problems,” he replied gently, how could he seem so sincere? “If you really don't want to go, I'll tell them but you have to tell me why.” He wasn't going to stop until you told him explicitly, until he knew that you had learnt your lesson. Your heart was aching profusely.

“They're your family, not mine. I understand that. I'll stay away from them unless you want me to protect them. Can you. . .stop testing me like this?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please. . .don't pretend. I. . .I'll get confused and I won't know what's real so. . .don't test me like this.”

“Kid. I swear that I'm not testing you right now.” You blinked at him in confusion. He was. . .he was giving you his word, he really meant it, didn't he?

“You. . .you swear?”

“I swear to you,” he promised, taking hold of your hand and firmly squeezing it. He wasn't. . .testing you? He was upset you'd declined Rose's invitation? Why would he be upset? You thought that's what he wanted. You'd hurt his children, why would he want you to be near them again?

“I don't. . . understand.”

“Can you explain to me why you don't want to go?”

“I. . .thought you didn't want me to.”

“Why did you think that?”

“Because I've hurt them.”

“You didn't mean to.”

“So? I still hurt them.”

“Kid, I. . .I forgive you, alright? I know you would never intentionally hurt them. You like Rose and Joey, don't you?”

“Yeah.”

“And do you want to see them tomorrow night?”

“Well. . .”

“Do you personally want to?”

“Yeah.”

“You can let Rose know that you'll see them tomorrow then.”

“You want me to go?”

“Yes, you've earned some R & R and they want to see you.”

“But what if I say the wrong thing again?”

“Promise me you won't intentionally hurt my children.”

“I swear to you, Slade.”

“Good.” He spoke again before you could reply. “And before you ask, yes I'm sure.” You pressed your lips together, he'd already known what you were going to ask. He raised your hand that he was holding and pressed a kiss against your knuckles, his facial hair grazing over your skin. You frowned at him for trying to placate you with kisses.

“What? This worked so well last time,” he teased playfully, a smirk pulling at his lips. He hadn't smirked at you since before the fight, all those weeks ago. He was trying to go back to how things were, he wanted to make amends with you, he was trying to clear the air.

All the doubt and confusion you'd felt attempting to understand his intentions, it was starting to become clear. Caracas, Tovar, the breakout, the photo of Kon, all of it was an apology. He really was trying.

As you settled down to sleep, you spent a good hour or two thinking over everything. He had seemed nervous in the Caracas safehouse. It couldn't have simply been because he knew you'd be upset, that wasn't enough of a justification. He'd come up with that poor excuse about there being lots of activity in their airspace because he'd wanted you to stay with him.

What would it have mattered if you'd slept at altitude? Why did he. . .did he think that you weren't going to come back? Did he think you'd be so angry that you'd leave him for good? After he manipulated you and lied to you? It explained his insistence for you to stay, it explained him holding your hand as you hovered in the living room, why his body had then relaxed. So why did he continue to be tense? Did he still think you'd leave? Was he clutching at straws trying to make things right with you? Incapable of simply apologising?

The next morning, your mind continued percolating with questions. You needed to understand exactly where Slade stood, you had to be sure.

“Why did you send me to the camp?” You asked him after you'd finished breakfast as he sat opposite you in the booth.

“For training,” he replied simply, your eyes narrowed at him.

“Slade.”

“They're do-gooders like you. It gave you a chance to socialise, train in a new environment and get real-world experience saving those prisoners. I knew it would do you good.”

“But you knew it wouldn't all be good.”

“Yes.”

“Did you think I was going to back down and admit that I was in the wrong?”

“It was a possibility.”

“You know better now though, don't you?”

“I do.”

“So you're not going to try that shit with me again. Are you.”

“It'd be futile.”

“Are you, Slade,” you pressed, not giving him any room to manoeuvre.

“I won't, kid.”

“Swear to me.”

“I swear to you.” Realising you'd been leaning forwards over the table, you shifted away, satisfied that Slade now understood that he couldn't push you to his thinking when you knew you were in the right.

“At the safehouse in Caracas, why did you come up with that piss poor excuse about there being lots of activity in their airspace?”

“It wasn't an excuse, they-”

“It was a piss poor excuse,” you reiterated slowly. His expression hardened and he stared at you unblinking without giving a response. “Did you think I was going to leave for good?”

“Perhaps,” he murmured after a few seconds.

“Do you still think I'm going to leave? Is that why you're being weird?”

“I'm not being weird.”

“You are and you keep staring at me when I'm eating.”

“You don't seem to be enjoying my food.”

“I am, I just. . .don't have much of an appetite.”

“Hmm.”

“I don't plan on leaving. I want to stay here, I want to stay with you. Do you want me to stay here with you?” He kept looking at you for a long moment before he blinked at you. “Okay.”

Standing up from the booth and stepping round to him, he took your hand when you reached out, his skin was so soft and warm.

“I guess it's your turn to interrogate me,” you joked, referring to the imminent check up he was about to give you. He raised an eyebrow, there was nothing but promise in his eye.

- - -

Rose and Joey hadn't arrived when you landed on the roof of a residential building less than a block from the club. It was several minutes before eleven thirty, time to take off the pony bottle and the suit, switch the boots for some shoes and put the wig on. With everything packed away, you armed the backpack and hid it in a ventilation shaft. You pulled down the cloud cover and dropped into the alleyway below, putting the small earpiece on. You barely made it a few steps when a call came through.

“They've just left, kid.”

“Okay,” you replied, heading out to the street.

“Keep them out of trouble.”

“I will.”

“If anything happens. . .”

“I'll call you and get them to the exfil point.”

“Good.”

“I'll see you in the morning.”

“Alright, kid.”

“Night, Slade.”

As you were approaching the back of the club, you sensed something extremely fast decelerating rapidly and then you could feel three people in the alleyway by the dumpsters. It was Rose, Joey and the speedster. Before you made it there, the speedster zipped away and you could feel the disturbance they'd left in the air for a good mile or so.

It was difficult to sense further with all the buildings and cars and people. If they were flying through the air you would have sensed them hundreds of miles away considering the speed they were moving.

“Hey S!” Rose called out as you approached, she was taking off the top part of her Ikon suit and Joey was doing the same, they both had clothes on underneath. The suits would have protected them while they travelled at such immense speeds.

You waved and saluted at them and had to avert your eyes when Rose stripped off the bottom part of the blue suit until she was down to her underwear.

“I bet you don't look away when Dad's walking around butt naked,” she teased and you couldn't bring yourself to respond or you'd end up embarrassing yourself no doubt. “Done.”

“Joey's not,” you replied, sensing that Joey had taken off the rest of his suit too as you were looking at the faded green paint peeling off the dumpster.

“Ooh you can tell?”

“Yeah.”

“What am I doing right now?” You shifted the air around her, she was standing still, arms were at her sides and you felt a protrusion coming out of her lower face.

“You're. . .sticking your tongue out at me.”

“And now?”

“The same. . .but less.” Rose giggled and you turned around when Joey was ready. They both looked very fashionable, they looked like models really. Rose had a purse with her which presumably had both of the suits in.

Joey held up his arm at his side, elbow facing down and clenching his fist as he signed S. You held out your little finger, moving it in the shape of the letter 'j' as you signed back J to him. Rose came up to you and started adjusting your wig a little.

“I knew Dad would see things our way,” she remarked as she fluffed up some of the wig's fringe.

Can I borrow your phone? Joey signed and you handed it over to him after unlocking it.

“He wanted me to see you both,” you replied, Rose's hand fell away from your face.

“What? So you didn't want to come?”

“I. . .last time I saw you both, I upset you and I. . .didn't want that to happen again.”

“It's not like it was your fault.”

“I know. I just. . . want you to both understand that Slade doesn't allow me or not allow me to do things. It doesn't work like that between us. I. . .couldn't make any choices for a long time and they're very important to me. No one is going to take them away again. So you don't need to. . .hunt his ass.”

“Can you hear me?” You heard Joey through the earpiece and you knocked twice with your fist in response. You tucked the phone back into your pocket when he handed it to you.

“If Dad becomes a problem, just let us or Uncle Billy know and we'll put him in check. Okay?” Rose told you firmly.

“That's not necessary, I'll handle him. If it came to that.”

“You can handle Pop?” Joey wanted to clarify. They were both looking at you incredulously, they didn't seem to believe you at all.

“Yeah,” you responded plainly.

“Do you know how many people on this planet can confidently say they can handle Deathstroke?” Rose asked, the question sounding partly rhetorical, but you answered it normally regardless.

“The Justice League, well. . .some of them.”

“Oh my god, S!” Rose started laughing while Joey was shaking his head at you in disbelief and his expression shifted like he was impressed.

“What?”

“I get why Uncle Billy said there's nothing for us to worry about. Come on.” Rose took you by the arm and you walked with her and Joey to the front of the club, the bass of the music getting louder. The queue was maybe ten people deep, but Rose skipped it entirely and let go of you as she chatted to the bouncer.

Rather than appearing to be scared, like what happened in Berlin, the bouncer laughed and waved her, you and Joey through. After paying the entrance fee and getting a stamp on the back of your hand, you headed into the club behind Rose and Joey. The bass of the music was loud and infectious, and the club looked pretty packed.

Rose took hold of Joey's elbow and made a beeline for the bar. You followed behind them and thinned out the air when Rose turned to you to hear her better.

“I'm getting a. . .” she trailed off, her voice wasn't as loud when she continued. “Huh that's handy, I forgot about that. I'm getting a Moonrise Deluxe, do you want one?”

“Does that have alcohol in? Because I can't drink.”

“If you mention some bullshit about training-”

“S is on medication,” Joey jumped in, giving her a pointed look.

“Not just for one night?” Rose asked and you shook your head at her. “How about a virgin one then?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Wait. . .if you're not drinking, we should get shots!” Joey rolled his eyes at her and she excitedly flagged down the bartender.

She's going to. . .

You couldn't quite make out what he was signing. His hand was in a fist, thumb sticking out as his hand moved over the bottom half of his face and then went down, that meant drunk. The rest you weren't really sure. You shifted the thinned out air so Rose wouldn't hear.

“Uhh. . .does that mean shitfaced?” He smiled and nodded at you.

Do you mind not drinking?

“No, it's okay. I also don't want to displease Dr. Villain. He's been. . .really good to me.” He'd been supportive during the antipsychotics trial. It seemed like that happened only a few days ago, you pushed the thought of it aside.

Rose pulled Joey closer as the bartender was pouring out four shots. They downed two each in quick succession, both of them wincing slightly at the strength of whatever alcohol they were drinking. The bartender poured out the two Moonrise Deluxes which were dark blue and then a red-coloured cocktail which was for Joey. You took your drink and walked behind Rose and Joey to an empty table not too far from the dance floor.

As you sat down, you realised that your drink was twinkling under the flashing lights, was there glitter in this? The three of you clinked your glasses with a cheers and you took a sip, it was just the right amount of sweet. You chatted with them for a bit, catching up with them while you enjoyed the cocktail. Joey had patrolled Blüdhaven with Rose and Nightwing several times now.

“So you're settling in okay?” You asked Joey.

“Yeah I am. The weather's not as nice but it's better than I thought it'd be.”

“Urgh, you're gonna like complain non-stop in the winter. As soon as the leaves start falling, I'm shipping you back to smog city,” Rose teased him, drinking more of her cocktail through a straw.

“The smog smells better than wet rot," Joey countered as he pursed his lips.

“It's part of Blüd's charm, its maritime heritage spanning centuries.”

“Slaughtering whales is maritime heritage now?”

“At least it's not filled with fake plastic Hollywood wannabes trying to crawl their way to the top. Blüd doesn't have a top, it's a mostly flat shitheap.”

“It can be quite an endearing shitheap when you're sitting on it.”

“Aww Joey, really?”

“From a. . .very specific angle.”

“Hey! I look good from every angle!” Joey grimaced in disgust and shook his head. “Most! Most okay! I'm going to the bathroom, byeee.”

Joey grinned as Rose quickly stalked off, you could feel her moving through the crowd.

“I'm glad you're enjoying the. . .shitheap,” you remarked to him.

“It's been really fun spending more time with her. She loves it when I get her ready if she has to dance at the club. I've been roped into being her personal make-up artist and her hair stylist even though I'm not as good as her. She loves being pampered.”

“Have you been with her to the club?”

“Backstage yeah. I've met the dancers there too, they're nice.” You didn't reply as it looked as though Joey hadn't finished, he also looked a bit nervous. “Rose mentioned that you. . .like some of the dancers there? Johnny and Cherry I think?”

“They're both great.”

“So you're. . .into both of them?”

“I'm bi so, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“How about you? If you don't mind me asking.”

“Umm. . .well I like girls. . .and umm. . .I like. . .guys too, so I guess I'm. . .umm. . .” He looked like he was really struggling so you tried your best to reassure him.

“Labels are optional, not a requirement. It's whatever feels right to you, in your own time. Thanks for telling me.” You were glad that the nerves seemed to fade from his expression. “Do you want to dance when Rose gets back?”

He raised his index finger to his mouth before moving it away from him.

“How do you sign bisexual by the way?” He held up four fingers on one hand as they were pressed together with his thumb tucked over his palm and then held up just his pinky finger. It was simply signing the letter 'b' and the letter 'i' in sequence.

“I suppose I should have guessed that,” you joked and he gave you a small smile. When Rose came back, you all finished up your drinks and headed to the dance floor, you formed a little circle with her and Joey as you danced with them.

You were moving slow in time with the song and you sped up as the beat hit. Rose's dancing was this eclectic mix of smooth, fluid movements and then her just letting loose with the music. She spun her hands in the air, each hand imitating the other perfectly, it was mesmerising to watch. Joey didn't have Rose's fluidity. His movements effortlessly matched with the rhythm and the tempo of the song, inhabiting its mood with ease. It was really fun dancing with both of them, just enjoying the music together.

The song transitioned to a new one, the bass got even louder, the beat was infectious and you were enthusiastically bouncing up and down, nodding your head in time with the beat. Rose was amused by how much you were into the song, but she was clearly enjoying it too, as was Joey.

Holding out your arms and closing your eyes while you were moving the rest of your body, you sensed out to the skies above, the winds were dancing too. You could feel the trailing vortices of wake turbulence from a plane just taking off several miles away, from another plane was coming in to land, three more were stacked behind it in the queue, miles apart from each other. There were planes landing and taking off at another airport further out, a helicopter was flying over Manhattan, someone was flying a drone over the Hudson, a flock of birds was heading south, you could feel all of it.

You started spinning your index fingers, matching the opposite spins of the vortices, feeling out from one plane to another. The bass felt so good reverberating around your chest, it made you feel whole, like the winds were spinning around your heart. You sensed out to the winds, thankful to feel them unhindered, grateful for their protection. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the winds. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Slade.

After you told Slade yesterday that you wanted to stay with him, the tension had finally dissipated between you. He was relieved, he wasn't worrying that you'd leave him. He cared about you, not like you did of course, that wouldn't be possible, but he did care. Because of him you'd freed over a hundred political prisoners, you'd truly made a difference.

When the song built up again, your movements slowed. All these people dancing around you was a stark reminder that you were free too. You weren't just surviving against your will anymore, you were living.

You couldn't help but smile.

- - -

When you'd made it back to the bunker, you created vacuum behind the blast door and the secondary door as you opened them and closed them back up, not wanting to disturb the little sleep that Slade got. With vacuum surrounding your body, you silently flew down the corridor, passing the closed bedroom door. You could feel Slade breathing as he lay in bed. Really you should have slept in the clouds, but you were keen to come home.

Another day of training began less than two hours later and with such little sleep you were somehow feeling rather energised during general physical training. You told Slade about your time with Rose and Joey, omitting how drunk they both ending up getting. Neither of them threw up or caused any problems. Rose did struggle getting her Ikon suit on and you had to do it for her after she complained.

“Come on, S!” Rose had whined loudly. “You've literally seen everything but my pussy and my asshole. Stop thinking about my dad for five fucking seconds and help me!”

You described to Slade that you'd waited around the corner for the speedster to arrive and Rose called shortly after to confirm they were back in Blüdhaven.

Throughout the rest of the morning, you noticed that something was off with Slade. He wasn't tense like he had been, you couldn't exactly pin point what it was. You were probably tired and misreading him. At lunch, Slade mentioned that he'd bought peaches the other day.

“They're nice and ripe now. I'll make you peach cobbler later, would you like that?”

“Yeah, sounds great.” He nodded in response and didn't say anything for a few moments.

“I used tinned peaches last time so this one should be better,” he spoke quietly. The last time he'd made you a peach cobbler was when you were on antipsychotics and he'd hand fed it to you. That was the final day of the trial. You'd been pissed off that he'd listened to your conversation with Dr. Villain after you told him you wanted privacy.

Looking back at it, was the peach cobbler his way of apologising to you for that? Is that why he was making you one now? Come to think of it, he cooked you an apple pie the first day you were back at the bunker after leaving Venezuela, the day after that he made cookies. Was this apology by dessert?

It was after language training when Slade called you into the kitchen, the smell was more glorious in here. You sat down in the booth as he slid the plate in front of you. Gesturing for you to tuck in, you obliged him and hummed in delight at the taste. You shoved in another mouthful while Slade was asking whether you liked it.

“Mmmhmm,” you replied, nodding at him too. You continued tucking into it and tapped on the table to signal for him to eat too rather than stand there and stare. He took his seat and cut himself a slice of the peach cobbler. He barely had a few bites before he was cutting off another piece for you.

You sat eating with him, the silence between you was comfortable. You'd really missed things being like this with him, it was such a relief. When you'd both finished, Slade didn't get up to take the plates over to the sink. He seemed to be inspecting what was left of the peach cobbler before he made eye contact with you. He was acting off again, you hadn't been misreading him at all, had you? Whatever he was going to say was something that had been on his mind all day.

“You were right before. The things I said to you were vicious and cruel. I shouldn't have said them,” he told you sincerely. You weren't going to get an outright apology from him, this was the next best bet, but you needed a little more. You spun your finger, directing him to keep going.

“I was being an asshole.” You spun your finger again.

“I was being an unreasonable asshole,” he corrected and you signalled for him to continue once more. “I was a. . .bastard and I acted unfairly to you.”

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

“You wanted to hurt me.”

“I did.”

“You are not doing that to me again,” you told him resolutely. “I know you were upset but you also knew that I never meant to hurt Joey. So next time you will control yourself. Do you understand?”

“I get it, kid.”

“If you do it again, I. . .I don't think I could stay with you anymore.”

“I understand.” You watched him for a while before you nodded. That had obviously been difficult for him to say, you hadn't been expecting it, especially not him admitting that he was at fault. He was trying so hard for you, he really was. Sliding out of the booth, you moved around the table until you were standing right by him.

“Are you going to wrestle me into a hug?” He joked, raising an eyebrow. You gently took hold of his face with both of your hands, feeling the stubble on his cheeks, his goatee on your palms, as you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss onto his forehead.

“No,” you muttered quietly as you pulled away but kept hold of his face. There was that look in his eye again, the one he had on the plane before you flew together, almost vulnerable.

“I forgive you,” you told him and he simply stared at you without any response. “Okay?” You prompted and he blinked at you. Running your fingers through his hair with both of your hands, you smiled at him and started tucking loose strands behind his ear.

When you pulled away, he took hold of one of your hands and kissed the back of it, his facial hair tickling at your skin again. Your smile widened even further.

“I want to show you something,” he murmured, keeping hold of your hand as he stood up from the booth and led you out of the kitchen. He guided you into the security room, setting you down in the chair and he sat on the case that was already positioned by it.

He brought up the designs of a new rebreather across multiple screens, explaining that this improved version will provide eighteen hours of air. Before you had the chance to thank him, he showed you more designs, this time of a new suit, helmet and boots. The new suit would look essentially the same, loose around the midsection so you could wear body armour underneath, the arms and legs wouldn't be as long as they would be tailored to your size rather than Slade's.

The suit would have an interwoven lead lining to protect you from the radiation of sub-orbital spaceflight.

“Sub-orbital?” You asked incredulously.

“I thought you liked going fast.”

“I do but that's. . .re-entry speeds. We're talking what. . .Mach 25?”

“Mach 25 plus.” You scoffed and shook your head in disbelief. “You can put vacuum around your body, can't you?”

“Yeah. . .”

“And what's stopping you from flying up to 400,000 feet?”

“Well. . .nothing. . .”

“Sub-orbital spaceflight,” he announced casually. He was right of course, you had the ability to fly up into the mesosphere, you wouldn't burn up on re-entry if you put vacuum around your body and the suit would protect you from radiation. Shit, were you really going to fly that fast?

He took you through the new design of the helmet, how the front would flip up, making it much easier to eat while you were in the air and saving you from taking the whole thing off. The glass visor has an adjustable tint and it will protect your eyes from direct sunlight while you were in the mesosphere, practically in space. The visor will also have a head-up display to show your speed, oxygen level and provide other information too.

The suit, helmet and the new boots would automatically darken in low light environments. The colours would go from mostly white, with greys and light blues, to mostly dark blue with faded blacks and dark greys.

Slade then brought up the proposed new aerial camoflauge design across the whole suit. You immediately grimaced at it and turned to Slade.

“Can't I have the same design?”

“This is an upgraded version that's been specifically designed for your suit.”

“But I want the one you did.” He looked at you for a moment and you saw his expression gradually lighten.

“Alright, kid,” he conceded and you grinned victoriously at him.

“You know I said I wasn't going to wrestle you into a hug. Well. . .” He rolled his eye at you and reluctantly shifted his body until he was facing you properly. You shot forwards, almost coming off the chair as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you,” you mumbled against him. You grinned with joy and squeezed even more when you felt his arms around your shoulders. He was actually hugging you. Closing your eyes, you tried to memorise how good this felt, how warm his body was, how gratifying it felt that he was holding you when you weren't having a mental breakdown. He smelled so good, you couldn't help but breathe him in deeply.

You let go of him when his arms came away from you and after turning your head to face the screens, you pointed at your cheek.

“Placate me.”

“Kid,” he murmured, sounding put out, like you'd already pushed it far enough with the hug.

“You started this, it's your own fault,” you reminded him, tapping your cheek a couple more times to hurry him along.

“Hmm,” he grumbled in irritation, but he still complied and leaned forwards. Instead of giving you a quick peck, he hovered right by your face for a few seconds, his breath was hot and it almost made you shiver. He softly kissed your cheek, your heart lurched pleasantly at him being close like this. The sensation of his lips and his facial hair against your skin felt good to say the least.

“Satisfied?” He asked when he shifted back, you pondered the question for a moment.

“For now.” You couldn't help but tease. He tried to look annoyed but you glimpsed at the amusement he was trying to hold back.

“I have another job if you're interested.”

“For me or for us?”

“Us.”

- - -

You had taken his insults to heart, he knew that. He had, however, underestimated how deeply they had affected you. It was to the point you believed he was testing you about them, you thought he wanted to be certain that you had taken his word as gospel.

When he'd said those things to you, he'd been too angry, too upset to care about the consequences. He'd failed to maintain control. After you had made him swear that he wouldn't do that to you again, you had gauged that he didn't want you to leave, such was the obscene obviousness of his desire to keep you and reassert control over your dynamic with him.

You told Slade that you'd stay with him though he hadn't apologised to you and he hadn't truly conceded. He'd been preparing multiple options and justifications for you to stay with him and you'd rendered them all obsolete because he was the reason you wanted to stay.

The extent of your devotion to Slade continued to bewilder and unsettle him. Regardless of the fact you had said you'd forgive him in those unsent messages on your phone, he'd still been taken back when you actually did. You'd held his face like he was the most precious thing in the world to you, and the sad part was that he really was.

Your sincerity, your care for him, your mercy, all of it had cut right through him until he felt guilt, an unfamiliar emotion that he'd long since experienced. He had quickly taken you into the surveillance room, showing you the designs of your new gear. He had allowed you to hug him knowing that it would mean a lot, it was out of his respect for you, it was a minor act of contrition on his part too.

For someone who was so fragile you could be so fucking obstinate and unyielding. You had. . .demanded him to kiss you. With the way you were acting, it wouldn't be long before you had him on his knees and you'd be calling him a good boy.

He had sat there, cock stiff and starting to leak, as he leaned in and complied with your demand. It took him more than considerable effort to stop himself from mouthing at your neck and pulling you onto his lap so he could placate you some more.

Fucking Angelica obviously hadn't been sufficient. Perhaps he needed to give Talia a call, find out when one of her little 'gatherings' would take place. He didn't understand why they weren't simply called what they were, orgies. If he could fuck ten or fifteen people in one go, his libido would be satiated and his cock wouldn't get instantly hard at the thought of what you were going to make him do next.

The promise of a new job had distracted you and kept you from noticing how hard he was. You'd ignored his suggestion to drug Lawton's daughter when you retrieved her, insisting that you'd convince her to go with you.

It was less than forty-eight hours later when you did exactly that. As expected, Lawton had realised that his daughter was missing when they brought him to a facility which was several blocks from the American embassy in Hong Kong. He tore a hole through it and escaped, four were confirmed dead so far. If they didn't have his daughter, they didn't have him on a leash anymore and there was nothing holding him back.

It took Slade less than ten minutes to track Lawton down to the temporary bolthole he was regrouping in. Hiding in Kowloon as a tall black man wasn't exactly an easy feat, it's the reason why they based him in Hong Kong in the first place.

Slade scaled up the side of the apartment building with a case of gear on his back. No doubt he'd be spotted even though it was nighttime, but his armour and weapons were covered by a long trench coat and its hood. Lawton's heart rate was elevated, he was injured rather than simply stressed as Slade could smell blood through the very slightly open window.

Habit had him almost pulling out the Glock from his holster as he was about to breach. With his arm resting against his forehead, he smashed through the window feet first and jumped behind the closest available cover which was a shitty-looking sofa, keeping his arm raised. A round impacted the armour on his arm before he made it to cover.

“Lawton,” Slade called out as Lawton emptied the whole clip, most impacting the same spot on the armour plating on his back as they passed right through the sofa. Lawton reloaded before he responded, he sounded rather angry.

“Wilson?! We had an understanding!” Lawton seethed as Slade pulled out his phone but he didn't continue firing.

“You'll want to listen to this,” Slade told him, bringing up the audio recording from your phone.

“Zoe? Could you come with me please?” You asked over the echoing sounds of children talking down a corridor. You said nothing for a few moments, a door then closed shut and the noises from the corridor quietened. “You're not in any trouble. I'm a friend of your dad's.”

“You are?” Lawton's little girl replied.

“My name's Seraph, but you can call me S. Do you know what a Seraph is?” A short pause, presumably the girl shakes her head. “It's a type of angel.”

“Like a guardian angel?”

“Yeah exactly. I don't have wings but I can fly.”

“You can fly?”

“Mmmhmm. See.” The muted sound of moving air can be heard for a few seconds as you demonstrated.

“Cool! Do you look after my daddy then?”

“Not today. Today I'm looking after you and I'm here to take you to him, would you like that?”

“My daddy won't want to see me. I haven't. . .I haven't been good.”

“Zoe. Your dad will always want to see you because he loves you, no matter what, okay?” You reassured her calmly.

“They said I'm not allowed.”

“The people that look after you?” Another short pause. “I'm sorry they said that to you. But as your guardian angel, I'm overruling them. I promise you that your dad really wants to see you and he won't be mad.”

“He won't?”

“Not one bit. He can't wait to see you. We're going to have to leave right now though so you can't bring any of your things, okay?

“Okay,” the girl grumbles unhappily.

“You're going to have to put this on. You like purple, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Let's get this on. You'll need a helmet too.” Slade ended the recording and immediately called you up, putting the call on speaker phone so Lawton could hear.

“Hey, Slade.”

“Kid. How's the girl?”

“She's finally asleep. I. . .accidentally started playing with her and she kept wanting me to throw her around the plane. I think she needed to burn off the energy. Billy took a video of it, I'll send it over. Did you get Lawton out?”

“He made a break for it by himself. I've almost got my eye on him.”

“Oh okay. When you meet up with him, can you tell him Zoe's really excited to see him and make sure he says he's not mad at her. Those bastards made her believe it was her fault she couldn't see her own dad.”

“I'll pass along the message. I need to get back to work, kid.”

“I'll talk to you in a bit.” You sent over the video right away and he quickly skimmed over it, making sure that you were in it too. He slid the phone along the ground until it was within grabbing distance, Lawton snatched it off the floor and started watching the video. Slade heard the girl giggling and shouting 'again again' a few times.

“Is this. . .professional courtesy?” Lawton spat out angrily. “Making my daughter believe she's not being kidnapped?”

“That was the kid's idea, not mine. If it was me I would have drugged her.”

“I thought you worked alone.”

“I do. This isn't a contract.”

“Then what the fuck is it?”

“I need you off Waller's leash. Watch the video again, don't look at your little girl.” Lawton watched it again and responded a few moments later.

“You let my daughter near a fucking psycho meta?”

“You really believe everything Waller tells you?”

“We already had an understanding that we wouldn't take out contracts on each other's kids.”

“The kid's not related to me.”

“Fucking spell it out, Wilson.”

“You and your daughter are going into hiding. Start a new life with her. Retire or not, I don't care. In exchange, you don't take out any contracts on the kid and I'll ask for the occasional favour.”

“Favour?”

“I have multiple sites that need to be raided simultaneously, primarily for a data extraction. I need the manpower.”

“That's it?”

“For now.”

“Even if I believed you, I don't have the kind of resources to go into hiding. My accounts have been wiped, all of my assets have been liquidated.”

“I'll provide you with everything you need, think of it as a retainer.”

“If that meta isn't your kid, then who are they to you?”

“The kid isn't a particular fan of the US military. They're a do-gooder and wanted to help you and your little girl.”

“Why are you footing the bill?”

“They're making me a lot of money. It's not a concern.”

“You haven't answered my question.”

“I was captured and held for nearly two months. It had Waller's fingerprints all over it and I'm dismantling her little empire piece by piece.”

“And the meta?”

“The kid got me out.”

“I'm not buying it, Wilson. You've broken out of Belle Reve before. If you were held for that long it's because you wanted to be.”

“Unfortunately being paralysed doesn't pertain to prison escapes.”

“Paralysed?”

“Mmm.”

“You really pissed someone off, huh.” Lawton slowly shifted out of cover, his weapon drawn but no longer raised. Slade stood up from behind the sofa and caught his phone when Lawton threw it back. He heard vehicles racing towards the building.

“Do we have an agreement or not? We need to move.”

“I have your word that I'll be starting a new life with Zoe?”

“You have my word. And to be clear, if you ever hurt the kid, I will gut your little girl right in front of you. Bow to stern.” Lawton eyed him for only two seconds, he knew full well what the word of a mercenary meant.

“Alright, Wilson. I accept.”

- - -

You picked up Slade and Lawton from his safehouse in Macao four hours later. You didn't pick up on his wariness of you, presumably you thought he was simply anxious to reunite with his little girl. With Lawton in a stealth suit and strapped onto your back, you took hold of Slade's hand, pushed the air under his boot and flew them up into the clouds.

The flight to Bangkok took well under an hour and the humidity was worse than Hong Kong. After landing on the roof of the safehouse, you took Lawton's oxygen mask, goggles and helmet from him. He was hot on Slade's heels as they headed down a floor, it was to the point he might as well have been his shadow. Wintergreen was holding the front door open and Lawton stormed inside, rushing up to his daughter.

“Daddy!” The girl cried out in joy as Lawton pulled her into a tight hug.

“Sunshine! I missed you so much.” Slade glanced over, watching as you took in the scene, it was one that only you could have made possible. Elation was splayed across your features. Slade gestured for Wintergreen to come over and he headed into the kitchen, hearing him follow behind.

“Update?” Slade asked when Wintergreen joined him.

“I've made contact with the deputy inspector of police in Kathmandu. They can offer around thirty-two thousand.”

“Accept it and I know it's pittance before you point that out. It'll be good training for the kid.”

“This won't be training, Slade. You'll be going into a war zone. There's mass civil unrest, the protestors have taken up arms alongside the police after more than sixty of them were shot dead in the streets. The army will start launching airstrikes soon and they will secure the capital by force over the coming days.”

“Like I said, training.” Wintergreen didn't look convinced. “This is what the kid was made for.”

“Do you really think they're ready?”

“Yes.” He pressed his lips together, displeased but he wasn't going to object any further.

“I see that their appetite's improved.”

“Mmm.” It's about goddamn time it did.

“They tucked into the biscuits. Without prompting.”

“What point are you trying to make here?”

“You've reconciled with them.”

“If that's what you want to call it.”

“So you didn't want them to leave, hmm?”

“The kid doesn't want to leave me.”

“And why is that?”

“I'm irresistible.” Wintergreen scoffed loudly and gave Slade an annoyed, tired look. “Accept the job. ETA one hour.”

Slade watched as Wintergreen acquiesced and walked into the office to make the call. Lawton still hadn't let go of his little girl, Slade never knew Rose when she was that small.

“Thank you for getting Zoe back to me,” Lawton thanked you sincerely as he held her on his hip.

“Oh. . .uhh. . .well Zoe's very sweet and she's really brave too,” you replied to him. Slade thought you might have gotten the hang of people thanking you for helping them by now but you continued to act awkwardly.

“Kid,” he called out and you excused yourself from Lawton before approaching him. He gestured for you to thin out the air so Lawton couldn't eavesdrop. “An urgent job's just come up. How up to date are you on the situation in Nepal?”

“It's turning into a civil war, isn't it?”

“It is. The government's lost control of the capital and the Prime Minister has ordered the army to recapture it. The protestors have been joined by the police and some soldiers that have defected but they don't have the firepower to hold them back for long.”

“What's the job?”

“Defend the capital,” he answered, taking in the focus on your expression, you were primed and set for a new job even after just completing one. He knew you were ready for this. He had to hold back a smirk when you replied to him.

“Are we leaving now?”

────────

°✦｡･Chapter Eighteen･｡✦°

Taglist: @tenyasfangirl @okari-blackpaw @lordandmistress @jyaartist @shadowdoom20 @redhooduwu @celestia0473 @mewocc @ohhrats @bohdupibaba @repostingmyfavs

Lunch had you feeling re-energised and you were flying the plane again after Billy had shut down the engines. Your arms were tensed as you took hold of the plane and though it wasn't as tiring as the first time you did it, you were still exerting a considerable amount of effort. After an hour, you asked Slade whether you could play around with the techniques and see whether you could fly the plane without tiring yourself out so much.

He gave you thirty minutes, his only stipulation being that you had to keep to this altitude. Without the need to maintain speed, you flipped over, facing the nose of the place before shifting upwards slightly so you were at a diagonal, like you did with Slade when you were trying to make him fly.

With your eyes closed, you felt the plane losing speed as it cut through the air. Ensuring there was sufficient lift to keep the plane at 44,000 feet costed little effort, it was the forward momentum that was difficult. You forced your body to relax as you pushed the air to fly the plane faster, willing the winds to help you. When Slade confirmed that your time was up, your speed was 467mph which was 50mph higher than the last time you checked about ten minutes ago.

A few more hours of training later, you were back on the plane changing out of the suit into normal clothes. Seeing as you had actual papers now, you were going to go through customs. The thought of it made you a bit nervous, Slade had pointed out before that you needed to work on your acting skills.

As Billy began the descent, Slade packed away the metal boxes of gear along with your backpack and suit into a compartment underneath the cabin floor and sealed it back up. You wondered how he was going to get them past the security checks. He took the seat by you, catching your eye and then glancing down at his lap.

“Strap me in, kid.” You stared at him confused, wondering why he was asking you to do that. He spoke again before you could take off your seatbelt and cross the isle to go over to him. “From there.”

He placed both his hands onto the back of his head, waiting expectantly for you to begin. You used a few of your fingers to start pushing spurts of air against both straps of the seatbelt, using more force with the strap that had the buckle as it was heavier. When you had them lined up and steady, you pushed them together and secured the seatbelt.

“Tighter,” he told you. Pulling motions weren't really something you could accomplish with the air, it was really just pushing things towards you. So you pushed the air against the buckle and then against the loose strap which would tighten the seatbelt. Your mind suddenly filled with the memory of undoing the restraints they had you in back at the facility when you were strapped to the wheelchair. It was just a memory, you weren't there, you were right here with Slade. Focusing on the task at hand, you put a buffer of air around the loose strap and managed to tighten the seatbelt.

“Hmm. Not bad,” he commented, you gave him a small smile. You guided the plane along during the descent, taking in the night scenery of London down below, all the lights from buildings and the cars, the red lights of cable cars going over the Thames. The plane seamlessly touched down on the runway less than a minute later and Slade spoke to you again as Billy was taxiing.

“We're on a business trip. You're hoping to get some sightseeing done but it depends on how things go with our client.”

“Okay.”

“If we get separated, I'll find you. Just stay put and keep insisting that you want legal counsel.”

“I will,” you replied with a nod, knowing that if the worst came to fruition that Slade would come get you. After Billy finished taxiing and powered down the engines, a large buggy with two airport workers drove up to the left side of the plane. The driver got out of the buggy and opened up the plane door.

Slade told you to put your duffel bag of clothes down before he climbed down the stairs and spoke with the other worker. Billy came out of the cockpit and gestured for you to head out first.

“Welcome to London,” the worker greeted you when you were on the tarmac. “My colleague will collect your luggage and take it to your vehicle which will be waiting outside the terminal. We'll head straight to passport control, if you'd like to take a seat,” the worker gestured to the back of the buggy. Behind the driver's seat, there were two seats facing forward and then two seats facing backwards at the end of the buggy.

Slade pointed at the back and you took a seat, feeling rather empty handed without your backpack and now without your duffel bag. Billy sat next to you and the buggy started moving, he then asked if you were feeling nervous.

“I guess so.”

“It can be a bit of a muddle trying not to appear too suspicious when going through border control. There's often the issue of appearing to be too relaxed which is suspicious in and of itself. The trick that works for me is to think about how relieved I'll be to go to the loo.”

“Yeah?”

“Not urgently mind you. I've found that it gives the air of being somewhat distracted with the slightest hint of impatience.”

“I'll try it out. Thanks, Billy.”

“It will all be fine. Come morning you'll see that England's beautiful in the spring. They don't call it a green and pleasant land for nothing.”

- - -

Billy had been right. Border control went just fine, you kept thinking about wanting to go to the toilet and before you knew it you were in a car driving to Slade's safehouse with all of his and your gear. The safehouse was a very expensive-looking flat which overlooked Hyde Park, it was very similar to the one in Berlin. That night, you showed Billy how you went to sleep and he was rather perplexed how you could stay levitating while you were unconscious.

The next day Slade drove yourself and Billy out of the city, and you took in the lush green of all the fields and the trees. Billy was right about that too. When you arrived at a MOD site, you did some target practice with the Glock 19 and MP5 at the outside shooting range before Slade continued the close protection training.

He explained that you'd be the bodyguard, and you would lead the protection team and be closest to the principle in order to provide immediate body cover. Billy was your principle and Slade was under your command as part of the protection team. It was helpful to be in a different environment, to have Billy physically there for you to protect.

Throughout the day you were practicing immediate action drills, ambush scenarios and close quarter battle drills, manoeuvring Billy into cover as quickly as possible. You were directing Slade on where to move and ordering Billy when to retreat as you fired on the target before withdrawing.

While Billy had a tea break, you were practicing a scenario where the principle was injured. Rather than drag and withdraw a weighted mannequin, Slade had you dragging him down the range after you'd fired at the target. You didn't get enough rounds in the target on the first two tries, but on the third time you did. Billy raised his flask of tea and winked at you as he sat spectating from the sidelines.

With the day of training finished, Slade drove to a safehouse in Hertfordshire and he cooked a roast dinner, much to your enjoyment. Billy joked that Slade's cooking was the only reason why he'd stuck with him for so long. After eating, you flew north to Manchester and spent a couple of hours keeping the entire city covered in dense clouds, ensuring that it rained for the duration of a football match taking place down below. Slade explained that the home side played very poorly in wet conditions and he'd placed an obscenely large bet on the other team to win.

It was Billy's idea. He wanted you to have your own source of income instead of relying solely on Slade. You supposed this was meant to be a way for you to be able to stand on your own, to have financial independence. It kept Billy happy, that's what was most important to you.

While you were hovering above the city, you also spent the time trying to remain airborne while you were surrounded by vacuum. After spending weeks practicing, you finally managed to do it and you immediately called up Slade to excitedly tell him about your success.

“Nice job, kid. You can show me tomorrow.”

The next day you completed the check up with Slade, he quizzed you on various subjects again and then used a clothes steamer while you were flying inverted to confirm that you were surrounded by vacuum while airborne. You grinned at him and he smirked back at you which made your chest feel all warm. You continued close protection training for the rest of the day.

Day three was different. Billy had explained that an old friend from the army, Major Berridge, had been diagnosed with cancer. His life expectancy was only a few months, and his health would get progressively worse. Palliative care could only do so much, and rather than dying painfully he'd made the decision to go to Switzerland to end his life in dignity.

The problem was that if his wife accompanied him there, she would be charged with assisting a suicide in the UK. However, she couldn't be charged if there was no evidence she'd gone with him.

So you found yourself knocking on the door of an old country house in Norfolk wearing your suit and backpack which had spare gear for her. Mrs. Berridge said very little as you helped her into the black stealth suit, boots, harness, helmet, goggles and mask.

“You'll be with him very soon,” you promised her and she stared at you for a moment, her eyes bristling with indescribable emotion before she nodded. Billy had told you that they'd been married for thirty-six years. You couldn't conceive of the grief she must be feeling right now, but at least her husband wasn't going to die alone. After strapping her onto the harness and connecting the rebreather to her mask, you gently lifted off the ground with the fog around your body.

You thought about flying slowly as she was rather frail, but she needed to be with her husband so you went supersonic and met up with the plane as Billy finished the ascent after taking off from London City airport. He opened up the door and you landed next to him into the cabin. Major Berridge was clutching onto his wife before you had the chance to unstrap her. Billy closed up the door and you unclenched your fist before taking off her helmet. You watched them holding each other as Billy stood by you.

“Thank you,” Major Berridge told you with a sincerity that made your heart ache, his cheeks were wet with tears. You managed to nod at him, coming to terms with how much this meant to them both. Billy set his hand on your shoulder and you laid your hand over his.

“Slade will be expecting you,” he reminded you quietly. “I'll see you later this evening.” You nodded at Billy and headed back out the plane after he opened up the door. Flying straight to another MOD site by the coast, you landed next to Slade's car where he was waiting with some clothes for you to change into. He'd parked next to a field which was filled with craters of varying sizes. The flight was less than ten minutes, you were still trying to wrap your head around what you did.

“You alright, kid?” He asked as you weren't focusing properly on getting ready.

“Yeah. It's just. . .a lot, you know?”

“Focus on getting the job done. Try not to get emotionally attached.”

“It's not a job. It's not like I'm getting paid or anything.” Slade gave you a look which suggested that you were in fact getting paid. “I'm not taking their money, Slade.”

“You're going to refuse the final wish of a dying man?” You blinked at him totally stumped, when he worded it like that how could you refuse? But you were doing it as a favour for Billy, it wasn't about the money. Billy would understand, you'd sort it out with him later.

Slade didn't say anything else about it and began the first training exercise of the day. He pulled out a crate of grenades from the car and unceremoniously pulled the pin out of one before throwing it across the field. You surrounded the grenade with a bubble of vacuum as it moved through the air and it exploded silently, the shrapnel blowing outwards in all directions.

The next time he threw two together, the time after that he threw three grenades. Each time you managed to put vacuum around each of them. Three was your limit as when he threw four, you didn't quite manage to put vacuum around the fourth one so you felt the shock wave and heard the bang as smoke exploded out from it.

He then wanted you to contain the exploding shrapnel so it was redirected away from where he and you were standing. As he threw another grenade, you put vacuum around it and then formed a buffer of air on one side. It exploded without making any noise and you stopped the shrapnel from moving in your direction. Like before, he threw two grenades and then three, and you couldn't manage three at a time.

You weren't sure how many grenades you went through, whatever was two whole cases worth. For the next exercise, Slade had you standing maybe twenty yards from him. He grabbed something from the car, which turned out to be a piece a metal roughly as long as his arm and a grenade appeared to be stuck on the end. You weren't really sure what he was going to do with it until he pulled the pin out and tightly held the piece of metal away from him using both hands.

His grip was too strong, if you tried to push the metal away with the air you were going to break his hands. You put vacuum around the grenade along with a buffer of air to prevent any shrapnel from going near him. After it exploded without incident, you huffed out a sigh and glared at him in irritation.

“Really?”

“Not challenging enough, hmm? I'll get the C4,” he replied, turning towards the car. From this distance, you couldn't tell if he was playing with you or not.

“Slade!” You shook your head at him as he chuckled.

He did end up getting the C4 later on that day but he didn't get close to it. You put vacuum around the explosive and created a larger buffer of air to redirect the shrapnel when he detonated it. Slade then took you into a dense forest where you were up amongst the trees flying inverted, working on your agility. He was throwing little balls of rolled up mud at you, and you kept trying to dodge out of the way of them.

When training was finished, you flew to Zürich to pick up Mrs. Berridge. The last time you were here, you were shopping for gifts and keyrings. That seemed so far away now. Billy had helped her get ready and they were both waiting for you on the roof of an apartment building. She was. . .she didn't really seem like she was there, is that what you looked like when you disassociated?

Billy explained that she would report her husband as missing to the police and that her friends would arrive at her home soon after that. She wasn't going to be alone. You offered your hand to her after you strapped her onto your harness and she took hold of it. After lowering the cloud cover, you flew in the direction of her home. Was it still her home though, if her husband was gone? Or was it now simply a place where she stayed?

You held onto her hand for the entire flight, not flying as fast as you did before, but you needed to get back quickly. Landing by her front door, you unstrapped her and walked with her hand in hand. She pulled a set of keys out of the suit pocket and struggled to open the door so you did it for her.

You explained what you were doing as you took off her gear and when it was packed away you guided her to the living room and handed her the phone. She sat on the sofa with a piece of paper detailing what she was going to say. When she made the call, she was struggling to answer their questions. You offered to take over and she gave you the phone, you changed the pitch of your voice and your accent, explaining that you were a family friend, you gave a fake name which wasn't your alias and provided a description of Major Berridge, read out what else was on the piece of paper, where he was that morning, where he said he was going.

In the meantime, she had texted her friends and they were on their way to her. When you were done, you sat with her, promising that you'd stay with her until they arrived.

“I know there's nothing I could say that would ease your pain right now, but I could tell that he loved you very much and I'm glad that I was here to help you both,” you told her. She nodded after a few moments and tightened her grip on your hand. You sensed a car coming up the drive and announced her friends were here. Grabbing your bag, you stayed with her by the front door until they pulled up outside.

You bid her goodbye before heading through the house and out the back door. When you were outside, you took off and flew back to the safehouse in Hertfordshire. Try not to get emotionally attached, Slade said. Confronted with what you'd done, you didn't really understand how you couldn't get attached, how you couldn't be daunted by how much it meant for those two to be together until the very end.

It would be like disconnecting your humanity entirely. Is that what he did? With all those people he killed? You didn't think you were capable of not feeling something. They'd tried and tested that on you back at the facility with those people they made you kill. It sure would have been a lot fucking easier if you didn't care. Maybe they made you that way, to care, to feel something, to be emotionally attached. Being unattached made the job easier though, maybe that was just who you are.

You spent the next day training with Slade and Billy and the day after that you were flying back home with them both. You were towing the plane along flying at a diagonal while your body was relaxed. After a half an hour, the plane's speed was 512mph and the progress you'd made was immensely satisfying. It wasn't going to be long until you could make the plane fly at its normal speed without much effort. The trip had been very successful with the progress you'd made and being able to help the Berridges. Billy had insisted that you keep their money so you abandoned your plan to refuse it.

When Slade had you doing a high altitude run, you wished that the trip wasn't over just yet. He'd be putting you on antipsychotics after Dr. Villain had assessed which ones would be compatible with your medication and that was supposed to take a few weeks. A few weeks had now passed and it was going to happen imminently.

There was this undercurrent of dread in the back of your mind at the thought of your connection to the winds being affected in any way. Slade did tell you that it wouldn't stop the connection entirely, it would be muffled and you could deal with that.

You felt the winds more strongly now down in the bunker compared to when he first brought you there. Even if the antipsychotics did reduce the connection you had with the winds, it would naturally grow stronger over time, you wouldn't lose them.

Slade only wanted to protect you.

- - -

“You are functionally immortal. When aliens invaded this earth, they were stopped by more aliens, demi-gods and beings with magic and space energy. Why is this in particular unfathomable to you?”

“The winds do not talk,” Slade replied slowly, almost angrily. Villain's voice was starting to grate on him and he'd been on the phone with him for less than five minutes.

“Men can't fly and yet.”

“I am paying you for your medical expertise so stick to the damn science.”

“Very well. I have already consulted my colleague who specialises in neuromorphometry. Schizophrenic patients have decreased grey matter volumes and enlarged cerebrospinal fluid spaces. Overall and regional brain volume is typically smaller at a rate of approximately seventy per cent. Your associate's scans do not demonstrate any of this.”

He looked over your brain scans which he had displayed on the screens in the surveillance room, that along with the other results from your check up two weeks ago. Villain continued his assessment.

“You explained that their apparent schizophrenia manifested in early childhood. This would mean they have effectively suffered from this illness for decades. The fact that there is no evidence of grey matter reduction leads me to the conclusion that your prognosis is extremely unlikely.”

“But not impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible, Wilson. You are a demonstration of this, are you not?” Slade remained silent, awaiting Villain to continue.

“The high dose of antipsychotics you are suggesting will be very debilitating. Your associate will not be able to train anywhere near their current regimen, if at all. Their motion and balance will be severely affected and their ability to use their powers competently is likely to be non-existent.”

“The kid can't train at all if they're dead.” Villain sighed quietly before responding.

“If you insist upon this course of action, I would recommend a three day high dosage trial. I will take scans prior and after the trial to see whether there is any change in their brain activity when they communicate with the winds. If there is no change, there would be no benefit to them continuing the antipsychotics. Is this acceptable?”

“I'll bring them tomorrow.”

He ended the call and checked on the production status of your new rebreather. Final testing was underway, current air time was fifteen hours based on your surface air consumption rate and the engineers were confident it will be increased to eighteen hours when the carbon dioxide scrubber is properly calibrated. It wouldn't be completed for another five weeks.

The production time on your new suit, boots and helmet had been extended on account of his additional requirements and they wouldn't be ready for a minimum of nine weeks. There will be significant improvement to your current suit as the upgraded version will be fully insulated to provide electrical resistance and it will be designed to protect you from the UV and particle radiation of sub-orbital spaceflight with its interwoven lead lining.

Creating a suit that could withstand the heat of atmospheric re-entry wouldn't be necessary as you will be able to surround your body with vacuum, nullifying aerodynamic and radiative heating and therefore the need for a conventional heat shield.

The new suit, boots and helmet will all have an improved aerial camoflauge and it will also be able to darken in colour when you were flying at nighttime. The helmet will have a glass visor with a head-up display and an adjustable anti-glare tint. The helmet will also have a flip-up design and the oxygen mask will sit underneath the glass visor.

With those time frames, it wasn't worth mentioning to you yet. There was also the very high likelihood that you wouldn't be able to fly anymore when you started taking the antipsychotics. Dangling new gear over your head would be callous, it would make you more upset than you already would be.

The next day, when he brought you to Villain, you were. . .afraid. He suspected it first thing in the morning during general physical training where you seemed distracted and unfocused. He confirmed it at breakfast as you struggled to eat, you hadn't done that since the diner when he had his first proper conversation with you three months ago, almost to the day.

You didn't speak a word the entire flight to New Jersey, and you weren't exactly rushing either. He had to prompt you twice to pick up the pace. Usually he would have kept you mentally engaged by having you focus on training, on the task at hand, but that wasn't going to be possible. Your new schedule was going to look particularly barren, he'd have to adapt to how the antipsychotics affected your body.

How severe was the movement disorder going to be? What emotional effects would they have? Would you start having actively suicidal thoughts again? He wondered for a brief moment whether he'd misjudged keeping Wintergreen out of the loop, but you'd be vulnerable, you had to stay in the bunker and the Vermont safehouse wasn't as secure. Wintergreen also might try and steer him away from this course of action which he knew was the correct one.

That first night after you'd escaped with him, you had muttered a thank you to the winds, pulled your hand away from warmth to feel the air even though you were about to die from hypothermia. At the time he'd put it down to delirium, to it being another expression of paradoxical undressing. Now however, he understood that your delusion was overarching, it was to the point where you hadn't conceived of the fact that you had put your life at risk when you'd ignored Villain's recommendation not to fly when drowsy. You had then been willing to hurt yourself to prove the veracity of your delusion.

This was his only means of cracking through it, of trying to impress upon you what reality really was, to loosen the stranglehold it had over you. Though you were willing to risk your own life, you hadn't been willing to risk his, the hold those little sky friends of yours had on you was not absolute. The only thing that should have such comprehensive control over you in this world was him.

Twelve seconds after you'd landed, Villain opened up the front door, beckoning you inside. Your pace was sluggish and Slade ignored the urge to set his hands on your shoulders and push you in through the door himself. Villain merely glanced at him before he explained to you that he will take a baseline prior to the trial as he escorted you to one of the examination rooms.

Slade would have thought a man of science would be more interested in empirical evidence, and yet Villain seemed more than accepting of your delusion, he had almost been trying to defend you before. Was it really something as trivial as you being polite to Villain that had elicited that kind of response? Or was Villain merely being protective of the new science project he was playing with?

When the scans were completed, he administered the antipsychotics intravenously and then began to list the extensive number of side effects.

“Sedation, parkinsonism, heart problems, seizures, loss of movement, bed-wetting, liver disorders, eye problems, muscle spasms, weight gain, restlessness and hormonal problems. They can make you feel suicidal, anxious, excitable, aggressive, depressed, out of touch with reality and socially withdrawn.”

Villain kept you engaged by asking whether you had any queries so far and you shook your head dejectedly before he continued on with the next set of side effects.

“Antimuscarinic effects include agitation, blurred vision, confusion, constipation, decreased sweating, difficulty urinating, drowsiness, dry mouth, hallucinations, hot or dry skin, increased pressure in the eye, low blood pressure, nausea, rapid heartbeat and sexual problems. You will call me every evening and detail all of the side effects you're experiencing. You will take the antidepressants as normal. Any questions?”

“No,” you muttered quietly, not even looking Villain in the eye.

“This will only be for three days,” he replied, as if he was trying to comfort you. Was he trying to insinuate that you wouldn't be taking the antipsychotics past the trial? It made you look at him at least, and you half-whispered a thanks to him, much to Villain's delight no doubt.

- - -

The trial was difficult for you, to put it lightly.

Villain confirmed the antipsychotics would take an hour to start kicking in, so Slade had you fly over the border to a storage unit in Ottawa which took about twenty minutes and he drove the rest of the way to the bunker, a journey which took over four hours. He put some music on to see whether that might make you feel any better but you were out of it, staring blankly out of the window as you disassociated.

Throughout the journey, he constantly turned to check on you and over an hour into it, you started drooling. He pulled out his handkerchief and gently wiped around your mouth, you didn't respond at all to what he was doing. Your upper body began leaning closer and closer to the window so he moved your seatbelt out of the way and pulled you towards him until your head was resting on his lap.

“Kid?” You didn't murmur, your eyes were now closed. He kept the handkerchief tucked on your face to mop up more drool. He placed a hand on your head to keep you steady as the road curved quite sharply. After a few minutes he caught himself running his fingers through your hair and put his hand on the wheel, focusing on getting back to the bunker.

You still hadn't moved by the time he was pulling up in the garage. He very slowly lifted you off him and returned you upright, your eyes were now open but they had that blank, faraway look in them still. He took you by the hand and led you down into the bunker, setting you on the sofa in the living room.

“Kid? Can you hear me? We're back at the bunker.” You blinked several times, eyes managing to focus on him. He squeezed your hand and you squeezed back.

“S-Slade? How. . .?” Your words were slightly slurred.

“You fell asleep in the truck. Are you hungry?”

“Uhh. . .yeah.”

“Come on, I'll make lunch.” He pulled you to your feet and guided you into the kitchen, setting you down in the booth. As he was making lunch, he periodically checked on you which completely escaped your notice. Your eyelids were heavy, you were struggling to stay awake. When the food was ready, you ate at your normal pace, though your dexterity using cutlery was beginning to deteriorate.

He had you on a truncated training schedule in the afternoon. You spent the time in the living room on your laptop, first completing some navigation and battlespace training. It was evident that you were tired and you weren't concentrating well but you were trying your best. He kept watch over you in the surveillance room, spotting when your hands started to shake. Seeing that he had you skip language training and move straight onto profile learning.

Your hands hadn't stopped shaking by dinnertime, so he fed you himself. You kept your eyes away from him. You weren't embarrassed or ashamed that he was doing this for you, the issue was that he'd done this to you in the first place.

“You alright, kid?” He asked after he'd finished feeding you.

“Fucking great,” you replied sarcastically, your slurred speech was now much more prominent. “I want cookies.”

“I'll make you some.”

When they were cooked and had cooled down enough, you awkwardly grabbed one and started scoffing it down. He watched you eat the second and then third cookie, on the fourth he stopped you and pulled the plate away.

“You're going to make yourself sick.”

“I'm still hungry,” you complained as he took to his feet.

“You've had enough, you can have more tomorrow.” He walked over to the counter and as he set the plate down onto it he felt the air shifting around him.

“I said I'm hungry!” You snapped at him, using the air to push the plate towards the booth. He could have caught the plate, but the cookies would have gone flying anyway with the forward momentum. The plate shattering might also make you realise how you were behaving right now. After it smashed onto the ground with the cookies, you stared at the mess in shock.

“I'm. . .I'm sorry. I didn't-”

“It's fine, kid.” He refused your offer of help when you went to stand. With the mess cleaned up, he escorted you into the surveillance room, you were taking smaller steps and you were leaning forward as you walked. He sat you down on the chair and called up Villain, leaning up against the wall as you listed the side effects you were experiencing.

“I feel really tired. You can hear what I sound like. Uhh. . .my hands keep shaking and uhh. .. Slade had to feed me dinner. I'm not walking well. I feel hungry still and uhh. . .I lashed out when he didn't let me keep eating. It was hard to piss earlier. . .and I couldn't take a shit. My mouth's getting dry too.” When you'd finished the call, he returned you to the living room before speaking to Villain and describing how you'd been.

“Wilson. This will be their best day, expect a rapid decline.”

Villain had unfortunately been correct. You had fallen asleep on the sofa so he slipped a blanket and a plastic sheet underneath your body. In the morning, he administered the antipsychotics intravenously while you were asleep. Back in the surveillance room, he set up a motion detector alert in the living room. The live feed popped up on his screen when you woke up and you were looking around the room with wide eyes.

He could smell that you'd pissed yourself as he headed into the living room and could hear that your heart rate was faster than normal. You visibly relaxed when you saw him. You lifted up the blanket with a shaky hand, beckoning him closer, like you wanted him to lie next to you.

“The blanket's itchy. . .but we'll keep. . .each other warm,” you murmured, your words were still slurred. His blanket was not itchy, Villain mentioned skin problems and allergic rashes as one of the side effects.

“Do you feel cold?” He asked as he knelt on the carpet, he pulled the blanket down and didn't see any rashes on your arms. You nodded in response and patted the sofa.

“Can I. . .hold you?” He wondered why you were asking that now, there was something off about your expression. You looked. . .hopeful.

“Because you're cold?”

“Yeah. . .and I. . .want to hold you. I don't know when. . .they'll come back for us.”

“Where do you think you are right now?”

“I'm right here with you. It's how. . .it's meant to be. It's you and me. . .together,” you told him with a soft yet resolute tone.

“You're in my bunker, kid. You're free.”

“Oh yeah? What's. . .it like?”

“How am I talking to you if we're not free?”

“They're. . .letting you heal before they. . .” you trailed off, expression becoming fearful. “I've been practicing. . .every chance I get. . .like you asked me to.” You really were convinced you were back at the facility. Letting out a sigh, he helped you to your feet and half-carried you upstairs. He opened up the safehouse door after disarming the defences and guided you onto the back porch. Gusts of wind started blowing towards you as you beamed in delight and lifted your arms slightly to take it all in.

You slowly let yourself fall back and be picked up by the air, he immediately latched onto your ankle before you started floating off.

“Kid,” he warned gently when he felt the air pushing at the back of his legs.

“Can you. . .hear them singing?” You asked, the smile suddenly fell from your face and a few seconds later you started fitting. He was ready to catch you but somehow you were remaining airborne as your limbs randomly thrashed. Letting go of your ankle, he positioned himself behind your head, cupping the back of your skull with his hands and leaving your limbs unrestrained otherwise he'd risk further injury.

The seizure lasted for fifty-six seconds. You continued to remain about five feet off the ground the entire time and when your body stilled, you looked around in confusion.

“You just had a seizure, kid,” he told you, positioning himself at your side and taking hold of your hand. The confusion fell from your expression and you now seemed. . .heartbroken. “How are you feeling?”

“We're not. . .we're not free.”

“Look at me. Do you trust me?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm telling you that we're free. You had a seizure just now, you didn't get shocked. Do you understand?” You thought on what he said for a moment, your body shifting closer to him as you levitated in the air.

“You promise?”

“I swear to you, kid.”

“Okay.”

“I'm going to take you into the bunker and get you cleaned up. Do you think you could eat?”

“Maybe.”

He watched over you throughout the course of the day, witnessing your mood gradually deteriorate.

You managed to clean yourself a little when he washed you in the bath and you remained alert, not disassociating at any point. After getting you dressed, he cooked you breakfast which included a cocktail of medication to ease the constipation and to help you piss more easily.

With the soiled blanket and plastic sheet stripped off, he made sure you were comfortable on the sofa with your laptop so you could do some navigation training. You glanced at the screen for a moment before shaking your head, seemingly disheartened.

“What is it?”

“I can't. . .read.”

“Can you see maps?” You shook your head again, looking sorry for yourself. He moved you onto battlespace training and profile learning, amending the laptop's settings to read out information on the screen and respond to verbal commands. You managed maybe half an hour before you started napping.

When you'd eaten lunch, you were getting more and more withdrawn. You were curled up on the sofa, leg and hands shaking. He thought you might have been disassociating, but you would regularly shift your position as you seemed to be unable to get comfortable. You weren't making expressions like normal but it looked as if you were nauseous too. He tried to offer your phone and headphones to see whether you wanted to listen to any music but you blinked twice at him. Though you did accept the anti-nausea pills he gave you, it didn't seem to make you feel any better.

He switched to the live feed in the bedroom's ensuite and watched you piss, the medication appeared to be effective as you didn't struggle. Instead of leaving the bathroom, you sat down on the edge of the tub and stared into space for a minute or so. He was about to get off his chair to relocate you somewhere more comfortable while you disassociated, but then he saw tears running down your cheeks and you were wiping them away.

You returned to the living room about ten minutes later. He didn't know how he could comfort you. It seemed like his presence had a detrimental effect if anything. At dinner, you were eating at a slower pace with your leg shaking under the table, hands shaking in your lap. You didn't thank him for the food, or compliment his cooking which you always did before.

“Do you want some chocolate?” Slade asked, hoping that might boost your mood.

“No.” You'd never refused chocolate before. It wasn't like you didn't have an appetite, you ate everything he fed to you.

“It's time to call Villain.”

As you sat in his chair in the surveillance room, you held out your hand gesturing for him to wait before he made the call.

“I want. . .privacy.” He kept his expression blank and nodded, not that he was actually agreeing with your request. This wasn't good, you asking for privacy meant you were doing worse than he was aware of. Closing up the surveillance room door, he pulled out his phone and brought up the live feed of you before he sat on the edge of his bed.

“How are you feeling today?”

“I don't. . .want to do this. . .anymore.”

“You're over halfway there, you only have one more day left.”

“I can't stand this. . .it hurts too much. How could he. . .do this to me?” You whimpered as you started crying.

“His intention is to help you.”

“Do I look like. . .I'm being helped? I can't. . .fly like this, can't. . .use my powers. . .can't do anything. I don't. . .I don't want to be here anymore.”

“One of the side effects from the antipsychotics is suicidal thoughts. Have you tried to harm yourself?”

“No,” you replied, shakily wiping your face and running nose with your sleeve.

“Have you thought about how you would try to commit suicide?”

“I can't. . .I can't kill myself. They. . .genetically modified me. . .so I can't.”

“They informed you of this?”

“Yeah. But before. . .they took me, I. . .I tried to kill myself and I. . .just couldn't do it.” You hadn't mentioned that during the debrief where he asked you all about your life. He had inferred that your mental health had been poor prior to being captured, but not that you were suicidal.

“Can you describe what it felt like when you did try?”

“My mind just. . .stopped. It was like a wall. . .and I couldn't. . .get past it. My body wouldn't. . .it wasn't under. . .my control.”

“I'll take another look at your brain scans. Are you still able to feel the winds at the moment?”

“Yeah.”

“You haven't noticed any reduction in the sensation?”

“I don't. . .think so. It's hard to. . .focus. What if. . .what if he wants me to. . .keep taking them? I can't. . .I can't do this.”

“If the trial were to be extended, you would be on a lower dose where you'd be more comfortable.”

“But I still. . .might not fly.”

“I can not make any guarantees at this point. As your physician, my priority is finding what works best for you.”

Villain had you describing the side effects, how some had worsened and some had improved since yesterday, and encouraged you to get some sleep. You couldn't open up the surveillance room door, you leant your head against it for a few moments before he felt air being pushed against his body to signal him. You didn't look at him when he opened it up and you refused his help to take you to the living room. He watched you hobble down the corridor before he spoke to Villain again.

“I'll put the kid on suicide watch.”

When you'd fallen asleep, he sat in the living room to keep an eye on you. Your heart rate continued to be elevated and your breathing remained normal. He hadn't been considering the implications of you being on antipsychotics in the long term. If you weren't able to properly use your powers, it ruled out a whole slew of ways for you to make a living.

You'd need a new safehouse, you couldn't stay underground in the bunker, it wouldn't be good for you. He could set up a place in Vermont near Wintergreen, maybe Connecticut so you would be closer to his children. Your safehouse in Brooklyn had more amenities nearby, you might however prefer the quiet out in the country.

Slade would make sure that you were occupied, get you doing some security consulting while you worked from home. He'd take you on trips while he was in between jobs, maybe Tahiti first and then you could stay at the Kitale lodge with Wintergreen, go on safaris and see the Great Migration.

He felt a sense of wrongness when he thought about you not being able to fly anymore, it was where you belonged. A remotely operated parachute could be a possibility. Perhaps he could take you on his yacht in the Mediterranean and if something went wrong mid-flight, he could fish you out of the ocean after the parachute safely brought you down. He set aside the thought, focusing on the priority that was to ensure that you were comfortable, that you were safe.

Eleven hours later, he left the living room to fetch the final dose of antipsychotics from the infirmary and you didn't murmur as he administered it. When you woke up an hour later you still hadn't pissed yourself, at least you were showing some sort of improvement which wasn't drug-induced. He'd take anything he could get at this point.

After breakfast, he brought his laptop and sat with you in the living room as he looked up possible safehouse locations. He could feel your eyes on him and glanced over, you were glaring at him.

“You need something?” You ignored his question and took to your feet, shuffling out into the corridor. He followed your journey into the bedroom ensuite on the camera feeds. With the bathroom door closed, you sat on the tub like you did yesterday. He headed to his bedroom, if you were going to try anything he needed to be closer. You opened the bathroom door the moment he came in and used the air to force it wide open.

“You listened. . .didn't you? I told you. . .I wanted privacy!” Your words were almost becoming unintelligible as you raised your voice.

“Did you hear me agree to that?”

“Fuck off! You nodded. . .you agreed.” You weren't being outwardly aggressive, you appeared to be genuinely upset with him.

“You made an assumption.”

“Shut up!” You moved towards him unsteadily, flipping him off with your shaking hand. As you left the bedroom, you slammed the door shut with the air. Determining whether his presence would be more of a hinder than a help was becoming increasingly difficult. When he heard you walking down the corridor in the direction of the stairs going up, he quickly followed behind. You were waiting impatiently by the secondary door.

“Open it.”

“It's better if you stay down here, kid.”

“For who?” You shot back, eyes still brimming with anger. “Get your shit.” If you wanted him to get his laptop, you understood that he was going to stay with you for the time being. He acquiesced and after retrieving it, he opened up the secondary door and then the blast door, escorting you up to the living room in the safehouse. You stood waiting by the security panel under the floor.

“No.”

“I want to. . .go outside.”

“You're not stable right now.”

“I never am. I know why you're. . .doing this. You can't. . .control them and you. . .don't like that, do you?”

“It's not about that.”

“Then why?”

“You know why, you put your life at risk.” You huffed in frustration, crossing your arms as best you could and looking away from him. He leant the laptop up against the wall on the floor and stepped towards you until he was a few feet from you.

“Who does your body belong to?” He asked, slowly taking hold of your hand before pulling it closer to him and waiting until you were glancing up at him.

“Who does it belong to?” He asked again with a softer tone, squeezing your hand. You managed to squeeze back.

“You,” you muttered reluctantly, almost resentfully. The anger had mostly bled away from your eyes.

“Good. I'm going to look after it, whether you like it or not.”

“Asshole.” He brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss onto your knuckles. You were squinting your eyes like you were trying hard to focus on his face.

“Mmm.”

“You can't. . .placate me with kisses.”

“Can't I?” He smirked at you, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

“I still want to. . .go outside.”

“Later.” With his laptop in one hand, he led you with the other to the sofa which wasn't as comfortable or as large as the one in the bunker. You sprawled out when he sat down and promptly placed your feet on his thighs before he could put the laptop down on his lap. It looked like you were trying to smile smugly at him. He perched the laptop on the armrest instead.

A few minutes later you asked whether he could open the windows and when he confirmed that they don't open, you half-tutted and half-scoffed in response.

You managed to nap for a few hours and after lunch, he took you into the infirmary to place the immobiliser cuff on your arm below your elbow.

The cuff had a remotely deployable autoinjector inside of it which would automatically administer a mix of paralytics and general anaesthetic if you deviated a certain distance from the designated holding spot. He explained that you could sit on the back porch and if you tried to fly off or go down the stairs onto the grass, or if you tried to take it off, the cuff would activate.

He omitted the fact that the cuff would first deliver an electric shock to incapacitate you, that you didn't need to be aware of. If you did try to start hurting yourself, this was his means to put an immediate stop to it and it would incapacitate you faster than he could. You were looking at him rather unamused.

“Do I want to know. . .why you have this?”

“I knew it would come in handy one day, kid.”

Helping you back upstairs, he got you settled on the chair outside and had you put on a pair of sunglasses as your eyes were more sensitive to sunlight than normal. He activated the cuff before bringing your phone and headphones in case you wanted to listen to music. He also brought you a blanket and pillow for comfort more so than for warmth as the weather was particularly amenable today.

Leaving you to it, he headed back down into the bunker, inching to get to the training area. He was confident that you wouldn't be able to go anywhere, no matter how hard you tried, he was less confident that you wouldn't harm yourself so he kept watch on his tablet while he worked through various exercises.

An hour passed when your head suddenly turned, your eyebrows furrowed for a brief moment. You then zipped the hoodie all the way up and covered your mouth with it. No audio was picked up from the outside cameras but there was audio from your phone.

“You're. . .just in my head.” You were hallucinating, and you were aware that's what was happening. Small mercies. He turned up the sound as your slurred words were even more difficult to understand with the hoodie muffling them further. “Well. . .you're not blurry.” You didn't say anything for a short moment.

“They did?” Another pause. “He's. . .taking care of me, Slade.” Were you. . .hallucinating him?

“He's. . .working out.” He wasn't anymore, too focused on whether he needed to go up and intervene. “He. . .he's trying. He kissed my hand earlier.”

You were defending him. You were defending him against another version of him. Christ.

“He's my friend.” You didn't speak for a long moment. “I can't. I don't want to. . .leave him.” Fake him wanted you to leave with him? He forced his body to relax, the cuff would stop you from leaving. If he rushed upstairs, you'd know he was coming and who knows how you'd react with the hallucination.

“He's not going to leave me. . .he wouldn't do that.” There was no uncertainty to your words. “You're not. . .you're not real.” You said nothing for about half a minute.

“I'm sorry. . .I can't go.” You spoke after a long moment. “Thank you. Before you go, can you. . .can you hold me?” Your arms moved like you were going to hug the hallucination back before you stopped yourself, your head leaned forward like you were resting it against fake him's body. He could hear you start to cry quietly.

You didn't stop for the next ten minutes or so, the noises you were making gradually fell silent. Eventually you lifted your head and spoke once more.

“Yeah.” A brief pause. “Thank you.” What were you thanking the hallucination for?

“Okay. Can you. . .tell the winds that I love them?” Fake him was what, friends with your little sky friends? He supposed that made sense. “Bye.”

The hallucination didn't seem to make another appearance for the rest of the day. During the call with Villain, you didn't go into much detail about the hallucination and you didn't specify that it was another version of him that wanted to take you away.

He cooked you a peach cobbler, hoping that you might enjoy it as a special treat. When he fed you the first spoonful, he waited for your reaction, regretting that he'd used canned peaches instead of fresh ones.

“Mmm,” you hummed and immediately opened your mouth after swallowing the first bite.

“I take it you like it then?”

“Mmmhmm,” you confirmed as he fed you some more. He couldn't help but be pleased that you liked it.

An hour later when you'd fallen asleep, he loaded you up in the truck with pillows and blankets to keep you comfortable and began the drive to New Jersey. It would take a good fifteen hours, more depending on the traffic. Your head was supported by a pillow and resting on his lap. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that hallucination of yours.

Part of him felt this deep sense of satisfaction at the thought of him being so entrenched in your mind. Another part felt disjointed and angry that you were picturing a. . .better version of him, one that was always putting what you wanted above everything else, one that. . .held you and comforted you in the way that you needed.

You had defended Slade against the hallucination, against a superior version of him that believed in your delusions. You had put your trust in him, unconditionally. You had chosen him even at your lowest point, even when Slade was the direct cause of the very pain you were feeling.

When he caught himself running his fingers through your hair, he didn't stop.

- - -

“There is no change. Before you ask me whether I am certain, I would remind you that you are paying me for my medical expertise which I am providing. I am not telling you what you wish to hear.”

“Let me guess, you're not a magician and you're not a fortune teller either.”

“Precisely.”

“The kid's going to have a field day,” Slade muttered to himself more so than Villain.

“They will be pleased, I will inform them of the good news.”

“No. I need to handle this.”

“See that you do, today. Otherwise I will inform them tomorrow evening.”

“Oh you think you will, hmm?”

“Must the Entente Cordiale be revived once more and you wish for me to have a discussion with Monsieur Wintergreen? I assume he is aware that the trial has taken place?” Slade glared, wondering how Villain ever became his personal physician in the first place. Though he knew the reason why of course, Villain was the best.

“I'll talk to them.”

“Excellent. Now in terms of the long term effects, you should-”

“There won't be any long term effects. I'm giving the kid my blood.” Villain stared at him for a long moment, like he was deducing whether Slade was telling the truth.

“Really.”

“I'll do it when they're asleep and they are not going to find out.” Villain acquiesced and nodded his head in agreement. “What would your medical expertise recommend so they don't have a miraculous recovery?”

It was later that evening when Slade told you the results from the trial. He'd stopped off to fill up the truck and bought some dinner from the gas station. He sat eating with you while you perched on the back of the truck with him. Your hands were mostly steady again and you were eating without any problems.

When he was done, he stuffed the wrappers away into the bag and didn't move to get back into the truck, neither did you. A minute passed in silence until you took his hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Are you really asking me that, kid?”

“I know this hasn't been easy for you either.”

“I'm fine. How are you feeling?”

“Better than this morning.”

“You'll get there.”

“Yeah.”

“Villain's finalised the results from the trial.”

“He has?”

“He's concluded that the antipsychotics had no demonstrable impact on your brain activity and he's not recommending you to continue taking them.”

“Oh. . .really?”

“Mmm.”

“Are you. . .okay with that?”

“You think I'm going to force you to take something that doesn't help?”

“I didn't mean it like that. I just. . .you were worried. I don't want you to be worried.” He hadn't been worried, he just didn't want you getting yourself killed. It would be a waste.

“How are you going to put my mind at ease then, kid?”

“I won't ignore Dr. Villain's advice again and if he tells me not to fly, I won't fly. And I won't take any more risks.”

“Even if your little sky friends want you to?”

“They don't want me to get hurt, like you don't.”

“So why did you try and kill yourself before you were captured?”

“I. . .” You lowered your head, eyes moving away from him like you were trying to find the words. “I wasn't. . .in a good place back then.” He gave you a moment to continue.

“I won't take any more risks. I swear to you, Slade.” He blinked at you, acknowledging your promise before he squeezed your hand and you squeezed back. A gentle breeze started picking up and pressing against his body like you were trying to comfort him.

“You want a chocolate milkshake for the road?”

“Yeah,” you replied, with a small smile on your face.

- - -

Over the next three nights, he gave you small doses of his blood while you were asleep levitating back down in the range again. To start with, he had you on a truncated training schedule for one day. The next day after your check up, he extended your schedule instead of completing the normal series of tests and had you doing more power training instead of the usual combat training after lunch.

You were back in the air like you'd never taken a break. He could tell you were trying to conceal how happy you were, how much better you were feeling. Physically that was his blood at work, but the improvement to your mental health was in spite of his intentions if anything.

At the start of the week, he had you fly to Villain to have a full medical assessment after dinner. He started prepping your meals for your circumnavigation trip which he was certain Villain was going to clear you for. You were going to be chomping at the bit when he told you about it, especially when he said you would be leaving first thing in the morning.

He was going to have you fly transatlantic to start with, familiar ground as it were, then you'd fly over Europe, the Middle East and Asia to go to his Kuala Lumpur safehouse to top up on scrubber and oxygen and have a break if required. You would then reach the southern hemisphere and fly over the south of New Zealand before heading over the Pacific, returning to the northern hemisphere and coming back to the bunker after flying over North America. It was a journey of over twenty thousand nautical miles which you would complete in well under twenty-four hours, his current estimation was seventeen.

As he predicted, Villain confirmed you were good to fly and when you returned he took you straight into the surveillance room before you could take your gear off. He had the route of your circumnavigation up on the screens for you to take in.

“You ready to fly around the world, kid?” A broad smile pulled at your lips before you started laughing. You were ecstatic, unable to contain yourself. It was practically identical to that look you had on your face after the escape when you were flying away from the facility with him. It was pure, unadulterated joy.

He couldn't help but smile back at you.

────────

°✦｡･Chapter Fifteen･｡✦° Taglist: @tenyasfangirl @okari-blackpaw @lordandmistress @jyaartist @shadowdoom20 @redhooduwu @celestia0473 @mewocc @ohhrats @bohdupibaba @repostingmyfavs

Slade was waiting on a track going around the edge of a field, wearing his armour and weapons sans the helmet, the Deathstroke was strapped onto his back and three cases of gear were on the ground next to him. There wasn't a vehicle anywhere nearby, how far had he trekked out here?

“Hi,” you greeted as you landed in front of him and pulled off your helmet. He'd cut his hair, it was shorter than you'd ever seen it and now went down past his ear by maybe an inch.

“Hey, kid,” he responded, you took hold of his gloved hand, relieved that he was with you again. “Miss me?”

“Yeah, I missed you.”

“Couldn't wait to get your hands on me, hmm?” He teased you, squeezing your hand.

“I guess not,” you replied, squeezing back with a wide grin on your face. “You cut your hair.”

“Don't you like it?”

“I do, it looks good,” you replied, holding back the urge to run your hands through it.

“So you met my girl, what do you think about her?”

“She's great.” You internally cringed at the word, you did not mean that she was hot. “She's got a good head on her shoulders and she's been kind to me,” you explained, thinking of her warning you off Slade, caring enough to do that even though you'd been another asshole who was watching her.

“She'll have you wrapped around her little finger in no time. If she hasn't already,” he smirked and pulled away from you, pointing out the case you'd be carrying and picking up the other two for himself.

Loaded up and back in the air, he told you about the contract he'd been working, assessing the readiness of a rebel militia force that aimed to overthrow the current regime and defeat not only the country's military but also the main drug cartel that was helping to keep the regime propped up and in power. The militia had already overtaken a rival cartel and had used its revenue to outfit themselves with standardised weaponry, purchase anti-tank missiles and expand their intelligence networks.

When you made it back to the bunker, you were helping him take off his armour and as he was stripping off the top part of the skintight layer, you leaned in to get a good whiff of him.

“I guess you managed to have a proper shower, hmm?” You teased gently, not smelling anything untoward. He blinked at you for a brief moment, you spotted the slightest twitch around his mouth.

“Get some sleep, kid. We start at 0500.”

Start at 0500 you did and it felt really good to be in Slade's company again. He was no doubt going to put you through your paces to gage what progress you'd made in his absence. After general physical training, he cooked you pancakes for breakfast and they were fantastic as they always were.

In weapons training he introduced you to the MP5, you were getting used to the feel of it, firing it on semi and full auto. The MP5 and Glock 19 would be the weapon combination of choice for bodyguarding due to the compact size of the MP5 and its considerable stopping power. He explained that he'd train you to be a close protection officer soon when you were comfortable with the MP5. During quick change, he was evaluating the two profiles you'd used in Paris, the first as the delivery driver with the short wig and the second in your normal disguise with the poncho. He had you practicing changing your gait and improving the body language shift from one profile to the other.

Next was power training and you started off levitating in the air fully inverted but the nausea came back in full force so you remained upright instead, trying to form a sphere of vacuum around you while remaining airborne. You needed to work out how to shape the buffer to keep you up, maintain its momentum and surround it with vacuum all simultaneously.

In medical training, Slade lifted up the slab at the end of the range which covered the tunnel leading to the nuke. He then proceeded to lay down on the floor, manoeuvring the slab until it was on top of his ankle to pin his foot in place. Thankfully he'd already outlined that he was creating a crush injury scenario with him being buried so you had a few autoinjectors to hand and dosed him with morphine. Leaving the autoinjectors next to him, you began lifting up tens of ammunition boxes with the air and laying them over his body until he was completely covered.

He directed you when to stop, his voice muffled under the ammo boxes. You felt out underneath them all, sensing his breaths and trying to feel how his body was positioned using the air though you already knew. It was difficult to sense, you focused on his breaths and mapped out his body from there. You pushed in a stream of air to provide him with a continuous oxygen supply.

Forming a bubble of air across his entire body to take the weight of all the boxes wasn't possible instantaneously. In a real scenario, you'd risk shifting the weight of the debris, cause instability and further injury. You began lifting off sections of boxes at a time, peeling it back layer by layer until you could remove the remaining ammo boxes off of his body. He hadn't used any of the autoinjectors so you gave him a dirty look before giving him another dose and putting a tourniquet just below his knee. After securing it in place, you gaged how to move the slab and pushed the air against it in one smooth movement to lift it off his ankle.

With it set down on the floor, his ankle didn't look too bad so you lifted his other leg to treat him for shock. To finish, Slade had you stabilise him and fly him off down the range. After the exercise, he cooked you a delicious lunch and you took a few moments to appreciate his company, him sitting opposite you in the booth, him giving you that look when you complimented his food. He used to have an annoyed expression on his face because you were eating quickly, but he must have gotten used to it because he didn't look at you like that anymore.

You then found yourself constantly being taken down by him in combat training. He was upping the ante, pushing you further, making you use everything he'd taught you. When he pulled out a taser, you actually managed to force the air against it and prevent him from tasering your stomach like he did before. You let out a snort of laughter, not quite believing you'd reacted this time, and he immediately cut off your celebration by triggering the taser and making you flinch back from the sound of it.

“Better,” he commented and you preened at his praise, the smile remaining plastered across your face until he handed you the taser and had you try to attack him.

After navigation, he took you through his plans for meeting Rose and Joey during battlespace training. The most likely location would be Pittsburgh in the US, but Slade said that he hadn't confirmed it just yet. Joey was going to fly from LA to San Francisco and use the Titans' Zeta tube to teleport to New York before flying to Blüdhaven to visit Rose as he had done numerous times before on weekends. The detail on Rose would be expanded during his visit. Rather than relocating the team based in LA, they would bring in an additional team to watch Rose and Joey while he was in the city.

The two of them would spend the day together and go to the cinema to watch some blockbuster that had come out recently. Slade had lookalikes on standby that would switch places with them, making it look like they'd never left. Meanwhile, they'd fly over to meet with Slade and return before the movie was over to switch back.

You studied the layout of the city, reviewed the proposed meeting locations, the most promising was on top of a residential building which had no roof access. Focusing on satellite images of the surrounding buildings, you visualised yourself in the air above them, working out which directions an attack would come from.

When you'd eaten dinner and completed language training, you remained in the living room with the laptop as Slade was in the security room working. You were going over Joey's profile, watching videos of him flying, fighting with the Titans on previous missions. His arms were tensed as he was in the air, it looked like that was how he controlled the suit and made himself fly. You studied how he flew in formation with Starfire, how he'd go in for an attack, how he flew back into the air to regroup.

In your personal time, you swallowed the day's tablet and checked to see how Slade was doing. The screens in the security room were filled with satellite images, profiles of people you didn't recognise and building layouts.

“Grab a seat,” he told you and you carried over the case from the server room and set it down by him to sit on. “You ever heard of the Seraph?”

“No.”

“That's what they called you.”

“Like an angel?”

“Mmm.” You huffed out a sarcastic laugh, it figured they'd give you a name like that. They instilled that you would be a defender, a protector, calling you that was better than what they'd been moulding you to be, what you actually were, their obedient weapon. “Project Seraph is one of the military's special access programmes. The data they hold for these programmes is highly restricted and they keep it off network.”

“Wright-Patterson air force base is the most heavily fortified military installation in the country,” Slade continued to explain. “It houses some of their most premier assets, directed-energy weapons, MIRVs, ICBMs, tactical nuclear weapons. It also has a data centre, part of it is dedicated to holding information from their special access programmes.”

“The files they have on me, it will have names, won't it? Who reported to Harrison, who he reported to.”

“It's likely, yes.”

“When do we strike?”

“Soon, kid.”

- - -

He hummed right into your ear, the deep bass of his voice made your body twitch against him. He stood behind you as he had you in a chokehold, you couldn't take in even the slightest breath, he'd completely cut off your oxygen supply.

“You're lasting longer than I thought,” he mused as you uselessly tried pulling at his arm though you'd never be able to loosen the grip he had around your neck. “You still have useful consciousness left, so use it. Now.”

He'd banned you from using your powers for the remainder of the training session, the only way to stop him was using the combat knife strapped to your side. With an unsteady hand and a blooming headache, you reluctantly pulled it from its sheath and half-heartedly went to stab his thigh, trying to go for his femoral artery. He easily dodged out of the way.

“You haven't lost all of your brain cells yet. You know what you have to do.” With your free hand, you started tracing the word please on his arm and by the letter 'l' he responded to your plea.

“It doesn't matter how much you beg me. I'll keep you like this all day. Is that what you want?” You tapped him twice.

“Are you sure? Maybe you're. . .getting off on this, hmm?” He brushed his lips and moustache against your ear, making you helplessly shudder at the sensation. Thinking past the immense pressure across your face and your every heart beat pounding in your ears was a challenge. Were you. . .getting off on this? You wanted his lips on your ear again. You knew that much. For a moment it had distracted you from the extreme discomfort.

But that wasn't. . .it didn't mean that you were getting off because he had you in a chokehold like this. Though now he'd mentioned it. . .shit. No, it was just about his lips, that's it. Right? Tap, tap.

“It's nothing to be ashamed about. It's perfectly normal getting turned on when you're being roughhoused. That's the only reason why you're hesitating, isn't it.” It wasn't, you didn't want to hurt him. Why couldn't you pass out already? He wouldn't let you though, would he? He'd keep you like this all day. You didn't respond.

“If you're hesitating because you don't want to hurt me, you'll make me upset. You don't want to upset me, do you?” His voice was low and threatening. Tap, tap.

“I'm giving you ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven. . .” You raised up your elbow and the knife along with it as he continued counting down. You fucking hated when he did this. “. . .three, two-” Using every last bit of energy, you aimed for his liver and stabbed him, he groaned in pain upon impact. It was like he'd merely stubbed his toe rather than take a knife above centre of mass.

“About. . .damn time,” he murmured, pulling his arms away from you, allowing you to frantically wheeze in the air. He wrapped his hand over yours and pulled the knife out of his abdomen, grunting in the process. As you continued to suck in shaky breaths, Slade began to collapse onto the mat so you pushed the air against his body to cushion his fall.

Turning around, you angrily ran your fingers under your chin before flicking them towards him, repeating the sign several times until he smirked in response. His face paled as blood pooled onto the mat. You stumbled a little as you went to grab the medical kit from the bench, dumping the bloodied knife onto it. He had passed out by the time you returned, you stuck him with a painkiller autoinjector regardless and pulled out the surgical stapler and a pair of tweezers from the kit. Using a continuous spurt of air to push the streaming blood out of the way, you pinched the skin together with the tweezers and placed five closure staples with the surgical stapler.

After covering the wound with a bandage, you flew him up to the infirmary and carefully set him down on the medical chair. You washed his blood off your hands in the sink, thinking of the times you'd done this before. Most of the time it was because he had hurt himself rather than you hurting him. The anger you had felt now waned into resignation.

Pulling out a bag of saline, you hooked it up onto the pole and placed the cannula in his arm. When you were done setting up the IV, he grumbled weakly as he came to. You stuck him with another dose from the autoinjector and pulled out a bottle of water from the small fridge.

“Still miss me, kid?” He joked as you placed the open bottle to his lips and he took a few gulps of water.

“Yeah,” you muttered when he'd finished. Setting down the bottle, you perched on the chair and took his hand in both of yours.

“You were a little turned on, weren't you?” He taunted you, not using that playful teasing tone of his, obviously wanting to rile you up and make you feel agitated.

“Yeah,” you conceded weakly, eyes downcast to focus on your hands and his. There was still some blood under your fingernails. He pulled his hand to his chest taking yours along too, forcing your attention back to him.

“Stop looking so miserable, you weren't the one who got stabbed.”

“Sorry.”

“Tell me what you're thinking about.”

“I don't. . .like hurting you.”

“Are you really saying that you wouldn't enjoy spanking me?” He queried, raising his eyebrows and giving your hand a firm squeeze. With your lips pursed, you knew he wasn't going to allow you to lie and try to get yourself out of this conversation. He was going to maintain the initiative. At any cost.

“That's different.”

“Why? I consented to this. Surely. . .that's the only thing that matters?” It took you a moment to realise he was parroting your own words back at you.

“Being spanked is not the same as being stabbed,” you retorted, frustrated that he was trying to justify this.

“If I gave you a good spanking, you would feel it for days. This I won't feel in thirty minutes. We work to different scales.” Was he. . .was he right? He healed so quickly that he wouldn't experience drawn out pain, he wouldn't feel aches, he wouldn't feel any sort of discomfort that lasted hours or days at a time. Was a brief, intense pain better than an extended, lesser pain?

You wondered what Billy would think, hoping that it might guide you. Yet Billy wouldn't agree with the things that you'd always known were necessary when it came to Slade training you. What were you supposed to think? How could you gage what wrong was? Slade wasn't always right but this. . .it was starting to feel like he was right about this.

“If you keep thinking so hard, you'll give yourself an aneurysm,” he half-warned, half-joked.

“Are you a masochist?”

“In the right situation,” he replied casually. Letting out a sigh and lifting up a leg, you twisted your body and slowly fell, the air pillowing underneath as you levitated next to Slade lying on your side. You kept the buffer of air contained and deadened the air around it to reduce the noise for him. You brought his hand to your face and snuggled against it, focusing on the softness of his skin rather than the spiral of uncertainty plaguing your mind.

“I've confirmed the arrangements to see my boy and girl tomorrow,” he explained quietly. “Rose wants to see you again.”

“Really?”

“Mmm. It wouldn't have been a sure thing not so long ago, she used to be much more hot-headed. If she was still like that she would have laid you out after you offered her a foot massage. She thought you were making a move on her.”

“Oh. . .but I didn't. . .mean. . .”

“She obviously worked that out for herself. And why have you given my girl a foot message before you've given me one?”

“Well. . .you don't need one, do you?”

“Need and want are two different things.” His eye flicked down to his bare feet as he silently gestured for you to give him a massage so you pushed two continuous spurts of air against his feet, moving it up and down from his heels to his toes.

“Harder,” he told you and you increased the force and speed of the air against him, matching it on both feet. He hummed, closing his eye and slipping his free hand behind his head like he was enjoying himself. “You've been holding out on me.”

- - -

Slade had you put on body armour under the stealth suit.

The grey pony bottle was strapped to one thigh, two additional oxygen bottles were strapped to the other. The backpack was on your front and inside of it was a multitude of explosives and grenades that Slade had given to you. He was going into this under the assumption there'd be trouble, even after he'd tried to mitigate any possible risk. You were hovering in the cloud cover with Slade on your back, sensing down below.

“Rose and Joey are on the roof,” you confirmed to Slade. “Top two floors are clear, three people are on the floor below that and they're in two separate flats. Roofs in the vicinity are clear.”

“Take us down.”

Slowly bringing down the cloud cover across the city, you gradually lost altitude and covered yourself and Slade with fog as you came in to land on the roof. When Slade unstrapped himself from your harness, you immediately took off again to return to the clouds and you sensed Rose and Joey moving towards Slade.

In position at 750 feet, you were on high alert, continuously checking the perimeter down below, ready to pull all three of them up into the air and fall back to the exfil point. The airspace remained clear for about twenty minutes until a helicopter began flying from beyond the outskirts of the city towards downtown, almost heading right for you.

Taking hold of the air under its rotor blades, you were assuming it was an air ambulance going to the city's largest hospital. However, you were ready for the eventuality that it was hostile, you would thin out the air underneath the helicopter and make it plummet to the ground. Thankfully it changed direction and slowed down as it came in to land.

You continued sensing out down below for another forty minutes or so. Slade, Rose and Joey were by the ventilation shafts on the roof, the top two floors remained clear, the three people on the floor below weren't moving abnormally, the roofs within a quarter mile radius remained clear aside from the helicopter which had powered down a while ago.

“How are we looking, kid?” Slade asked through the earpieces.

“All clear.”

“Alright, come down.”

“Okay,” you confirmed and began pulling down the clouds once again. When you landed on the roof, you put the bag on your back and took off your helmet as Slade approached with Rose and Joey en tow. Rose was wearing jeans and a hoodie, frankly it was a relief finally seeing her properly covered. Joey was also dressed casually and he was wearing the Ikon suit under his clothes. It looked like Rose was wearing her own Ikon suit under her outfit too. Her suit was blue but wasn't capable of flight like Joey's white one, and she wore additional armour pieces on top to complete the Ravager suit.

As Slade took the helmet from your hands, you noticed that Joey looked younger in person than he did from the photos and videos you'd seen. His green eyes were brighter too.

“Hey S,” Rose greeted, giving you a once over. “You look better without the makeup.”

“Uhh. . .thanks.”

“Joey, this is S,” she introduced you to her brother. You slid one hand over the other, bumped the sides of your fists together with your index fingers pointing up and pointed at Joey. He signed nice to meet you back before glancing over at Slade.

“The kid's connected up,” Slade responded. He'd previously explained that Joey has a subvocal mic that allows him to vocalise his thoughts onto his phone using Bluetooth.

“Can you hear me?” You heard a male voice coming through the earpieces and it didn't sound like it was digitally created at all.

“Yeah.”

“I wanted to thank you for saving my dad.”

“Oh. . .uhh. . .well he saved me too.”

“Yeah but Dad didn't fly you out of jail, did he?” Rose interjected with one of her eyebrows raised at you.

“Uhh. . .no. . .”

“So you've met Uncle Billy?” Joey asked.

“Yeah, he's great.” Rose snorted at your response and then coughed to hide her amusement at your choice of word. Billy was handsome without a doubt, even if you unintentionally implied he was hot, it was still the truth. “He's really nice. I had tea with him last week.”

“We're leaving in two minutes,” Slade confirmed and you nodded at him.

“Dad, before you go,” she grabbed onto Slade's arm and pulled him further along the roof. “I wanted to ask you about the-”

“You're another flyer, huh?” Joey commented and then immediately started signing.

We can get you away from Dad. He signed, lowering his hand after pressing his thumb against his forehead. You glanced over at Slade, Rose had him turned away from you so he wouldn't be able to see what you and Joey were signing to each other.

“Uhh. . .yeah.”

He's my friend. You signed back, tapping your index fingers together and flipping them over to repeat the motion.

“Do you want. . .” You started as Joey signed his reply, it was difficult focusing on both conversations and the speed of Joey's signs.

No. You're not his friend. Dad doesn't have friends.

“. . .to see?”

B. I- Joey interrupted your fingerspelling, understanding you meant Billy.

He's family, he doesn't count.

“Sure,” he responded so you lifted up a knee and pushed the air under your boot, hovering a couple feet off the ground.

He's using you. I don't know what for, but he's using you for something. Joey signed with a frown on his face, his index finger pointing upwards as he span it around slowly. His words echoed what Rose had already told you, did he think that Slade was using you to be his weapon too?

I won't do what I don't want to do.

“Can I see you too?” You asked, lowering yourself back onto the roof.

You care about him. He'll make you want. . .he wants. You didn't quite catch all of what he signed, but you understood his meaning. Slade will make you want to do what he wants.

Joey clenched his fists and began hovering a few inches off the roof, doing it in complete silence without disturbing the air around him. Rose was still keeping Slade busy, but you knew time was running out.

“Do you clench your fists. . .” You began as you signed back to him.

It's not like that.

“. . .to make yourself fly?” He dropped back down, signing his reply to you.

We can help you.

“Yeah, it's how I activate the suit.”

Thank you but I'm safe. You crossed over your fists before pulling them apart and turning them outwards.

Safe? With my Dad? Are you crazy? He looked frustrated at you as he spun his index finger by the side of his head. Rose laughed loudly and you felt Slade turn around and head towards you both. You solemnly nodded at Joey in reply. His eyebrows furrowed for a split second before his expression went mostly blank.

“Maybe we could go flying together one day,” you told him, putting your backpack on your front before Slade handed the helmet back.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Time to go,” Slade announced and Joey wrapped his arms around him. He hugged Joey back before ruffling his blond hair as he pulled away. “Don't worry about your mother. I put you up to this, remember?”

“Sure, Pop. See you soon.”

“Bye, Joey. Rose.”

“Bye, Dad. See ya, S!”

“Bye.” Slade tapped your shoulder once when he was strapped onto your harness and had put his helmet back on. You waved at them both, Rose waved back but Joey looked on motionless. Pulling the fog around your bodies, you launched up into the air.

- - -

You were hovering in the air a thousand feet above Wright-Patterson air force base, with Slade on your back, the winds at your sides. Underneath the stealth suit, you wore fatigues, standard issue combat boots and had an M17 sidearm strapped on your hip. An M4 went over the top of the suit and rested across your torso.

Slade was wearing a stealth suit too, and underneath it he was in uniform. He was in full disguise wearing a face prosthetic that had taken him hours to apply, covering his goatee and making him look his actual age. He'd taken you through the process earlier that morning as you were getting yourself ready. Along with a short chestnut-coloured wig, he wore a glass eye with a brown iris and wore a matching brown contact lens. The glass eye looked really strange on him, it wasn't. . .Slade.

“That ugly, huh?” He had commented earlier, reacting to your grimace.

“It looks weird.”

“If I don't move my eye, it's fine.”

“No, it's not that. It just looks weird, you. . .having two eyes.”

The rest of your gear and his was hidden under a camoflauge net a mile or so from the base's outer perimeter. You were going to infiltrate the base during lunchtime and had brought the storm clouds in to hide you landing and taking off again.

He'd cancelled language training and learning profiles for the last two evenings in order to prepare for this with him. During weapons training, he had you practicing with the M17 which was slightly different to the Glock 19. You went over the layout of the base, the location of the data centre, how Slade was going to access it as you covered him from a distance. While you were visualising being over the base and mapping out what was below, you realised that it seemed familiar, they must have taken you there on a field test.

You had thought that knowing beforehand would have quelled any panic, but you remembered with a sinking feeling that this was where they had fired various weapons at you, mortars, artillery shells, ballistic missiles and. . .a rotary canon. You had spun up the air in front, deflecting the rounds from the canon out of the way and-

“Kid.” No! Please let him go! No! Bits of his shredded body fell to the ground. Slade pulled and pushed at either shoulder to get you to turn around to face him.

“I need you to focus, alright?” The sight of his unfamiliar face made the panic swell. “Close your eyes. Focus on my voice.” You did as he asked and focused on his voice, it was Slade's voice.

“Take a deep breath. That's it. And another one. Good, that's good, kid.” His warm hand ran down the side of your face. “Whatever you're remembering, it's in the past, you're not there. You're right here with me, right now, aren't you?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you here with me?”

“I'm here with you,” you replied, opening your eyes and taking hold of his hand to squeeze it. He squeezed back.

“Do you know what you need to do?”

“Yeah.”

“Go.” You turned in his arms as you began losing altitude, making yourself focus on the task at hand. Pulling down the rain clouds on the descent, you felt out down below and landed at the designated spot, fifty yards from the east entrance of the research facility. You quickly peeled off your white stealth suit as Slade took off his black one. As you packed them both into a waterproof duffel bag, he put on a pair of glasses and took out an umbrella from his leather satchel. When it was raised above his head and you zipped up the bag, he donned you with the camoflauge hat which went over your actual hair.

You threw the bag up into the air, masking it with the heavy rain and guiding it onto the roof out of sight. Giving you a once over, he was satisfied with your disguise and tilted his head. You walked with him to the entrance with the M4 in hand, concentrating on what you had to do. There were two guards at the door who saluted at Slade and one of them opened the door for him. They barely even glanced at you.

Inside the research facility there were all sorts of laboratories, workspaces and offices. Wright-Patterson specialised in neurotechnology, brain-computer interfaces, neuroprostethics, understanding how exactly the brain worked. On the surface it was all very commendable, helping people with degenerative motor diseases, epilepsy and stroke patients.

To you, all you could see was the weaponisation of the mind, all you knew was that what they were doing here would have been used when they sawed Slade's skull open and tried to make him into their weapon. Part of you wanted to raze this fucking place to the ground.

He made his way to the data centre which spanned across two floors of the facility, both of which were unsurprisingly underground. You followed him down several flights of stairs down to the centre's entrance which had its own guard post. Slade greeted the guard manning the desk and handed over his ID as you took position by the wall, awaiting the return of your commanding officer. They directed him to go through the separate scanner which was close to the door. It was a top of the line full body scanner which would detect any sort of electronics, hard drives, USBs, anything that could store data remotely.

Slade was going to memorise the information that he saw as he had an eidetic memory. The guard buzzed him in when he'd cleared the scan and you felt him heading into the data centre. It was comprised mostly of servers with separate rooms that housed computers in order to access the information. There were two people on the floor below that were standing near the servers, probably doing some kind of maintenance from what you could tell. He entered one of the separate rooms, sitting down in front of the desk.

You continually sensed outwards, checking for abnormal movement, ensuring that the bag remained in position on the roof, feeling where Slade was. Everything was going according to plan, he wasn't going to spend more than ten minutes inside the data centre. It was easy to stand in the position of attention with the M4 in your grasp. Them putting you through basic training, making you do endless hours of drills, forcing you to remain still in stress positions as punishment, it was extremely gratifying to use what they had done to you against them.

Slade exited the room and made his way out of the data centre at a calm pace. Coming out of the entrance, he nodded a thanks to the guard and you followed him back upstairs and through the facility. You were anticipating that Slade's fake identity would be found out, you were waiting for someone to see past the disguise and recognise you, but. . .nothing happened. Walking out of the facility back into the rain, you pushed the bag off the roof when you returned to the designated landing spot and Slade caught it out of the air.

You both put on the stealth suits and before you knew it Slade was at your back, lifting up his right foot. With your left leg raised, you launched up into the air, using the rain to conceal the ascent. It wasn't until after you'd picked up the rest of your gear and got back into the air heading for home that your body started to relax.

At 65,000 feet, Slade was hooked up to the rebreather and you were too. He'd brought back an extra connector for the rebreather while he'd been away so you could both use it simultaneously.

“You alright, kid?” It was comforting hearing his voice through the earpieces.

“Uhh. . .I guess.”

“What's on your mind?”

“Wasn't that too easy?

“It's not that it was too easy, it's that everything went according to plan, which is what we want to happen.”

“It doesn't feel right.”

“It will. Increase altitude.”

“Okay.” Pitching upwards, you flew up past 85,000 feet. It was quieter up here with the air so thin. The curvature of the earth was laid bare before you, its beauty was something you wouldn't ever take for granted. You were so lucky, you were so grateful to be free. “Keep going.”

“You want to break the sound barrier with me?”

“Figured it was time.” The blue skies of earth were quickly replaced by the vast blackness of space.

“It's so beautiful,” you mused, eyes taking in all the splendour before you. He hummed in agreement before unbuckling himself from your harness and manoeuvring his body until he was at your side, leg wrapped around yours. You stopped him before he could disconnect himself from the rebreather.

“I can hold my breath,” he explained.

“So can I. Let's swap.” You took off your backpack and handed it over. For a moment he didn't take it from you. “If you're going to try and race me, you'll need every advantage.”

“Hmm.” The noise wasn't one that sounded particularly pleased or displeased, he acquiesced all the same and took the backpack from you before you unstrapped his case, attached it onto your harness and had it resting on your back. Before disconnecting from the rebreather, you took several long, deep breaths until you were ready. He let go of your leg and took hold of your hand as he flew at your side.

Nearing the ceiling altitude of 135,000 feet, you stopped pushing the air to propel you both upwards, keeping hold of it to accelerate on the descent. When gravity began pulling you and Slade back down, you both flipped around in unison to pitch downwards and he let go of your hand.

As you felt the blistering acceleration, you kept him steady so he didn't start spinning and pushed the air against him to increase speed. The shock waves of the sonic booms started rippling out behind you and Slade, and you immediately dissipated them as you broke the sound barrier together.

“Mach 1,” you confirmed, continuing to increase speed and exhaling a bit of the air left in your lungs. With him separated from you, you had to pull up twice the amount of air to make him accelerate so you weren't able to push to Mach 2 just yet.

“Push for Mach 2,” he replied, as if he'd been reading your mind and was driving you to do better, like he always did.

- - -

“Physical health?” Slade asked during your end of week check up.

“Uhh. . .between unsatisfactory and poor.”

“Side effects from the antidepressants?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you been keeping Villain up to date?” You hadn't emailed him about the drowsiness, but everything else you had.

“I've been keeping him apprised.”

“Apprised is not the same as up to date.” His expression hardened, you couldn't help but look away from him, knowing that he'd seen right through you. Shit. “Kid.”

“I'm sorry. I. . .didn't tell him that I felt drowsy one day. It was just for one day.”

“When?”

“The day before you came back.”

“Why didn't you mention it?”

“He didn't recommend flying if I felt drowsy. He said I might crash and die.”

“So you felt drowsy and kept flying?”

“I'm not going to crash and die.”

“If Villain tells you not to fly, you do not fly.”

“He doesn't know that the winds will protect me.”

“Why didn't you tell him about that?”

“Because he'd think I'm crazy like you do.”

“It's a logical conclusion to draw.”

“I'm not crazy. . .like that.”

“Would you bet my life on them being real?”

“They're. . .real to me.”

“That's not the same.”

“You can't perceive them like I do. I feel them, Slade, all the time. They sing to me, they protect me, they always have.”

“I know you believe that, kid, but that doesn't make it true. This has already affected your training, but now it's affected your judgement and you put yourself at risk. I'm not letting this go on anymore, I'm putting you on antipsychotics.”

“My training?” It took you a moment to realise what he was talking about. He'd wanted you to create tornadoes and you hadn't done it yet. “But I explained. . .I can't force them to. . .”

You trailed off, he thought it was all in your head. To him, it wasn't you not wanting to force the winds to do something they didn't want to do, it was you not doing what he asked, it was you failing him. Had he been upset with you this whole time? Has he been patiently waiting for you to accomplish the task he had set out and yet still it remained incomplete?

“What if taking the antipsychotics stop me from being able to feel the winds? I. . .I need to be able to feel them.”

“It will be an adjustment, I'm aware of that.”

“No. No, you don't understand. I need them. I can't. . .I can't live without them. Even if they're not real, even if it's all in my head, I need them. Please. Please don't take them from me, Slade.”

“This is for your own good, kid. You can't be putting yourself at risk.”

“Please, I'm sorry, I promise I won't do that again.”

“It's too late now.” You felt a rising, debilitating panic that made your entire body tense, your heart started to physically ache. No, no, no, you couldn't do this, you couldn't be without them, you couldn't-

“Look at me,” he told you, your eyes glanced back up at him. “Take a deep breath.” You forced yourself to do as he asked. The expansion of your lungs didn't ease the pain in your heart, if anything it made it worse. He kept directing you to take deep breaths, and you followed his instruction, even though it hurt.

You promised yourself that nothing was going to take you from the winds again, surely that included Slade too?

In his mind, he was protecting you, he thought you were risking your life, he thought the winds were a figment of your imagination, imaginary friends that you hadn't grown out of when you became an adult. He didn't understand, he doesn't listen to the winds, he can't feel them.

“We'll take a ten minute break.” You nodded in reply, teeth biting down on the inside of your mouth. His hand reached out and settled on your knee, making your leg still. You didn't realise you'd been bouncing your leg up and down. “Alright?” You nodded again at him.

“Can you use your words for me?” He asked gently.

“Yeah,” you muttered without looking in his direction. You took to your feet without much conscious thought and moved past him out of the server room and security room. Walking down the corridor, you headed downstairs to the line of armoured suits and stood in front of your stealth suit.

He'd flown with you, he'd flown himself, he was dancing with the winds as much as he was dancing with you, but he hadn't sensed them. He needed to know that they were real. You needed to show him that it wasn't all in your head.

You pulled the suit off the mannequin and put it on, legs first, then arms, you pulled up the zip along the-

“What are you doing?” Slade's voice gave you a start, you hadn't realised he was down here, hadn't sensed him approaching you at all. It took a brief moment to compose yourself.

“I. . .I need to prove they're real.”

“You're thinking about doing something stupid, aren't you.”

“It's. . .it's necessary.”

“I let you get away with your little flyby stunt. You're not doing anything right now without my go ahead. So explain it to me.”

“You think my subconscious is what allows me to fly while I sleep, right? We go outside, I inject a sedative while I'm in the air to knock me out, and when the winds catch me you'll know that it wasn't my subconscious but it was them.” He blinked at you incredulously several times.

“You want to sedate yourself mid-flight?”

“You can stay right underneath me and if I'm wrong you can catch me.”

“Fucking Christ, kid,” he murmured, wiping his hand over his face.

“I don't need to go up that high. Maybe seventy feet or something.”

“You're going to injure yourself.”

“Well. . .if that happens you can give me your blood and I'll heal just fine.”

“Listen to me.” His tone shifted lower as he stepped right into your personal space, leaning down towards you. “You are not taking a drop of my blood. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“My blood is not a get out of jail free card for you.”

“I didn't. . . I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry.”

“Take that off.”

“But what if we take your mattress outside?”

“If the winds are real, wouldn't they know you're not in danger and that you're going to land safely?” You blinked at him, your mind was blank, dread starting coiling in your gut. He was. . .he was right, wasn't he? The winds would know. There wasn't a way for you to safely show him they were real.

He took hold of your shoulders and turned you around, unzipping the suit and peeling it off your upper body and arms. He took off the bottom part of the suit, grabbing hold of one leg at a time to take it off you. With the suit back on the mannequin, he guided you over to the bench by the matted area and sat you down on it. He took hold of your hand and squeezed, you squeezed back.

“You don't know what you're asking of me,” you half-whispered after a minute or so had passed in silence.

“I know you feel they're important.”

“They're everything, Slade. I love them. When they. . .took me further underground. . .into that fucking tomb. . .I couldn't. . .I couldn't feel them anymore. I was so alone. . .I was so empty, part of me was gone. I wasted away. It felt like. . .I was dying. . .and I. . .I gave up. I spent years fighting back, I swore to myself I would never become their weapon, but they. . .they broke me. They finally broke me because they took the winds away.”

“I would have done anything they wanted. . .anything. . .so I could feel them again,” you continued, placing your other hand on top of his. “You were the only thing that kept me going. I wouldn't have made it without you.”

“You're stronger than you know, kid.”

“I can't lose them,” you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I can't.”

“You're not going to lose them. Taking the antipsychotics won't stop you from feeling them, it will only reduce its intensity. It will help you feel more stable, help you make better decisions so you're not putting your life at risk.”

“I'll. . .I'll still feel them?”

“Yeah, you will. But it will be different to what you feel now, it will be more muted.”

“Oh.”

“If you were in my position, you'd do the same thing as me. You care about me, don't you?”

“I do.”

“Sometimes you have to make hard choices for the people you care about, even if they hate you for it.”

“I'd never hate you, Slade.”

“Do you understand why I'm doing this?”

“Yeah.”

“Villain will evaluate the effectiveness of the antidepressants first. He'll decide what antipsychotics will work best with them, so it won't be for a few weeks.”

“Okay.” You sniffed, wiping your wet cheeks and running nose with the back of your hand.

“I'd offer you my shirt but I've already one lost in the line of duty,” he teased, making you huff out a soft laugh. His hand ran down the side of your face and paused along your jaw. He raised his eyebrows expectantly so you pressed a kiss against his palm which made him hum in approval. “Come on, let's head back up.”

He gave you a twenty minute break before finishing the check up and beginning your end of week tests. You tried your best to perform as well as you could but your heart wasn't in it. The thought of not being able to feel the winds like you did now made you feel nauseous, or was that the antidepressants again? After dinner during personal time, you headed up out of the bunker and sat outside on the porch, listening to the winds.

Their presence calmed you. They weren't going to leave you, they'd always be there, they were so good to you. If taking the antipsychotics made the sensation of feeling the winds become more muted, it would be like you were down in the bunker. You could still sense them, feel them, though it was weaker. You wouldn't lose them.

Slade had your best interest at heart, he was trying to help you, he was good to you too. Letting out a heavy sigh, you went back down into the bunker and felt Slade in the security room. After locking everything up, you ambled down the stairs, your pace slowing even more as you went down the corridor and hovered by the open metal door mostly sunk into the wall. Would you be overstepping if you asked him whether you could stay with him tonight?

You wanted to sense his calm, slow breaths up close, it would be comforting, you really needed that right now. However you didn't want to encroach on his privacy, on his own space. Peeking inside, Slade was already facing you, turned away from the screens and waiting to see what you wanted.

“What is it, kid?”

“Can I. . .stay with you tonight?” You asked nervously, hoping that he wouldn't be offended by the question. “It's okay if not.”

“In my bed?”

“No, just on the floor. Like I did before.”

“You could always sleep on top of me if my bed's too soft. I'm sure my body would be. . .hard enough for you,” he teased, mouth pulling into a viciously beautiful smirk that had your heart lurching pleasantly.

“Slade.”

“Mmm?”

“Would that. . .would that be okay?”

“As long as you don't start humping me in your dreams. I need my beauty sleep after all.”

“What? No, no, I mean-” His mouth twitched, he was amused by you being flustered. You shook your head at him in exasperation and this time around you asked the question clearly. “Would it be okay if I slept on the bedroom floor?”

“That's fine. Come on, I'll get you set up.” You thanked him as he stood up from the chair and headed to the door. As he moved past, you held onto his hand and followed behind him on the way to the bedroom. He guided you to the side of the bed, gesturing to the pillows and telling you to take your pick. Letting go of your hand, he pulled out a blanket from the wardrobe and gave it to you before you decided on a pillow.

“Are you sure you don't want to try me out? I'll let you have a test run right now,” he told you, wiggling his eyebrows. Shifting the blanket into one arm, you weakly swotted his side for him teasing you again. The sight of him smirking again made the pain from earlier start to fade away.

- - -

It took you a few days to get back into the full swing of training and start performing at your best again. Thankfully Slade didn't seem to be annoyed by it and he gave you the time you needed to get your head together. By the middle of the week, he was back to pushing you, making you work harder, expecting more of you.

In weapons training, he began laying out the basics of close protection, working formations within an inner and outer core of a team, maintaining all round defence, how to protect but also accommodate the principle who will often push for increased visibility to the public, and how to compromise between overt and covert levels of protection.

He had you practicing quick draws using the Glock 19 from the holster on your hip while you were wearing a jacket. Then you wore a crossdraw with the Glock 19 on your other hip, and the strap of an MP5 was on the shoulder of your dominant arm, resting on your side. He wanted you to practice the quick draws until they became second nature.

During combat training, you'd once again managed to stop him from tasering you. As you smiled at him, he told you to let go, he seemingly wanted to taser you. Baulking at his request, he slowly nodded, encouraging you to follow his direction. You knew he was doing this to help you. Shit. Quickly huffing in several breaths, you tensed your body and let go of the air, bracing for impact. He tasered you in the stomach, your body convulsed, muscles seizing up, everything hurt. When he stopped, you were about to collapse onto the mat but he grabbed onto your shoulders and held you up as you groaned in pain.

“Look at me. Focus, kid.” Did you think this was going to be easy? The pain was everywhere.

You forced yourself to look at their bodies. They were gone because of you.

“I'm right here. Stay with me.” He slowly blinked. Slade believed in you. I'm here, kid. I'm right here.

Choking on your own vomit, you stared in horror at the shredded, mangled pieces of flesh littering the ground. He took hold of one of your hands and squeezed, you squeezed back.

“Take a deep breath.” This cocksucker ain't going anywhere. If you can't get it up again, we'll just come back later. Following his word, you took in a deep breath.

“That's it, that's good, kid.” I can't be incapacitated by my fear, I have to work through it.

“Are you here with me?” You nodded in response. You were with Slade, you were in the bunker, you were free. The flashbacks were vivid, they bled from one to the other, but you weren't there. You were here, you were with him. It was you and Slade together.

“Look at that,” he commented, his eye flicking downwards briefly. “You didn't even piss yourself. Guess I owe you a chocolate bar, hmm?” You gave him the middle finger on both hands and he chuckled softly.

“Two? I thought you were cheap?” Letting go of him, you held up your left hand with your thumb sticking right up and swept your right hand over the top of it a couple times. “If you're going to share them with me, maybe I should taser you more often.” You pushed a small spurt of air against the back of his head in mock retaliation, flicking his hair up for a second.

“I didn't hear a no,” he noted, implying that he wanted you to give him a verbal response. Opening your mouth, you tried to force the words out but you couldn't do it just yet. “Save it for later. Let's keep going.” With a nod, you stepped away from him, shaking out your legs and arms in preparation to resume the exercise.

It wasn't until the start of battlespace training that you found your voice again.

“I retract my offer of sharing,” you told him in jest as you sat with him in the security room, body aching in numerous places after combat training, and most of it wasn't caused by the taser.

“So you wouldn't want to share a job with me?”

“What?”

Slade proceeded to explain that a client was paying him to extract a weapon from a laboratory in Metropolis in the US which was owned by Cadmus Industries. Cadmus was an off the books subsidiary of LexCorp and it was a suspected defence contractor for the US military. The weapon had been specifically designed to counter Superman, and it wasn't Kryptonite which was his only known weakness. The weapon was a person, a clone that had been grown from Superman's DNA.

Though the project had started only three years ago, the clone was suspected to have aged much more rapidly. It was unknown whether the clone was a child appearing to be nine or ten years old, possibly a teenager, or they may have already fully grown into an adult.

You became very uneasy when Slade laid it out, his client was undoubtedly going to use the child as their own weapon. He continued, saying that nothing good would come from a weaponised Superman clone, that it would be disruptive to the balance of power and more importantly to Slade's business. He hadn't accepted the contract under the Deathstroke alias as he didn't take on jobs relating to superheroes, you assumed it was because of his kids. Instead he was using another alias that was the Balkan.

After you both retrieved the clone and delivered them to the client, his contract will be fulfilled, you'll both walk away. Superman will then intercept the client and free the clone while they were in transit.

“How will you contact Superman?”

“Grayson is going to be on a little flying tour with the boy scout, as they've been known to do, and they'll happen upon the convoy and retrieve the clone.”

“Happen upon?”

“A stroke of bad luck.” You thought of his plan, wondering whether his client might suspect that Slade was working with Superman but you supposed it didn't matter because he wasn't doing it under his Deathstroke alias. His strong reputation would remain intact. “On occasion, I provide Grayson with intelligence relating to do-gooders about to find themselves in trouble. He'll be there.”

He took you through the schematics of the Cadmus Industries building and its underground laboratory complex which was lined with lead so it sat undisturbed right under Superman's nose. The time window was eight minutes. You were going to launch concussive explosives up into the air to one of the top floors of the skyscraper, the windows would get blown in, it will be a distraction for the security teams while you and Slade entered the ground floor.

After subduing the remaining personnel, you'd go down two floors using the elevator shaft, then down another three floors using the stairwell to reach the entrance to the main laboratory where the clone was kept. To gain entry, you'd have to take down the blast doors which were much larger than the ones you'd taken down back at the facility, but they wouldn't be pressurised.

Minimal to no security was expected inside the laboratory itself. With the clone freed, you'd leave via the underground car park where Slade would have a vehicle waiting. He'd drive only a few blocks to a surveillance camera dead zone and you'd fly him and the clone out of the city.

He wanted you to conceal your powers as much as possible, meaning no flying in view of cameras, pretending that you have telekinesis instead of being able to manipulate the air. Both of you would be in nondescript black kit and armour.

“I don't want to kill anyone on the ground floor. They probably have no idea the lab's even there.”

“Thought you might say that.”

The next day he laid out five autoinjectors on the concrete shooting bench before heading down the shooting range. Halfway down it, right about where you slept, he raised his hand and beckoned you to begin. You flicked two of the autoinjectors off the table with the air and he spoke again before you could launch them at him.

“All of them,” he corrected, so you flicked off the remaining three and had all five hovering in a circle at the front of the range. Launching them simultaneously, you widened out the circle to slip some of them right past him and the others would go for him head on. He dodged and dived out of the way of them, kicking off the walls, you kept flicking them at him but he moved so fast.

Cycling through tactics, you were pushing the autoinjectors all together, individually, in groups, going from the ceiling, the floor. You were definitely going to review the security footage of this, purely for educational reasons, not because you wanted to admire how effortlessly his body moved.

Though it felt unsportsmanlike to use his blind spot to your advantage, Slade had never trained you to fight fair. Using four as the distraction, you kept one low, right above the floor as you manoeuvred it into his blind spot and kept it there while he continued evading them. With the autoinjector surrounded by vacuum, you flicked it at his right leg, just above his boot and made contact. He immediately pulled it out as he rolled over the floor and you stilled the others in the air, assuming you'd completed the exercise.

“Take it all the way, kid,” he told you, gently throwing the autoinjector in your direction. You regrouped all five of them, spinning them slowly, Slade stood ready with his body tensed. All the way? You could do that. Pushing a blast of air against him, you shoved him up against the wall, pinning down his arms and legs. He struggled hard against you, managing to pull an arm from your grasp so you forced him back into position. Flicking the autoinjectors into his thighs, you pushed the air against the ends of each of them to inject the sedatives.

“That's more like it,” he muttered, before he passed out.

- - -

It was 10.37pm.

Sitting in the passenger seat of a car, you manoeuvred the two concussive explosives up to the thirty-first and thirty-second floors. You deadened a circle of air all the way around the building, about seventy yards from it. The sound would be heard by the people inside and in the immediate vicinity but would be muffled beyond that. You nodded at Slade as he sat in the driver's seat, signalling you were ready. He detonated the explosives and you felt the shock wave they produced through the air before the sound reached the ground.

Inside, you sensed three people from the ground floor get into one of the lifts and another two people from the floor above headed into a lift as well. Slade placed two devices onto the dashboard, pointing each of them directly at the two cameras covering the main entrance to disrupt their signal.

On the ground floor, three guards manned the reception, and there were an additional three guards in the security room behind it. Two of them came out the security room and approached the reception, probably trying to work out what was going on. Three of them then started walking to the entrance.

“Three guards headed this way, two at reception, one in the security room,” you highlighted to Slade.

“Go,” he told you. Climbing out of the car, you ran with him towards the main entrance as you ripped open one of the glass doors. Slade threw a short range EMP at the reception desk to take out the cameras inside while you thinned out the air in the security room so the guard inside remained unaware of what was happening. Before the EMP hit the ground, he threw three autoinjectors towards the oncoming guards, you guided them to impale each of their thighs, immediately upon contact pressing the air against the ends to inject the sedatives. The EMP detonated with a low thudding sound. In the meantime, you launched two more autoinjectors and sedated the two guards at the reception desk.

Nearing the entrance, Slade took point and made entry first into the lobby, taking out the autoinjectors from the three guards lying on the floor and throwing one of them towards the security room. You guided it further, sensing the guard moving to the door. They obviously wanted to find out what was happening too but you sedated them before they could, their body collapsed to the ground.

While Slade headed for the security room, you retrieved the EMP and pulled out the autoinjectors from the two guards at the desk, both slumped in their chairs. Slade didn't want any evidence to be left behind. By the time you reached the security room, he'd already disabled the lifts, including the maintenance ones and you were moving with him further into the lobby.

He pulled open the closed doors of a lift and dropped down into the elevator shaft. Pushing air under his feet, you slowed his decent and had him hovering by the doors two floors down. You quickly followed behind as he opened up the door down below. With him pulling out a Glock 19 and its attached suppressor, you thinned out the air around Slade's ears and yours before he shot at the cameras covering the corridor. Out of the elevator shaft, you headed to the stairwell, sensing out below, checking that the way remained clear of resistance. It felt like there were two turrets positioned either side of the blast doors down below.

“Two turrets by the blast doors. The way to the lab is clear,” you confirmed, deadening the air so your voice wouldn't carry. He opened up the door to the stairwell, chucking another EMP to take out the cameras. You kept the EMP hovering in the air as it detonated before pushing it back to you and securing it into a zipped pocket. Positioning yourself in front of Slade, he held onto you as you flew down three floors in the space between the stairs. When you landed, you heard whirring from the corridor, no doubt it was the turrets poised to fire. Sensing out through the vents, you couldn't feel anyone behind the blast doors or near by it.

Slade opened the access door to fling another EMP. The turrets immediately fired, failing to destroy it before it detonated, however the turrets continued firing unimpeded. At least the cameras were down. Taking point, you spun up the air in front and walked into the corridor with an elbow raised, deflecting the rounds away from you. They started shredding up the walls to pieces, you kept the rounds from impacting the ceiling. Using your other hand to force the air against one of the turrets, you redirected its line of fire to the other.

The sound of metal scraping permeated the air as the rounds ripped up the turret and effectively disabled it, shrapnel littering the floor. Whipping up the pieces of shrapnel, you launched them against the remaining turret, disabling that one too. The corridor became quiet.

You pulled in the air from the upper floors, swirling it around your body, through your legs, over your arms. The blast doors were bigger than what you'd taken down before but you had all the air you needed, you were stronger now, the winds were with you, Slade was at your side. You were free.

Taking a step forward, you punched both firsts outwards, shoving the air against the blast doors and they exploded backwards with a massive boom and embedded into the wall thirty yards away. Slade came up behind, you spun up the air around your bodies as you jogged in tandem with him into the main laboratory. You thinned out the air again as he shot every camera along the way. Following him down the corridor, you went past separate laboratories, workspaces, bathrooms and what looked to be a classroom too.

At the end of the corridor was a pressure door so you sensed out through the ventilation shafts and started spinning up the air behind the door to take it down. There didn't seem to be anyone inside though.

“I'll blow it outwards,” you told him and he took cover in one of the rooms near the end, you positioned yourself by him. Flinging your fist behind you, the door was ripped open with a blast of air, making it smash into the wall by it. Slade headed in and shot out the cameras and as you followed your eyes took in the sight of a glass cylinder tank that was ten feet tall in the centre of a large, tall room where the clone was housed. He was a child, he looked fifteen maybe, he wore an oxygen mask and a white wet suit. The tank was filled with some kind of liquid with a slight green tinge to it. Was that Kryptonite?

The room was maybe forty yards tall, thirty yards wide, it was mostly empty aside from the tank and a long curved desk with several computers near the door. Slade was at one of the terminals accessing their systems and trying to get the tank to open safely while you approached the child, the poor child. There was a label on the glass near the bottom, which stated 'Subject 13 – K.O.N.'

You suddenly felt a gas being pumped out of the ventilation shafts in the ceiling and held up your hand to keep it from travelling down to the ground. Looking over to Slade, he'd clocked it too and titled his head towards the door so you pushed the colourless gas along the ceiling, down the wall and through the doorway, then along the corridor and up the stairwell.

As you kept the gas moving, you focused back on the child, wondering whether K.O.N. was his name. Had he ever seen the world beyond this underground lab? Your heart ached at the thought of how his entire life was dedicated to making him into a weapon. At least you grew up free, you had a life before they took you, but him? This was all he's ever known. Would he even go willingly? Why would he want to leave? Was Slade going to have to use the Kryptonite he'd brought with him and you'd both have to take him by force?

The tank started to quickly drain and empty out the liquid until the child was laying at its metal base and the glass shell raised upwards, allowing you to pull off the mask from his head. You ignored the urge to cradle him. It took a few moments for him to start coming to. After pulling up your goggles up onto the black helmet, you pulled down the covering from your face and thinned out the air around the tank.

“Can you hear me?” You asked softly as he sat in a rigid posture like he was awaiting instruction. His eyes briefly flicked up to the ceiling, no doubt sensing the gas you were pushing out of the room.

“Hearing fully functional,” he confirmed matter-of-factly, face devoid of emotion. His mechanical response made the anxiety twist in your gut.

“Hi there, I'm S. Can I call you Kon?” The question coloured his previously blank expression and he seemed to be confused. Did those bastards never call him by a name? He slowly nodded to you in reply. His eyes flicked over to Slade as he approached from behind holding the M4 in his hands. “This is. . .” you trailed off, not sure what name to give him, you'd already taken S.

“Slade Wilson, formerly Colonel Wilson, aka Deathstroke,” Kon replied plainly, he'd obviously been educated in that classroom and with his x-ray vision he could see Slade's face. Him being Kryptonian also gave him an enhanced intellect, all that knowledge and yet they hadn't allowed him to have a life, he'd never known a childhood. You shifted the thinned out air so Slade could properly hear the conversation.

“Kon, we're getting you out of here and we're taking you to Superman. It'll be much better for you being with him rather than staying here, he'll take care of you.”

“I am already taken care of. Why would Kal of the House of El need to do this?” How were you supposed to get through to him? Was there anything to get through to?

“Can you fly?” You asked and he immediately went to stand up. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to demonstrate, I wanted to know whether you can or not.”

“Yes, I am able to fly,” he responded as he sat back down, looking unsure why you were even asking the question.

“Have you ever wanted to fly away from here and see the stars with your own eyes?” There was guilt on his face, it was obviously something he'd thought about before. “You'll be able to do that with Kal. You'll experience a lot of fun and happy things that you don't now.”

“Wrap it up, kid,” Slade told you, conscious of the time window which was quickly eroding. You took in a breath.

“I know this is strange and I'm sure the thought of leaving what you know is really scary. I was in a place like this too, I couldn't see a life beyond what they told me to do, what they wanted me to be.” You pulled down the material covering your neck, showing him the scars as you continued.

“But one day months from now, you'll be flying through the air, you'll look up at the stars and you'll know that all the pain, the unfamiliarity, the fear that you've been feeling, all of it'll be worth it because you're free. Because you get to choose your own path. Though it won't be easy, it will be worth it. I swear to you, Kon.” He looked so uncertain, vulnerable and fearful as he listened to your words, his eyes fell away to the floor.

You wished you had more time to talk to him, get him used to the idea, ease him into the thought of leaving everything he's ever known. The gas stopped being pumped from out of the ventilation shafts.

“Four minutes, we need to move now,” Slade urged.

“We're leaving now, Kon. Are you coming with us?” You asked him, holding out your gloved hand for him to take. He hesitated for a brief moment before reaching out and placing his hand onto yours without interlacing his fingers, like he'd never held anyone's hand before. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” he half-whispered, tone still uncertain but there was brightness in his eyes that looked like hope. You grinned at him and took hold of his hand, using your other one to pull down your goggles and pull up the face covering. As Kon stepped off the base of the tank, the lights started flickering, the sound of electricity crackling filled the room, there was static in the air.

You were about to follow Slade on his way to the door but you reared back, streaks of electricity started arcing out across the doorway from the pressure door's control panel on the other side. That was the only exit. Fear seized at your gut and you positioned yourself in front of Kon. Slade came to a halt, putting his M4 on his back and taking out two explosives. The words he spoke made your blood run cold.

“It's Livewire. Move!” ────────

°✦｡･Chapter Thirteen･｡✦° Taglist: @tenyasfangirl @okari-blackpaw @lordandmistress @jyaartist @shadowdoom20 @redhooduwu @celestia0473 @mewocc @ohhrats @bohdupibaba @repostingmyfavs A/N - **EVIL CACKLING** heheHAHAH. I may upload the next chapter sooner if I get lots of comments hehehe. Things didn't go so great with Joey huh?? He's worried about you, bless him. And didn't you say that no one was going to take the winds from you???

It was dark now, the temperature had dropped but it was still pretty mild. When you were about done, you commented that the food wasn't as good as his, Slade raised his eyebrow in response.

“This isn't exactly a high bar, kid.”

“If you're not going to accept my compliment about your cooking, how about one for your driving?” You asked him, stuffing a couple more fries into your mouth.

“I'm listening.”

“You're. . .incredible. Insane but incredible. Your fans say that you must be a top tier competitive racer because you're so good.”

“Really.”

“Speaking of. . .have you ever been to the Isle of Mann?”

“Can't say that I have.”

“Do you want to? Strictly for training purposes only of course. No fun allowed.” You winked at him and handed over the remaining fries you couldn't finish off. He took them from you, something akin to amusement cracking through his expression.

Back on the bike, he returned to the autobahn and gunned it once again. He wanted you to reduce the air resistance and make the bike go even faster so you were trying to thin out the air in front. Focusing up ahead, you were anticipating where Slade would go and thinned out the air before he would drive through it to little success. It was too inaccurate, you might as well thin out the air across all four lanes, not that you could do that for very long.

You decided to create a buffer of air. A few yards away from the front of the bike you'd keep the air moving and dense at the outer part of the buffer, and in the inner part closer to the bike, you'd thin the air out. Closing your eyes, you waited until Slade could go flat out on a straight with minimal traffic ahead before forming the buffer. You adjusted the shape of it, initially creating a sharp angle before widening it out to form a blunt shape.

“That's more like it,” Slade murmured and you checked the speed which was now over 190mph. You figured this was how fast he'd normally go without your additional weight. He continued racing down the autobahn and you were enjoying every minute of it. With the amount of traffic gradually reducing, Slade was going full pelt and started taking slight bends at top speed. His skill was a marvel to watch, how he manoeuvred past the traffic, how he could seamlessly judge exactly where to go.

Maybe half an hour later he took an exit and drove for several miles until you were on small, unlit country roads. In the darkness, it was like the only thing that existed was the lit up road ahead and Slade. There were far more bends and he couldn't gun it like he did back on the autobahn, but he was trying to. The leans were much lower, and you continued matching his body movements. A good fifteen minutes into it, Slade directed you to stand on the seat and balance.

“Sure. . .” you replied hesitantly. Thankfully he slowed down and you stood up on the pegs when the road straightened out before standing on the seat. It didn't matter if you slipped, you created a buffer of air around your body to prevent yourself from hitting the ground.

With your arms spread out, you closed your eyes to concentrate on sensing out the upcoming bends, how you'd need to lean. You wobbled on the first bend, pushing the air against you to keep upright but you started to get the swing of it. After a couple of minutes of balancing, you felt a car coming and moved to sit back down but Slade told you to take to the air.

You raised a leg behind you, pushing the air against your boot and taking off from the bike, exactly like you did from the plane door. Flying up a couple hundred of feet, you watched the car drive past Slade and headed back down to intercept. However, rather than slowing down for you, he was speeding up and driving more aggressively than before.

“Are you trying to race me?” You asked with growing amusement, following behind Slade about forty yards above and twenty yards behind him.

“Trying? No, right now I'm winning.” His boastful answer made you scoff and you flew in closer, feeling out the road ahead to sense where he would be going. As you were getting nearer to him, another car came along so you went back up out of sight before chasing him down.

Your body was at a diagonal, flying closer towards him and mirroring his manoeuvres. Not wanting the air to disturb the bike, you shifted your legs upwards until you were fully inverted, the air propelling you along without affecting Slade. He glanced up, seeing how close you were getting and tried to outmanoeuvre you, randomly swerving out of the way. Though you weren't perfectly above him every moment, you were within in a few yards of tolerance. You reached down and knocked on the top of his helmet.

“Are you sure?” You queried gleefully. Another incoming car had you flying back up, and after lowering back down, Slade slowed the bike so you matched his speed. He suddenly stood up on the seat and reached up to knock on your own helmet in return.

“Lift me up,” he told you, raising both of his arms and his right foot. You held onto his arms, pushed a concentrated blast of air under his boot and pulled him upwards away from the bike. As you lowered your body until it was horizontal, Slade swung upwards, wrapping his legs around yours so his back was pressed against your front. The bike continued along the straight road by itself. “Now set me down.”

Reversing the manoeuvre, you were flying upside down again with your arms holding onto his as you were trying to lower him down. This time you were physically carrying more of his weight rather than using the air to hold him up. You managed to carefully set his feet onto the bike and he sat back down, immediately speeding up again.

You continued flying, turning in time with him, in the full rhythm of the movements. Sometimes you were slowly spinning in the air as you were above him purely for the joy of it. When you'd push out front, he'd try and chase you down and you'd dodge out of the way. A while later, he had you sitting back on the bike and he returned to the autobahn. He started driving much slower when you'd reached the outskirts of Berlin and in the city itself, he was going the speed limit.

There were residential buildings on either side of the street, with a line of trees on both sides and sometimes right in the middle of the street too. There was more traffic here than in Zürich, you took in the scenery, the people walking past, the lights of all the buildings. It looked like he was taking you right into the heart of the city.

He drove through a passageway that went right through the ground floor of a building and a gate was drawn halfway across it, though there was plenty of space for the bike to pass by. There was a car park at the back of the building and he headed down a ramp to the left leading to an underground car park. A closed gate was at the bottom and Slade entered a security code to be let through.

The car park was somewhat full, lined with lots of expensive-looking cars. He parked up in front of a lift and cut the engine. It was a relief to be off the bike because your ass was hurting, the passenger seat was not designed for comfort. After calling the lift, Slade rolled the bike closer and when it dinged open he moved it inside, lifting the bike up until it was resting on its back tire so it could fit. He pressed the button for the top floor before pressing several other floor buttons in some kind of sequence. Holding out his arm, he prevented the doors from closing and gave you a look. You quickly sensed upwards to the top of the building, not sensing anyone.

“Top floor's clear,” you confirmed and he lowered his arm. The door slid shut and Slade stood casually, balancing the bike with ease as the lift travelled upwards. You exited first and he lowered the bike, rolling it down a short corridor to a door. After propping up the bike on its stand, he inputted a code into a security panel that was on the wall and headed inside, the lights coming on automatically.

The flat was furnished like something out of a catalogue. It was impersonal, didn't have any of Slade's style so he obviously didn't really spend much time here. After both of you took off the helmets, he pointed out the bedroom and two bathrooms and the rest of the flat was open plan. There was a large sofa in the living room area and a minimalist kitchen attached onto it. The windows were all blacked out. He wheeled the bike inside before taking you back out along the corridor to another door which turned out to be access stairs to the roof. Following him up, there weren't any chairs or tables or anything like that to make it a liveable rooftop area.

He directed you to fly back to Switzerland and pick up your bag from the safehouse, then you'd head to a location in Stuttgart to pick up his gear and he'd provide further instructions on how to access it.

“I'm giving you two hours,” he mentioned as you were lowering down the clouds. “There might be something in it for you if you make it back in time.”

“Oh?” Was he going to cook you a late night snack or something?

“Dessert,” he muttered suggestively, his eye glancing over your body. You scoffed and gently slapped his side for teasing you. Putting on the motorcycle helmet, you pulled up the sleeve of the overall and checked the time on the wrist device.

“Alright, two hours. For your food,” you clarified, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear that was straying too close to his eye. Waving goodbye, you pushed the air under your boot and pushed the fog around your body as you launched up into the air.

- - -

You raised your arm, pointing out Slade's location.

He stopped moving and began climbing back down the shelving units to start again. You were standing with your eyes closed, listening to music through the earpieces, pointing out wherever he was.

The night before you'd made it back to Berlin in under two hours and you were rewarded with freshly baked cookies. He stopped you from eating cookie number four, citing that you were going to make yourself sick so you'd saved the rest for the morning after your check up which went fine. There was more improvement to be made on your mental health.

Instead of a typical day of tests, Slade had taken you to a storage warehouse for stealth training. He had driven you in an expensive-looking sedan that was in the underground car park rather than the bike. Along the way, he had tested your knowledge on various subjects, medical training, navigation, battlespace, profiles of heroes.

When you arrived at the warehouse, which definitely wasn't abandoned, he had you break in, snap the lock on one of the shutters and guided you on how to reset the security system before an alarm could be sent out. Slade confirmed that the surveillance cameras inside had been mysteriously malfunctioning for the past week. Inside there were rows upon rows of tall shelving units filled with boxes on pallets, it almost went right up to the ceiling which was forty yards high.

So far he'd tried to sneak up on you seventeen times, and on each attempt you could sense him moving. Sometimes he was slowly climbing up the shelving units, other times he'd been moving right up against the shelves to mask his shape. He'd been taking off some of his weapons too, making his profile smaller.

You were sensing out, gently moving the air to ascertain what was around you and feeling out for his body. The first few times you could feel him breathing too, but he must have pressurised his suit because you couldn't feel it anymore. There was something different about the shape of some boxes up ahead to the right. You raised your arm, pointing at it.

A few moments later, you felt him striding towards you and opened your eyes to see Slade stripped down to the bottom half of the skintight base layer and he'd taken his boots off. He was panting slightly, he must have been holding his breath, you hadn't felt him breathing at all.

“You win this round, kid. Now it's my turn.” After helping him put his armour back on, excluding the helmet, you were now trying to sneak up on him. Starting on the other end of the warehouse, you took off your own boots and thinned out the air around your body as you started to approach him. He wouldn't see you as he had his eye closed, but he could certainly hear you. When you were about thirty yards away, he uncrossed his arms and pointed at you, forcing you to start over. The next few times, you tried the approach from different directions, moving carefully, trying to thin out the air even more but he clocked you each time.

As you pushed the air under your foot to fly up to the top of the shelving units, you also pushed the air a few rows away, mimicking the motion in an attempt to confuse him. However, he soon spotted you again. You'd lost count on the number of attempts, your tactic to distract him constantly failed. Putting a sphere of vacuum around your body, you crouched down and slowly walked towards him, step by step, taking your time. He couldn't hear this way, he couldn't smell you either.

You were getting closer and closer, and he stood perfectly motionless, concentrating on gaging where you were. Pausing a yard or two from him, you gradually straightened up and tentatively reached out towards his arms, shifting the vacuum around your outstretched hand. You were less than a foot away when he suddenly snatched hold of your wrist.

“Does that count?” You asked hopefully.

“I'll let you have it.”

At Slade's request after lunch, you were attempting to put vacuum around your body while you were flying. You needed a lot of air to keep airborne so the vacuum needed to be large, bigger than what you'd created before. He then had you chasing him. On the first run, you couldn't help but be entranced by his speed, agility and skill, how he leapt and vaulted through gaps in the shelving units. You were up in the air, trying to keep sight of him rather than actively go after him, you hadn't seen Slade go full out like this. The space in the bunker was pretty big but nothing like here. He suddenly came to an abrupt halt, turning around and beckoning you to him with his finger.

“What are you doing?” He asked when you landed in front of him.

“Uhh. . .”

“Were you gawking at me?”

“Sorry.”

“Focus, kid,” he murmured softly and you did as he asked, concentrating on chasing him through the warehouse until he said otherwise. In the back of your mind you took in how he could masterfully climb to the top of the shelves that were over thirty yards tall and comfortably jump down to the floor like it was only a couple feet.

To finish off, he had you standing at one end of a row, him all the way at the other end, as he wanted you to amplify the sound of him talking so you could hear it. You'd practiced sound amplification with him a few times before, but not at this distance. Holding out your arm, you shook the air in front of him, trying to extend the vibration of the sound waves so it would reach you. It took several tries, but you eventually heard him speaking a series of numbers which you began to repeat and he confirmed that the training had now concluded. You were looking forward to taking a shower.

After you'd helped him take off the armour and pack it away in the car, he drove back to Berlin, continuing his round of questions from earlier. He cooked you dinner back at the safehouse and afterwards during personal time you decided to go to sleep early after a tiring day. The night before Slade had moved the sofa from the middle of the living space for you to sleep there. Lifting up into the air, you yawned and settled down to sleep. Slade was sitting at the dining table doing some work on his tablet, feeling his calm, slow breaths nearby quickly lulled you to sleep.

You felt something on your shoulder, gently rocking you awake.

“Kid. I've got a surprise for you.” You opened your bleary eyes, blinking at Slade who was standing next to you as you were levitating. He had a white cover over his empty eye socket instead of the black eye patch.

“Huh?” It felt like there was something on your neck, something on your face too.

“You wouldn't have gone to sleep if I mentioned it earlier,” he explained, grabbing your wrist before you could probe at your neck. “I've already put you in disguise, all you need is the wig.”

“Oh. . .thanks,” you replied as he moved to wrap his hand around your ankle and pull you through the air towards the sofa against the wall. He'd made up your face and covered up your neck all the while you hadn't even noticed a thing?

“Put these on.” He pointed at the clothes laid out on the sofa and confirmed you'd be leaving in five minutes. As you put the somewhat dressy clothes and wig on, you tried to wake yourself up a little before following Slade out of the safehouse. Checking the time on your phone, it was coming up to one in the morning. You eyed him as the lift travelled down, wondering what the surprise was going to be. He was wearing a charcoal suit, no tie, and had a pair of sunglasses on.

You didn't have any of your gear so you assumed you weren't flying anywhere. With the bike still in the safehouse, he wasn't taking you anywhere on that either. He turned to you, eyeing you right back. Narrowing your eyes, you tried to gleam something from his expression that might give you a hint. He merely tilted his head at you, impervious to your machinations.

“Is it a good surprise?”

“You'll like it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mmm.”

A surprise you'd like. You got into the passenger seat of his car, still pondering what it could be but you were coming up blank. He drove out of the car park and around the city for about ten minutes. People were out late, getting drunk, coming out of bars, queuing outside nightclubs. A few people were getting arrested too, it looked like some kind of scuffle had taken place. When he parked up somewhere behind a nondescript building, you were still none the wiser. He placed the small earpiece into your ear before leaving the car.

You could hear the low thump of bass, probably from a nightclub nearby. As you walked with Slade, the noise was getting louder. You paused mid-step and he came to a halt too.

“You're taking me to a nightclub?” You asked, a wide grin on your face.

“Mmmhmm.” Your mouth parted open and your eyes widened realising that you were finally going to dance with him. “No.” He resumed walking and you hurried after him.

“What? Why not?” He didn't answer and you followed him to the front of the building. “Aren't we going to sneak in?” You queried, catching sight of the queue of people and two bouncers positioned by the club's entrance.

“I called in a favour.” Taking you by the hand, Slade strode up to one of the bouncers, whispering something into his ear before lowering his sunglasses for a brief moment. The man paled, immediately recognising Slade and he rushed to guide you both inside, bypassing the cloakroom and the counter at the front where the entrance fee was presumably paid. The bouncer opened up a door and the music got even louder, he held it open for you and Slade to head through.

You thanked him, and he gave you a strange look like you'd suddenly grown a few extra limbs. What did Slade do to him to provoke that kind of reaction? Did he know Slade was Deathstroke? Following Slade down a staircase into the club itself, you pulled him off to the side when you reached the bottom.

“How exactly did you call in that favour of yours?” You questioned, thinning out the air so you didn't have to shout over the loud music.

“I can be persuasive,” he teased, giving your hand a firm squeeze.

“Slade,” you muttered with irritation.

“I spared his life last year. This is the least he could do.”

“Oh. . .okay.” You eventually nodded at him and he let go of your hand, taking hold of your shoulders and turning you around to face the dance floor.

“You have one hour,” he highlighted before he walked past you, either going to the bar or the bathroom. The club was in full swing, the music was exceptionally loud, the dance floor looked to be nearing capacity. There was a bar along the right wall, a stage at the front with a DJ, lines of tables on the left which were all packed. You drifted over to the edge of the dance floor as a new song started playing over the speakers, spotting Slade waiting at the bar.

There was barely any bass to the song as it began to build up and when it hit, you closed your eyes, feeling it reverberate around your chest. It felt so good, it felt like it made you whole. It was like all the pain you had suffered, all the agony you had felt in your heart, was being etched away with every thump of bass in your chest.

You couldn't help but dance in time with the infectious beat. The song built up its rhythm before slowing back down, when the bass hit again, you were dancing even more enthusiastically. With so many people around, dancing and having fun, it reiterated your freedom, how lucky you were, how grateful you were to be experiencing it.

Your eyes flicked over to Slade as he was leaning up against the end of the bar by a pillar, with the sunglasses on you couldn't tell if he was looking your way or not.

“You sure you don't want to dance?” You asked, thinning out the air around your head to make sure he heard you through his earpiece. He merely raised the glass he was holding. “You gonna order me one of those?” His finger tapped the glass twice. He must have wanted you to order one yourself, more socialisation, joys. Distracted by the song again, you continued dancing to a few more songs until one started playing that wasn't as good.

“Can I borrow some cash?” You asked after walking over to him and deadening the air again.

“What for?”

“A drink.”

“You're not drinking.”

“Why not?”

“You're training tomorrow and you're not going to do it hungover.”

“I wasn't planning on getting drunk.”

“I know.”

“Are you planning on getting drunk?”

“I can't.”

“I. . .didn't realise.” He hastily shrugged and downed the rest of his drink, acting like it didn't mean anything when you could sense that it did. “I guess it's not as bad as having a sensitive arousal period, right?” You joked, wanting to take his mind off it.

“I wasn't joking about that.” He replied seriously, you couldn't see any twitch around his mouth or gage any sign that he was teasing you again.

“But that's. . .not a bad thing, is it? Being sensitive? Or can it be too much. . .?”

“I cry every single time I come, the pleasure's just. . .too intense.” You nodded in response and he leaned down towards you. “You know I still get tears coming out of here,” he said, tapping his cheek underneath his empty eye socket.

“I start blubbering, like a child,” he continued, his tone serious and regretful. “I have this really high-pitched whine when I orgasm. It really upsets people.”

“You can't help how your body reacts to things, Slade. It's okay, it's natural, you don't. . .” You trailed off as he began laughing almost raucously. You didn't understand, did he not believe you?

“You're too easy, kid,” he crowed, holding up his glass to the bartender who started coming over.

“What?”

“Cry every time I come? High-pitched whine? Really?” With a smirk he turned away, ordering something from the bartender. They poured out a couple fingers of something into his glass, scotch or whiskey probably, before they grabbed a bottle of water from one of the fridges behind them.

“I don't know how your body works,” you retorted when Slade held the water out for you to take, he was still obviously amused by his teasing, shielded by his protective facade. You had gleamed at a weakness about him being upset that he couldn't get drunk anymore and he had immediately shut it down. It was something that was out of his control. Parry then attack, always maintain the initiative, weakness will be preyed upon.

Your body belonging to Slade rather than to them made things easier. It was gifting away control, rather than it being stolen. Maybe it would be easier for him to think of things like you did. You laid your hand over his, giving no quarter.

“Would you prefer that your body belongs to you or to me?” You asked, he was no longer smirking. From what you could tell with his sunglasses on, his expression was blank. “You know I'll take good care of you.” He pulled his hand away, setting the bottle down on the bar, neither aggressively nor gently.

“You've got forty-three minutes,” he pointed out impassively, tapping on the watch around his wrist, knowing the exact time without even glancing to confirm it.

“Okay.” You weren't going to push him. Grabbing the bottle, you took a few gulps before setting it back down. “Thanks for this.” Rather than head to the dance floor, you started dancing right in front him to a new song with a slower beat than the previous one. You were rocking side to side in time with the music, not taking your eyes off him. The beat picked up as the chorus played so you were dancing slightly faster. Slade didn't move or turn away, he kept watching you. Resting a hand on your head, you rolled your hips in a rough circle, slowing down when you were closer to him.

He suddenly waved a loose fist, signing bathroom and brushed past you. Your movements faltered and you watched him manoeuvring through the crowd. Shit. You were really excelling at upsetting him lately, weren't you? Back on the dance floor, you were dancing half-heartedly until Slade returned to his position at the bar and then you were bouncing along with the beat of the music. There were a few songs which weren't that good, but you still enjoyed them with all the bass coming from the speakers. While you were dancing to the rhythm of another song with your eyes closed, you felt Slade coming over and you excitedly reached out towards him.

Did he actually change his mind? You didn't think he was going to dance but maybe he thought about what you said. You opened your eyes when he didn't take your hand, he was merely standing in front of you, tapping his watch signalling it was time to leave. He stood motionless amongst the moving crowd. Over forty minutes had passed already? A wave of disappointment hit understanding that he wasn't going to change his mind about what you said. At least not anytime soon.

With a nod, he took your hand and guided you through the throng of people, heading for the stairs. You couldn't help but move along with the music until he glanced back to give you a dirty look. Slade nodded his head to the bouncer as you left the club and he seemed slightly less terrified than before. Slade let go of your hand and you walked with him back to the car.

“More stealth training tomorrow?” You asked when he still hadn't said anything.

“No,” he replied simply, you nodded and held back a sigh. When you reached the car, he opened up the driver's door and paused before getting in. “You're a real piece of work, kid. You know that?” His tone was somewhere between a compliment and an insult.

“Yeah,” you agreed, pressing your lips together and nodding. A small smirk pulled at his lips and you smiled back at him.

- - -

“I want you to reduce this place to rubble,” Slade told you after you'd landed in front of him. He was leaning up against a truck and pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He wore another suit again, with the white eye cover on and a pair of sunglasses resting on the top of his head. This was probably going to be the last bit of training on the trip as you'd be flying back home later with Billy and Slade. The bike was loaded up on the bed of the truck, secured into place and covered up with tarpaulin. There were a few metal cases in the back too with Slade's gear.

It was about nine o'clock in the morning, you were in the countryside, somewhere outside Nuremberg, standing in front of three separate warehouses that looked to have been abandoned decades ago. After driving back to the safehouse last night, you'd woken up to your phone vibrating in your pocket. Slade had called, asking you to suit up and fly out to him right away. He must have left the safehouse hours ago while you were asleep. Taking off the helmet, you were wondering why it would be okay to destroy the warehouses, surely it would be noticed, even this far out?

“We'll be in a satellite dead zone for twenty-two minutes. I bought out a contractor who was going to demolish these warehouses today,” he explained, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag. “It's all legal. Do you want me to. . .whip out my paperwork?” He teased, taking the helmet out of your hands. You laughed in response, shaking your head as he unstrapped the pony bottle from your thigh.

“I believe you,” you replied, turning to look at the three warehouses again. “Do I need to take them out one at a time and keep them somewhat together?”

“No, they're close enough so it doesn't matter. It's at your discretion.”

“Okay.” After taking off the backpack, you shifted in more clouds and brought them down lower. Sensing out, there was no one around for a good mile or so and beyond that there was a small road with the occasional car. You created a circle of cloud about half a mile wide, bringing it right down to ground level so no one would be able to see what you were doing. He confirmed the start of satellite dead zone and you began with the middle warehouse.

You spun up the air inside of it, arms raised and your gloved hands facing each other, increasing the width and height of the vortex until the ceiling started to collapse. As the debris was pulled in, you saw the shape of the spin and continued to enlarge it. The side walls of the warehouse were obliterated by the force of the air, the vortex was now almost as large as the warehouse itself.

You kept going, making it spin faster, making the vortex wider and taller as it ripped out the front of the middle warehouse and began pulling in the side walls and roofs of the outer two warehouses. The sight of it was enthralling, the sound of the rushing air was music to your ears. This was you not holding back anymore, this was only the beginning.

The remaining walls of the outer warehouses were pulled into the vortex which was now a hundred yards wide and thirty yards tall. Most of the debris was a blur of grey and brown, but you could see the speed of the spinning air with some smaller pieces of intact brick and rebar. Clenching your hands into fists, you lowered them down to your hips and curled them inwards towards each other.

“EF4. Faster, kid,” Slade told you, raising his voice slightly over the noise. With your eyes closed, you strengthened the vortex, moving it faster and faster. The roar of the air was exquisite. You wanted to hear the sound of an actual tornado, how the winds would form one, feel the strength and speed of it, maybe create one of your own if they would allow you. “Keep going.”

You kept pushing yourself, spinning the air faster, even though you could feel yourself becoming tired from the exertion.

“EF5. Nice work,” he confirmed and you slowly reduced the speed of the vortex until you stopped spinning the air completely, letting some debris fall to the ground where the middle warehouse used to be. You split what was left of the other warehouses into two, setting the remains on top of their foundations and trying to make it look like a typical implosion.

“Three minutes to spare,” Slade commented when you'd finished and turned to him. You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not realising you'd been at it for nearly twenty minutes. It didn't feel like that long at all. He held out your vape and you took it, leaning up against the truck next to him. There was some kind of device resting on the roof, presumably the anemometer. You vaped as he smoked, standing in companionable silence, looking on at the destruction you had created. The warehouses were gone, ripped down the foundations. A pan of hunger distracted you from the sight, and before you could ask, Slade was pulling out a metal lunch box from the truck and handing it over. You opened it up to see pancakes which made you smile.

“You made these earlier?” You asked, forgoing the knife and fork attached under the lid, you grabbed one and started eating it as is. You hummed in delight, it was still warm and there was maple syrup on it too. How didn't you wake up to the smell of him cooking these?

“Mmmhmm,” he confirmed as you ripped off some pancake and offered it to him. He declined with a shake of his head and continued smoking.

“I picked up something for you,” he told you after you'd finished breakfast. You pulled off your gloves as he handed you a plastic wallet. Opening up the passenger door, you sat down and spread some of the contents over your lap. Inside was a fake birth certificate which felt and looked aged like it was as old as you. There was a wad of paper clipped together detailing your new life, fake family, financial history, employment history. You were currently working as a freelance personal security consultant.

“You'll need to memorise all that,” Slade pointed out. You picked up a Canadian passport and looked inside to see the photo he had taken of you over a month ago now, you but not you. Your new name was Sam Ashwood, date of birth was a few months off your actual birthday. There were a couple of credit cards in the wallet too. This was Slade giving you the means to go out into the normal world. You looked up at him as he rested his arm on the top of the door.

“Thank you. This is. . .” you trailed off, unsure how to express the gratitude you felt.

“Keep looking.” At the bottom of the wallet was a pair of keys. You stared at his face, perplexed to say the least.

“There's an apartment in New York under your new name.”

“You're. . .giving me an apartment?”

“It's an old safehouse of mine in Brooklyn, I've got a better one in Manhattan so I don't use it anymore. You needed a real address.”

“Slade. . .”

“Put your legs in.” You twisted around and he closed the door up. Looking at the keys, they both looked identical so you pulled one off the loop and held it out for him when he got in the driver's seat. “I said it's yours, kid.”

“You might get bored of Manhattan,” you replied, he looked unimpressed. “It's this or a hug,” you stated bluntly and he rolled his eye. As he was taking the key, you held onto his hand and leaned down to kiss it but he pulled away and tucked the key into his pocket.

“You need to brush your teeth,” he remarked, turning the ignition and starting to drive down the unmade road away from the remains of the warehouses. With your seatbelt on and everything tucked into the plastic wallet, you grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste from your bag which was behind the seat. While you brushed your teeth, he grabbed the lunch box and a bottle of water as he was driving, setting them both in your lap and directing you to spit in the box. “Don't leave your DNA anywhere.”

“You know I've pissed overland, right?” You told him when you were all done.

“It's not the same.” Rather than retort back, you were wondering how to sneak a kiss onto his hand. Pretending to drop the water bottle into the footwell, you bent over feigning to pick it up before quickly leaning over and kissing his knuckles as his hand rested on the gear stick. “You were telegraphing that from a mile away and I couldn't even see it.”

“But you still let me kiss you, hmm?” You teased, leaning forward so he could see you wiggle your eyebrows. He said nothing in response and put his sunglasses back on. As he drove back onto paved roads, you took out the paperwork and began reading through it all. There was one section you had to go over multiple times.

“I'm not sure if I'm reading this right. I think it says I'm married?”

“You are.”

“To John P. Ashwood? Who's that?”

“Me. It's one of my aliases.”

“Is this for tax purposes or something?”

“Married couples get the same rights as immediate family, power of attorney, visitation rights and so on. John also happens to be a dual Swiss-Canadian citizen and to open a Swiss bank account you now need to be a citizen by birth or marriage. Swiss banks are notorious for protecting client privacy and they have the best security in the world, it's worth the effort.”

“Can we go on a honeymoon?”

“This was your honeymoon.” You huffed out a laugh and glanced at the scenery passing by, not really focusing on it. This wasn't just about a bank account, this was Slade protecting you. If something bad happened to you and your new identity held out, Slade would automatically have the right to visit you, make decisions on your behalf. It was a comfort.

When he gave you the key for the bunker, that had felt bittersweet and you had to come to terms with Slade not always being there. You'd accepted that a while ago now. Slade giving you the key to the New York safehouse wasn't him expressing that he didn't want you at the bunker, it was merely part of him giving what was needed for you to have this new identity, to keep hidden from them, to remain free. You mulled over the thought for a while before concentrating back on the paperwork.

It took about four hours for him to drive to the Switzerland safehouse and Slade cooked you and Billy a quick lunch. The two of them were going to head to the airport without you and as they were packing things away, you made up your face to put yourself in disguise.

“You've got two hours of personal time. We should be in the air by then,” Slade explained as Billy was getting in the truck and you stood with him in the driveway. You gave him a nod. “How long do you have?”

“Two hours,” you confirmed with a small smile on your face.

“And you're going to. . .?”

“I'm going to go into the city and get something for Billy.”

“You're in luck, he's easily bribed.” You took hold of his hand with both of yours, fingers running over his warm, soft skin.

“Thanks for today. This has been a great honeymoon, aside from me fucking up the start of it. I'm sorry about that again.”

“It's fine.” His eye glanced downwards briefly, he then raised an eyebrow at you. “Now Wintergreen's going to be convinced we're fucking. I won't hear the end of it the whole ride to the airport.”

“So I shouldn't kiss your hand then?” You asked with regret.

“No,” he replied quietly, and you squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. You would have offered to go with them in the truck to keep Billy from interrogating Slade but there were only two seats.

“He's not going to be upset with you, is he?”

“No, he'll be alright. I need to get going now.”

“Okay. I'll see you in a bit.” He pulled away and climbed into the truck without a further word. You waved them off, trying not to feel worried about Billy being upset with Slade. Billy had good intentions, he didn't want you being taken advantage of. How many years had it been since anyone had cared about that?

Taking your mind off of it, you pulled down the cloud cover, an easier feat by the mountains, and launched up into the air. You landed in the outskirts of Zürich and put the wig on before taking a tram into the centre of the city. Earlier Slade had gifted you a blue heavy duty rain poncho that went well past your knees. It had a high collar to cover your neck and it had dedicated room along the back to cover your bag. With its white camo, the backpack was too identifiable, and the poncho hid it away completely.

Wearing the poncho and also the boot covers, your gear was concealed from passersby. You realised then that you were by yourself, without Billy or Slade in the immediate vicinity. The thought of it didn't bother you at all, you were prepared now, you had everything you needed and you'd already practiced this before.

Traipsing along the streets, you browsed the shops, on the hunt for a present for Billy. You considered buying him some Swiss herbal tea but he seemed more of a classic tea drinker. Instead you got him a selection of Swiss biscuits including Spitzbuebe which looked similar to the jammie dodgers he'd had alongside the custard creams.

For Slade, you bought him some high end Swiss chocolate, knowing that he had a taste for the good stuff. That was probably to do with his enhanced senses, cheap chocolate would be too oily for him. You couldn't find the brand of the chocolate he'd bought for himself, you'd have to keep an eye out for that.

Wondering through a market, you searched through the souvenirs, the magnets, the cheap knockoffs, the postcards, and then a massive collection of keyrings. There was a whole range of fruit keyrings and a small orange one caught your eye, Deathstroke orange you mused with glee. After picking it out, you found a small apple keyring that you could use for the New York key. You purchased both before deciding to get another apple keyring for Slade in case he might like it. He didn't really seem like the type, but you wanted to give him the option.

Satisfied with the purchases, you found a secluded area by some trees in a public garden when Slade confirmed through the earpiece that they were in the queue on the runway. You packed the gifts into the backpack, clipped the keyrings onto their respective keys and took the poncho off too.

Lowering down the fog, you lifted up into the air and headed to the airport. You could feel the planes taking off and coming in to land for miles around and sensed how their engines produced the trailing vortices of wake turbulence. As you hovered in the clouds above the runway, you recognised the shape of their jet and felt that it was next in the queue to take off. You followed as it accelerated down the runway and took off into the air, ensuring that Billy and Slade had an undisturbed climb. When it reached the cloud cover, you flew in formation with the plane until it reached cruising altitude.

“Come about,” Slade directed and you flew from the right side of the plane over the top of the fuselage to the left so he could open up the door for you. After climbing inside and taking off the helmet, you took a seat on the case that was in the isle by the table as Slade ferried over some biscuits and Billy was making tea.

“Should I give Billy his present now or after tea?” You queried Slade, thinning out the air so Billy wouldn't hear. He leaned down slightly, sniffing towards your bag.

“I'd say now.” No doubt he could already smell what you had gotten for him.

“We've had a very pleasant flight so far, I don't suppose that was you?” Billy asked, setting down the empty saucers and cups.

“Uhh. . .yeah. I didn't distract you, did I?”

“Of course not, it was most welcome.” Slade carried over a tray one-handed which had the teapot, small jug of milk, pot of sugar and another cup that looked to be his coffee. After Billy was finished pouring out the tea, you pulled out his gift and handed it over.

“I have a little something for you.”

“Ooh lovely. We best get these opened up, eh?” He unwrapped the biscuits and laid them out on the table. “Thank you.” You smiled sheepishly and pulled out Slade's present.

“I guess you could already tell what this is.” Slade smirked as he took the chocolate.

“I give you a credit card for five minutes and you're already trying to burn a hole through it, hmm?” he remarked in jest. You were about to dig out his keyring but wondered whether Billy might not know about the New York safehouse or that your alias and Slade's were married. Slade sensed your hesitation and raised his eyebrow while Billy looked away but he didn't mention anything.

After tea, Billy returned to the cockpit, Slade's eye looked down to the bag, silently gesturing for you to reveal what you hadn't shown in front of Billy.

“I wasn't sure if you'd like this,” you mentioned as you gave him his apple keyring.

“Really, kid?” He sounded a little amused at least, though the gift was a bit on the nose. You showed him your keys, your matching apple and the orange keyring for the bunker.

“I bought this one too for me. Now I've got Deathstroke orange and then a New York big apple.”

“I got that. This is how you're spending my money?”

“They're great,” you countered as he slowly shook his head. You smiled back at him.

About ten minutes later you were in the air again, pitching upwards and increasing altitude to 135,000 feet. On previous high altitude runs, you'd managed to prevent yourself from creating sonic booms when you'd hit the sound barrier. Now you were going to do it again, and this time you'd fly supersonic overland for the first time.

During previous runs instead of letting gravity do all the work, you'd use the air to accelerate, wanting to push towards Mach 2. Reaching peak altitude at 135,000 feet, you allowed yourself to fall and shifted around to face downwards, legs together, arms pressed against your sides. The first few times you had done this, you let go of the air completely. Now you'd held onto it, using the air that propelled you upwards to accelerate you down towards the earth.

With the air disrupted in your wake, no sonic booms were produced and you kept pushing yourself to fly faster. By the end of the first run, you'd made it to 1241mph, then on the second 1263mph. Comfortable now with dissipating the sonic booms, you started to fall on run number three and formed a buffer of air a few yards from your head, keeping the far end dense and thinning out the air closest to you, exactly like you'd done on the bike with Slade.

The speed you were flying at made it difficult to maintain, you couldn't get the angle of the buffer right. It took another few tries and then on run six, you managed to hold it steady.

“Mach 2,” Slade confirmed in your ear and you were grinning, immensely satisfied to see your work paying off. When the plane had flown over France and was over the North Atlantic, you flew closer to it, wanting to do another high altitude run and this time you wanted to do a flyby going supersonic. You cleared out the skies ahead to give yourself optimal visibility.

On the first attempt you wanted to get a feel of trying to manoeuvre at those speeds and you were a good half a mile out from the plane when you flew past. Adjusting pitch and roll was slow but it wasn't as difficult as you had anticipated. Second attempt was closer at a quarter of a mile away, and you concentrated on feeling the plane flying through the air as you ripped past it. You were going well over double its speed, nearly triple. On the third and fourth attempt, you were feeling out to the plane and adjusting pitch at the same time, still keeping to several hundred yards out.

Attempt five and you were ready. Sensing out where to intercept the plane, you began to fall and to accelerate, dissipating the sonic booms in your wake. You could see it flying down below and aimed to pass in front of the cockpit. The acceleration was enthralling, the winds were by your sides, you felt so free, you felt so fucking alive.

“Tell Billy I'm gonna cut it close,” you told Slade, voice slightly strained from the exertion.

“How close?”

“Uhh. . .” With a smile you altered trajectory, wanting to intercept as close as possible.

“Kid, don't be reckless.”

“I don't think I can be reckless.”

“Don't be stupid then.”

“I won't. Well. . .maybe a little.”

“Kid. Pull up.” The plane was getting bigger and bigger, you felt it down below, cutting through the air.

“Don't adjust flight controls, I'm committed.” Three seconds later, you tore past the front of the cockpit, barely five yards from the nose. You sensed the plane shaking slightly in your wake but it only lasted a couple of seconds. Letting out a laugh, you flipped over backwards ninety degrees to increase drag and slow yourself down. That was. . .that was a lot of fun. Having the plane as the focal point made your acceleration evident, it was like driving past the cars on the autobahn with Slade. He called you back in, sounding annoyed but not angry.

After he closed up the door, you were confused seeing him in the skintight base layer that went under his armour. Billy asked after you while you were taking off your helmet and Slade headed to the back of the plane. In the cockpit, he had turned around in the pilot's seat and you sat down next to him so he didn't have to strain his neck.

“I'd hardly call that close. More like skin of your teeth,” he commented, sounding only a little exasperated.

“It was pretty cool though, right?”

“I wouldn't use that word. I would wager. . .it was bloody marvellous.” He nudged you gently with his elbow and you smiled shyly at his compliment.

“The kid doesn't need any encouragement,” Slade called out in irritation. Billy winked and gave you a thumbs up as you left to see Slade. He was putting on one of his gauntlets as he watched you approach seemingly unimpressed with your flyby. Why was he putting on his armour? Was he. . .

“You're gonna fly with me?” You asked, unable to help the smile pull at your lips.

“You obviously need supervision,” he chided partly in jest and you immediately knelt down and took off your gloves to put his boots on for him and strap the leg armour plates into place.

When he was almost ready, you offered to tie his hair up before he could put his helmet on and nodded without looking your way. He pulled out a brush and hairband, giving them to you as he sat down on one of the metal cases. Taking off his eyepatch and standing behind him, you gently brushed his thick, soft hair from the bottom first before working up to the top.

His hair was getting longer, like yours was, not that you had much to start with. Though your hair was still very short, it didn't look like it had been recently shaved off. It was the physical embodiment of your time being away from them, your time being free. Maybe your hair could be as long as his one day.

You ran your fingers over his head to pull his hair into a low ponytail and you tied it up more easily than the first time you did it. Moving around to face him head on, the hair wasn't pulled back properly so you started again, brushing his hair and tying it for the second time. Now it was tied correctly, you carefully put his eyepatch on, making sure the position was correct.

“Is this okay?” You queried, trying to understand the expression on his face. He seemed. . .there was a softness in his eye, an innocence almost, you weren't sure how to describe it. Before you could work it out, he put his helmet on and had you putting on the body harness. With the helmet on and backpack on your front, you were now standing by the door as Slade strapped himself onto the harness and connected up the rebreather to his helmet. You couldn't connect up your helmet as well so you'd have to wait until another time to break the sound barrier with him.

Billy opened it up on your signal and you climbed over the steps with Slade in tow, pushing air under the door so Billy wasn't holding up your combined weights by himself. Turning to face forwards and bending over, you directed him to lift up both of his legs and took his weight on your back. He was really heavy with all the armour on. You pushed the air against his boots and up against his shins to take enough weight off your back so you could step off the door. Taking to the air, Billy closed up the door and you let the buffer of air dissipate when it was locked.

Flying at 44,000 feet without the supplemental air wasn't particularly comfortable so you pulled away from the plane and quickly descended past your cruising altitude down to 20,000 feet which was his cruising altitude. He then wouldn't need to be connected up to the rebreather.

You told him to unstrap himself and when he'd finished, you took off the backpack and slowly turned around in his arms, securing the bag onto your back and disconnecting his helmet from the rebreather. With your arms wrapped around him and your helmet resting on his shoulder, you couldn't help but compare those first few times you'd flown with him to now. So much had changed. And yet, Slade was still right here with you. After letting out a deep sigh, you held onto him even tighter.

“You're supposed to be training,” he muttered gently.

“Okay,” you acquiesced and shifted up to rest your helmet against his. “Billy seemed good. He wasn't upset with you, was he?”

“No, he's fine.”

“And you?”

“We've only got an hour or so of daylight.”

“Are you okay, Slade?” You pressed, wanting to hear him answer. He blinked at you.

“Yeah, kid,” he replied before knocking on the top of your helmet. “Now are you gonna fly me or what?”

“Yeah. Yeah I am,” you responded confidently, knowing that Slade believed in you. Dropping speed, you turned around again until his front was against your back. You shifted across his body until your side was pressing against his and his arms were still around you. After wrapping your left leg around his right one, you took hold of his hand and he let go of your torso. You pushed the air against him, slowly letting go of his leg and moving away from him slightly until you were only connected by holding his hand.

The manoeuvre had costed only a little altitude, you were getting comfortable with mirroring how you'd fly yourself and how you were flying him. Through the weeks of training, you'd also gotten used to moving his body in the air, not like this but the familiarity was very helpful. You turned with him in the air, and sped up too, practicing the formation for a short while.

You didn't want to let go of him now, you wanted to see his positioning from the front. Turning inwards, you were laying across his front again and told him to grab hold of your arms. He took you by the inner elbows and you raised a leg outwards, then the other, slowly moving yourself away from him until his head was by yours and your bodies were facing opposite directions in a line.

You were holding onto each others arms, like you were in a skydiving formation. Concentrating on Slade's body, you shifted upwards until you were at a diagonal and he remained horizontal with the ground. Now that you'd removed most of the drag, you sensed the air pushing much more freely against him. When you were ready, you let go of one of his arms, and he drew it back, pressing it against his side.

“I've got you,” you told him and he blinked at you, letting go of your other arm. On the release, he shifted back only a couple of feet and you were now making him fly all by himself. It was like he was an extension of you, the winds were dancing past him, wanting to play with him too. You couldn't help but laugh.

“How does it feel?” You asked him, beaming with joy at him flying and dancing along side the winds.

“Go faster,” he directed and you obliged him. You pushed the air against his body and increased speed until you were both going over 400mph. He slightly lowered one shoulder to turn and you followed his manoeuvre. He turned the other way before pitching upwards and downwards, getting used to the feel of it.

“It's fucking great, isn't it?” You commented, spinning around in place a couple of times in celebration. He suddenly twisted his body around until he was at a diagonal too, perfectly mimicking your positioning, as if he'd been flying as long as you had. You shifted the air around him to account for the change of direction. “You're such a show off.”

He effortlessly spun around twice, exactly like you had, and nonchalantly shrugged.

“I'm adaptable,” he responded casually, making you laugh. You twisted around and faced him like you had before, bodies in opposite directions, his head and yours barely about a foot apart, your eyes focused on his. Beginning a languid spin, he matched you in kind and you were moving in tandem through the air, like you'd been doing it your whole lives.

It was you and him together.

────────

°✦｡･Chapter Eleven･｡✦°

“Sublime work,” the dealer muttered to himself before turning to address you. “I will send the payment over now.” You nodded in acknowledgement and he picked up his tablet, fingers tapping across the screen. The room was rather large, windowless, filled with covered canvases lined up one after the other, a storage or archive of some sort.

It was late afternoon in Paris. The flight over hadn't been as awkward as expected with the large metal container housing the painting strapped onto your body. It was airtight, about six foot tall and five foot wide, coated with same anti-radar and anti-satellite composite that your suit had. A small wheel was attached to the bottom of the container, allowing you to wheel it into the studio earlier.

When you'd landed, you'd put on trousers and a jacket to cover the suit, and a navy cap over a short wig, trying to make yourself look like a delivery driver. To finish off, you were wearing the boot covers and had put your backpack and helmet in a duffel bag. You had sat for a time by some bushes in a park putting makeup on your face to disguise yourself.

“The payment has been sent.” You pulled out your phone, pretending to await Slade's confirmation on there rather than in your ear.

“Funds received,” Slade told you through the earpiece and he ended the call.

“Thank you,” you thanked the dealer who motioned to shake your hand.

“Please send my regards to Mr. Dosletter. It's always a pleasure doing business with him.”

“I will.” After shaking his hand, he led you back out of the archive and through the studio to the back exit. You headed to the main street and walked towards the city centre, making a few random turns here and there, crossing the road multiple times to make sure you weren't being followed. The coast was clear.

Finding another park out of view of any cameras, you stripped off the jacket, trousers and cap and slipped the poncho on. Trading the short wig for the long black one, you put the backpack on under the poncho and spent a couple minutes adjusting the makeup. You made your way back onto the streets with a changed profile.

If Slade was at the bunker, you would have bought him some fresh pastries and bread, but he had a job in Caracas and wouldn't be back for a couple of weeks. He had trained you in the bunker the day after the return from Switzerland and that evening he had prepared the painting and strapped the metal container onto your harness before waving you off. You had slept through the night and flew through the morning. In his absence, your training would still be ongoing. After one final stop, you would finish today off doing more speed trials over the North Atlantic before heading back home.

Ignoring the time difference, you were due to eat lunch and wondered around to find a nice spot, stomach growling at the thought of eating what Slade had cooked. You felt something in the air nearby, part of it was less dense, it was smoke. Picking up the pace, you rushed along the road and took the third right. Thick black smoke was billowing out of a window near the top floor. The street was narrow, the buildings dense on either side, you had to crane your neck right up to see it as you got closer.

Sensing upwards, you felt through the smoke to where the fire was burning. It seemed like it was a flat, the fire had spread across multiple rooms, there was. . .oh no. You immediately called up Slade.

“Slade, there's a fire. There's people inside.” You explained when he answered, feeling two people lying on the floor near the window, still breathing, though it was fast and panicked. They were hiding under something, a blanket maybe, as they tried to cough the smoke out of their lungs.

“People die all the time, kid. Walk away,” he told you succinctly. The fire was blocking the exit, the only way out was the window and a drop from six stories. They were waiting to be rescued.

“But I can save them.”

“It's not worth the risk of exposure. Let it go.” Your gut twisted in anguish, knowing that he was right. Though there were sirens in the distance, rescue wasn't going to make it in time, the fire had spread too quickly. You couldn't fly up there and carry them out. You couldn't extinguish the fire in one fell swoop, there were too many eyes on, it would raise too many questions. People were recording the fire on their phones too, unaware they were witnessing an impending tragedy.

You couldn't expose yourself, but you were not going to feel them die. You just couldn't do it.

Pushing in a stream of clean air into the bottom part of the window, you formed a buffer of air over them, shielding them from the toxic smoke and the heat from the fire. With your hands tensed at your sides, you thinned out the air around them, preventing the fire from spreading closer to them.

“I told you to walk away,” Slade warned, it was almost a growl.

“I'm just keeping them alive. No one will know I was here.”

“When they investigate-”

“Tell me off later. I need to focus,” you cut him off, concentrating on the buffer of air and holding back the fire. Their breaths were still fast but slightly less panicked than before, they weren't constantly coughing either. It took a few more minutes for the fire engines to arrive, several more to get the crane extended up to where those people were and for the hoses to start extinguishing the fire.

You only allowed the buffer to dissipate when the firefighter had made entry through the window and was checking over the two people inside. They were carried out of the window one at a time onto the platform at the top of the crane. You'd given them the time they had needed.

“They've got them both out,” you confirmed to Slade. “Sorry. . .you were. . .uhh. . .”

“Telling you off?”

“Yeah.”

“I was going to say that when they investigate the fire and see that it didn't spread like it was supposed to, it will automatically be reviewed by a specialised unit that look into unusual phenomena, including metahumans. They will scrutinise every single camera in a half mile radius and they will find out it was you.”

“They'll find out my new identity. You can get me a new one.”

“New identities do not grow on trees. Do you know the amount of resources, the amount of money it takes to create one?”

“I'll pay you back. You can keep my pack mule fee for today.”

“Oh yeah? And how much is your cut?”

“Uhh. . .I don't know. What do you think?”

“You're supposed to be negotiating on your own behalf.”

“Oh. . .uhh. Well I think I should get a bonus for speedy delivery.”

“Speedy pack mule bonus?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll take it into consideration.”

- - -

The final stop of the day before leaving France and resuming speed trials was meeting with Slade's personal physician who would be giving you a full health check. He'd also be prescribing you with antidepressants to help treat your PTSD. When Slade explained that the day before, you had nodded in reply, understanding that you needed all the help you could get, especially after what you did to Billy.

You landed outside a large country residence a good ten miles from Marseille. Dr. Villain resided in New Jersey in the US but would travel back to France a few times a year, sometimes on holiday and sometimes for work as he had a number of patients here, very exclusive patients and you were about to become one of them. Taking off the stealth suit and helmet, you put the trousers and jacket on and checked the time on your phone. One minute to go. Dr. Villain knew who you were so you didn't bother with a wig.

On the way to the main entrance, you took in the perfectly manicured hedges, the large staircase going up to the front doors which had an adjoining slope. Before you could use the massive brass knocker, one of the double doors opened up and Dr. Villain stood behind it, eyeing you with a careful curiosity. He was clean-shaven, had short white hair and wore a white lab coat over a suit that must have been tailored for his body.

“Bonjour, Doctor Villain,” you greeted him. His expression shifted to one which gave you the impression that he was pleased with something.

“Entrez,” he replied, gesturing for you to come in. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind you and wasted no time heading through the grand foyer into a wide corridor. The rooms had a strange mix of pristine medical equipment and lavish furnishings, artwork, sculptures and plants.

A five million dollar reward wasn't much to someone who lived like this. He took you into one room with what looked to be a medical chair, the beige material it was made out of appeared to be suede or velvet maybe. Mahogany cabinets adorned two of the walls and there was a collection of large plants along the other, giving the room a homely feel.

“Votre sac,” he looked at your bag before pointing to a wooden luggage rack by the door. As you set the backpack down, you noticed all the intricate carvings it had. “I will take your blood first and commence with the other tests.”

“Thank you,” you responded, stripping off your jacket and thermal top and setting them on the rack too, leaving you in the tank top. The medical chair felt strange to sit on compared to Slade's one. Your mind started wandering as Dr. Villain set up the IV, you tried to focus on the last time Slade took your blood, but memories of the facility kept popping to mind.

Thankfully Dr. Villain began a series of tests while your blood was filling up the bag which kept you sufficiently distracted. He checked your blood pressure, oxygen saturation, capillary response, performed an eye and hearing test. When he'd taken your blood, you thanked him for the glass of water he gave you.

He then directed you to strip and began examining you when you had undressed, prodding at the various scars on your body. He tilted your neck with both of his gloved hands, shifting your head from side to side.

“Hmm, quite astonishing that you have full movement with this amount of scar tissue.”

“Oh,” you muttered, unsure of how else to respond. His hands shifted to your left arm, lifting it up slightly, examining the scar which was from Slade cutting out the tracker and then moving along to the other scars and burns.

The rest of the physical examination he completed in silence, he took your measurements, your weight, checked your reflexes. He was meticulous and was very professional. He had you dress in a very comfy hospital gown and took you back out of the room.

“You will have a MRI scan next,” he explained, guiding you along the corridor to a room with a very large piece of machinery that took up nearly half of the room. He handed you a chunky pair of earpieces, noting that you will hear loud noises during the scan which are perfectly normal and the scan will take forty-five minutes. Laid out on the table with the earpieces on, he announced that the scan will begin and the table shifted backwards into the MRI scanner.

Classical music started playing through the earpieces as the machine began whirring. You could hear the machine randomly thumping and clicking here and there. At some point the music stopped and he requested you to hold your breath. It was a good several minutes later when he confirmed you could resume breathing normally.

With the MRI scan completed, he took you into another room for a CT scan which was smaller than the MRI. The scan took barely five minutes and before you knew it he was shepherding you into another room which had a multitude of screens on a desk and one corner had a large recliner chair in front of a screen like it was a mini home theatre. It was furnished in a way to make it feel like a normal room rather than a place for medical tests.

He placed a cap on your head which had various sensors and wires on it before gesturing for you to sit on the recliner.

“Focus on the screen,” he requested and you proceeded to watch a series of images flickering over the screen, scenes of elations, scenes of a massacre, everything else in between. You wondered how many more tests there were going to be when he returned you to the first room. He took out some medication from one of the cabinets.

“These are antidepressants. You will take one of these everyday at the same time, with food or water, whatever you prefer,” he handed you a blister pack with eight tablets. “Start with these, when you have finished them, you will take the higher dose tablets. You will not drink alcohol and you will not drink grapefruit juice.”

“Okay.”

“Side effects include headaches, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, drowsiness, a dry mouth, diarrhoea, problems sleeping, sexual problems, you may also gain weight,” he listed quickly. “If you feel dizzy or drowsy, I do not recommend flying as you may crash and die. You will contact me immediately if you have any serious side effects which include anaphylaxis, suicidal thoughts or serotonin syndrome which causes a fast heartbeat, sweating, shaking, twitching and feeling confused or agitated. You will read the full list of side effects here and you will keep me apprised of your symptoms which should ease in two weeks.”

“I will.”

“That concludes today's assessment. The bathroom facilities are opposite the door and you will urinate into this cup before you leave. You will also take a case of medical supplies that Wilson has requested of me. Any questions?”

“Uhh. . .no. Thank you for today.” He shook your hand when you offered it out to him.

“Curious he keeps polite company. Usually he can not tolerate any at all.”

- - -

After returning to the bunker, you spent the next two days training by yourself. The schedule was mostly the same and Slade had provided a comprehensive list of what he wanted you to cover. He also wanted you to keep tabs on current affairs so you read through a list headlines and articles and watched international news coverage.

There were political protests in Nepal and the Philippines, environmental protests in the Netherlands and Nigeria, Wonder Woman lifted a fishing vessel out of the Adriatic sea after it got into difficulties, the price of oil spiked after a refinery was sabotaged in Qurac. Elections were taking place in Namibia, Chile and Australia, a passenger plane crashed in Sweden, the first hotel on the moon was due to open later in the year, there was a minor volcanic eruption in Indonesia, Atlantis was in a legal dispute with an oil company after an oil spill in their territorial waters, Taiwan officially joined the United Nations and a meteor was spotted over Siberia.

You had breakfast after general physical training which began at 5am. Slade had cooked you enough meals to last until he returned. Some of the food containers were stacked and labelled in the fridge, others were stored in the freezer for you to reheat. You completed two hours of weapons training, practiced in the range and spent time cleaning weapons on the shooting bench.

You'd bought a small portable speaker in Paris and had music playing during quick change and power training. When you'd been there, you'd also bought yourself some snacks which you kept stored in the space Slade had made for you in the kitchen cupboard.

Without Slade, there were no practical exercises during medical training so you were in the living room on the laptop learning about crush injuries and impalements. When you'd finished lunch and some chores, the combat training session was truncated compared to normal. You looked up camera footage from a previous session with Slade and you focused on his movements, how to emulate his positioning. Keeping the tablet hovering in the air allowed you to practice and watch at the same time.

Before spending the rest of combat training doing power training instead, you considered looking up footage from another date, when Slade had been touching himself. Did he. . .did he come right there on the bench? You were aroused by the memory of it, how he kept rubbing his cock while he was talking to you. He'd know though wouldn't he, if you went back and watched it? He'd tease you about it too, about how you needed to watch him to get yourself off. He would no doubt find your attraction to him rather amusing.

You felt. . .embarrassed at the thought. When was the last time you had felt embarrassed by anything? It was normal, a normal everyday person emotion. Thinking of it that way was nice, it made it less uncomfortable. No, it wasn't worth the risk looking it up. Memory or fantasy would have to suffice.

The rest of the day went on as normal, navigation, battlespace, language training and learning profiles were all sessions you mostly did by yourself anyway. At the end of the day, you took the antidepressant and Slade had you give him a full debrief over the phone. The cameras in the bunker weren't networked so he didn't have remote access to them to keep an eye on your progress. He informed you that your reward had increased from five million to ten million dollars, and instructed you on how to take a photo of yourself so he could continue leaving a false trail in the south of Mexico.

He explained that Nightwing had left Blüdhaven to work on a case in Gotham with the rest of the Bats, leaving the city all to Rose. Slade had some intel that in Nightwing's absence, one of the gangs might try to make a move on the strip club where she worked, and it was supposed to be under Nightwing's protection. So after completing day two at the bunker, you had put yourself in disguise, suited up and flown to Blüdhaven in under an hour.

You were on the roof of an apartment building a few blocks from the club, stripping off the stealth suit and putting on a separate pair of boots. With the suit and helmet tucked into the backpack and with the wig on, you did the backpack up. You then secured the bag by activating the motion sensors which would alert you if anyone picked it up and then armed the small explosive Slade had left for you before finding a ventilation shaft to hide the bag in.

The satellite phone you left in the bag would connect to your phone up to half a mile away so you could stay in contact with him. Down below, the alleyway was clear so you pulled the fog around your body and stepped off the edge of the roof, letting yourself fall and land down below. Even though it had been almost two months since you and Slade had escaped, the detail that had been assigned to Rose was still in place, watching her every move, whether she was being a civilian or being Ravager, all in hopes of capturing him.

She'd already hospitalised three men that were part of the team assigned to her and had injured several others. The pride was evident in Slade's voice when he briefed you the day before about it and remotely showed you the identities of who would be watching her tonight. Apparently there was extremely high demand for taking shifts when Rose was working at the club.

After heading inside and paying the entrance fee, you spotted the four of them one by one in various spots around the main ladies room, each of them obviously enjoying themselves.

“She's out back,” Slade confirmed through the earpiece, he had remote access to all the cameras in the club as they were networked. You walked to the bar to get yourself a drink. The club was less than a quarter full and would no doubt get busier as the night wore on, it was Friday night after all. As you waited to get served, you were bouncing and swaying gently in time with 1 Thing which was playing over the speakers. The music wasn't properly loud like the club in Berlin, there was barely any bass which was disappointing.

”Stop dancing.”

“But it's a good song,” you replied, keeping your mouth still and deadening the air around your head.

“You're a customer, not a performer.” You let out a sigh, it was difficult to cease the movement but thankfully you were next in line. After ordering a non-alcoholic drink, you stood by the speakers for a few moments to feel the bass and to take a sip of the drink. You found a seat several rows from the stage near the back which had a clear view of most of the room and the exit to the adjoining lounge and bar which connected to the gentlemen's main room.

More and more people came in while you watched the dancers and vaped intermittently as it was allowed in here. Some were pole dancing, others were dancing on the stage, one dancer with dark red hair was using the aerial straps and she was by far the best. You only glanced at Rose when she walked right into view, her hair was the same silvery colour as Slade's, she was dressed like the bar staff in a fitted dress shirt and slacks. She held out a glass with a straw to one of the dancers who had a quick drink before continuing their dance.

When Rose headed off, you gently pressed the air against her, trying to familiarise yourself with her shape so you could sense where she was amongst everyone else. The men on her detail would scan the room on occasion but they didn't look at you closely, if at all.

Over an hour must have passed when Slade told you to request a dance. You raised your finger when the redhead looked in your direction, she smiled, winked at you and began to make her way over.

“Why her?” Slade asked.

“Did you not see her using the aerial straps? She's so talented.”

“Your answer should be it's because she's got great tits.”

“Well yeah that too.”

“Hi, I'm Cherry. You want me to dance for you?” You nodded in response. She was more striking up close, with beautiful brown eyes, an infectious smile and. . .yeah her tits really were great. “Want to go somewhere private?”

“Say yes,” Slade interjected.

“Yes. Please.” Cherry took your hand, leading you to the back area which had curtained booths for private dances. It was quieter back here, music was playing from some of the occupied booths but not all of them. Sitting down on the wide leather armchair in one booth, you pointed to the speaker perched on the small side table.

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not, sweetie. You have any requests?”

“Whatever you like. Thanks.” You paid for a ten minute dance and gave her the cash which she tucked into the side of her thong. Gimme More began playing through the speaker.

“Put your arms along the backrest,” Slade directed and you spread out both your arms along the back of the armchair. What angle was he looking at you from? You hadn't noticed a camera anywhere in the booth.

Cherry started dancing right in front of you, her hypnotic movements perfectly in time with the song like they had been when she was using the aerial straps. She placed her knees either side of you on the armchair as she rolled her upper body over you. The position reminded you of that dream you had about Slade when he-

“Stop looking at her face. Look at her tits,” Slade ordered, his voice almost making you jump. You focused your attention on the shape of her nipples.

“I can look at her face and still see her tits,” you murmured when Cherry was leaning back away from you. Thankfully Slade had no further corrections to make and the ten minutes were quickly over. You pulled out a few notes to tip her and thanked her for the dance.

“Thanks, sweetie. You come look for me if you want another, okay? Anytime. It'd be my pleasure,” she smiled and you nodded in reply.

“How much did you tip her?” Slade asked as she guided you back to the main room.

“Uhh. . .not sure.”

“How much do you have left?” You walked to the bathroom to count the money in your wallet, you'd started with seven hundred and fifty dollars, then paid for the entrance and one drink.

“Five hundred and ten.”

“You tipped her a hundred and fifty for a fifty dollar lap dance?”

“I guess?”

“You should be keeping a low profile.”

“Sorry,” you apologised as you walked towards the bar. On the way there, Rose was going to the adjoining lounge. After ordering drink number two, you hovered by the bar for a while until Slade told you to go to the gentlemen's main room. It was louder in there, not because of the music, but because of a rowdy bachelorette party by one side of the stage.

Only one man from Rose's detail came into the main gentlemen's room, and he took position at the bar faced away from all the dancers. You found a seat near the back on the opposite side where the bachelorette party was and sipped at your drink while watching the performers. There was a blond doing the splits on stage which reminded you of the first time seeing Slade do that one morning during a physical training warm up. You didn't realise he was that flexible, his shorts had ridden right up and you had to force yourself not to stare at his thick thighs. One dancer was using an aerial hoop, but he wasn't as good as Cherry.

Some time later, Slade told you to request another dance. You had to wait a few minutes for the blond to be free and you raised your finger when he glanced over. He smirked and as he walked over you quickly downed what was left in your glass.

“You know I used to be blond,” Slade remarked and you immediately choked on your drink. You forced the liquid back up your throat with the air from your lungs and swallowed it back down.

“Right,” you replied, wondering why he said that. Sure the blond was tall and really fit, not like Slade of course, but his hair was short, he didn't have any facial hair. He also didn't have hair on his chest or any below his belly button like Slade did. They didn't look similar. . .did they? Was he fucking with you again?

“Why him?”

“He's got a great ass.”

“Hey. Want to take this out back?” The blond asked softly, leaning right up close.

“Yeah, please.” He took your hand and you followed him to the booths out back. When he guided you into an unoccupied one, you requested some music and thanked him. You eyed up the booth, it was practically identical to the other one, and you still couldn't spot the camera anywhere. After you paid him for the dance, Caught Up started playing and you settled down onto the armchair, laying your arms across the back of it.

“I'm Johnny by the way,” he introduced himself as he started swaying his hips, completely out of time with the song, and yet you found yourself caring less and less the more he danced. He had light-coloured pretty eyes, blue or green, you weren't sure, his tight thong left nothing to the imagination when he span around. His ass was great.

“Hi,” you murmured in response.

“You're a cutie, ain't ya?” Johnny commented, climbing onto the armchair, his knees either side of your thighs, his covered cock right in front of your face. You held back the urge to glance up at him, knowing that Slade would probably correct you.

“Whose ass do you prefer? His or mine?” Slade asked when Johnny had turned around in the armchair.

“Do you really need me to stroke your ego right now?”

“When's a better time to stroke it?” He teased, his voice getting lower, in exactly the same way it did when he had been touching himself. Your cheeks started burning, Johnny then turned back around.

“You've got such a pretty blush, cutie,” Johnny complimented before slowly leaning backwards.

“I don't think he would appreciate you blushing to the sound of another man's voice instead of what he's doing on top of you,” Slade murmured as he continued his teasing. You scratched your forehead with your middle finger when Johnny had leaned all the way back, displaying every muscle on his abdomen. Slade chuckled softly in your ear.

Johnny finished up the lap dance by doing the splits over you, his legs on either armrest. As you pulled out some cash to tip him, you felt bad paying Johnny less than Cherry, he was just as good in different ways. You tipped him a hundred dollars and thanked him.

“You're very welcome, cutie. Can't wait for round two,” he smirked and winked before taking you back into the main room.

“How much?” Slade queried when you were by yourself.

“A hundred.”

“No more than fifty next time,” he told you, without chiding you any further. Taking the same seat as before, you continued watching the various performers in the room. “Did you prefer the blond or the redhead?”

“Both were great.”

“Who would you rather fuck?”

“I'm bi so. . .”

“That's not what I asked.”

“Uhh. . .Cherry I think.” Purely because she moved in time with the music.

“You're like my boy.”

“Joey's bi?”

“Mmmhmm. His mother's convinced he's gay for some reason, not sure why. That boy watched the live action Flintstones movie on repeat for Halle Berry's tits until the VHS wore out.”

“What about Rose?”

“The same, but she hasn't figured it out yet.”

“And you?”

“Where do you think they get it from? Any hole's a goal.” You rolled your eyes and smiled at his crude wording. Forty minutes later, the lights were turned up and the rest of the dancers headed backstage, Rose amongst them.

“Alright, time to head out,” Slade confirmed and you filed out of the club with a few stragglers, including two men on Rose's detail, you passed some sex workers trying to pick up trade.

“How about you give me a lap dance and then I'll be able to compare properly between you and Johnny,” you joked as you landed on the apartment building roof to retrieve your gear.

“Kid, you couldn't afford me.”

“And if I could one day?”

“There wouldn't be any competition.”

- - -

You returned to the club the next night and requested dances from Cherry and Johnny again as they were both working. Nothing out of turn happened, you continued familiarising yourself with Rose's body and felt her moving around the club without needing to look in her direction. Slade wasn't supervising you that night as he was busy with work.

To finish off the week, you had a check up with Slade over the phone. He had you recording yourself in the server room, undoubtedly for his future reference rather than yours. You reported to him that you weren't feeling any side effects from the antidepressants just yet. After completing the usual series of tests at the end of each week, you discussed how they went with him. He then explained that you wouldn't be spending the days training in the bunker that week, instead you'd be flying south to tornado alley in the US.

“You're sending me on a communing retreat to conspire with my sky friends?” You joked as you hovered in the air over the gym mat, listening to him through the earpieces.

“No, I want you creating tornadoes.” The amusement fell from your face.

“It doesn't work like that. I can't just-”

“You can manipulate the air, so manipulate it.”

“No one controls the winds, Slade. I explained before that it's a relationship between them and me.”

“You can manipulate people you have relationships with.”

“Sure but then it's not a relationship. It's. . .nothing. If I didn't build that mutual trust and respect with the winds, I would never have been able to fly and we would never have escaped.”

“Believe that if you want, kid. Just do what you did in Germany but bigger.”

“It's not the same.”

“Figure it out.”

Slade had never believed that the winds were real, he thought it was all in your head. He had you following a meticulous training schedule, he wanted to see gradual quantifiable progress, he gave you specific goals to reach. None of that could be applied to the winds. It was their decision whether they wanted you creating tornadoes or not.

The next day, you were doing high altitude runs on the way to tornado alley. When you made it there, you flew hundreds of miles across several states, going wherever the winds took you. After a few hours, you landed somewhere in Oklahoma at their direction and you were lying in a field watching the skies above. Would he. . .would he be angry if you didn't do as he asked? You didn't want to disappoint him. But you were not going to force the winds to do something they didn't want to do. You couldn't do that to them. It'd be a violation, a breach of trust. Your mind was set.

You tried to push the thought of Slade's disappointment aside and focus on the clouds moving overhead. They were getting darker and you could sense it was raining about half a mile away. It was warmer here, the hotter air was less dense than colder air.

The air pressure began to drop, the winds picked up. They wanted you. Taking to your feet, you stood and watched in awe as a tornado formed less than a hundred yards away, you felt the spin of the air on the ground before the funnel was formed by the clouds. The speed and power of it was enthralling. Being here, being free, able to sense this, able to bare witness to this was nothing but a gift.

Raising out your arms, the winds pressed against your body as they held you. They were always so good to you. Did you. . .did you even deserve this? How could you ever express your gratitude properly to them?

The winds buffeted around your legs, urging you to fall backwards into their embrace, wanting to take you off the ground. Closing your eyes, they lifted you up into the air, into the low cloud cover, positioning you directly above the tornado below. You could feel the glorious spin of the air, the power of it was magnificent, undeniable, truly glorious.

You thanked the winds, you were so grateful for the care they had shown you, tears welled in your eyes. You had missed them so much before, when they had taken you further underground and kept you from their reach. You had. . .you had been willing to do anything, anything they had wanted in order for you to feel the winds once more, even though you had sworn that you would never become their weapon.

Nothing was going to take you from them again.

You spent the next day flying wherever the winds urged you to go, dancing and playing with them at your heart's content, feeling the formation of tornadoes, feeling how some would almost form but the conditions weren't quite right. Each morning you'd spend a few hours in the bunker, doing general physical training, taking a shower, picking up some food and swallowing down an iodine pill.

On the way to and from the bunker, you'd push yourself to fly faster at high altitude and at low altitude as well, where you were flying around 1000 feet right above the cloud cover. The speed of sound was higher just above ground level than it was up at the altitudes you'd been flying. On day two, you'd made it past 700mph but still had aways to go. On day three after leaving the bunker, you flew to Billy's house for some tea, it was marked down on your schedule as socialisation. If it wasn't with Billy you would have rolled your eyes. You were catching up with him in his living room, enjoying tea, biscuits and some little sandwiches too.

“Slade told me about the fire in Paris,” Billy commented, taking a few sips of his tea.

“Oh. . .right.”

“You saved two people's lives that day.” You nodded and pressed your lips together, not really sure how to respond. “Even though Slade didn't want you to.”

“I wasn't going to feel them die.”

“Feel them?”

“Yeah. I could feel them breathing fast, they were panicked, scared, choking on the smoke. I kept them alive until they could be rescued.”

“How did you feel afterwards?”

“I just. . .did what I had to do.”

“Well I'm proud of you.”

“Oh,” you murmured, heart filling with a pleasant warmth. The sensation was unfamiliar, the weight of it was heavy. “Thank you.”

“You did a selfless thing.”

“Uhh. . .I think Slade would call it the opposite.”

“Slade isn't always right. He is still human and makes mistakes like all the rest of us, though he is loath to admit it.”

- - -

After having tea with Billy, you'd continued on the same as you had before over the next few days, chasing the winds, going wherever they wanted, hearing them sing to you for hours. On day four heading out from the bunker, you went supersonic at 1200 feet and dissipated the sonic booms in your wake.

Unfortunately the side effects of the antidepressants had started kicking in and you were feeling agitated when you were in the bunker but your mood improved when you were out flying. You had a constant but mild headache and the nausea was pretty unforgiving so you were taking painkillers and anti-nausea tablets that Dr. Villain recommended. Luckily you hadn't vomited or shit yourself yet and you were still sleeping okay. You emailed Dr. Villain with the list of symptoms and he'd responded almost immediately saying that it was to be expected.

The next night on the Friday, you flew back to Blüdhaven to keep an eye on Rose. As you headed to the strip club back in disguise again, you called Slade and updated him on your lack of progress. Thankfully he didn't seem irritated or disappointed. You hadn't spoken to him since you completed the end of week tests. It was a relief to finally hear his voice again. It was maybe more of a relief that he wasn't upset with you.

“How's the job going?” you asked him after you'd paid the entrance fee and walked to the main ladies room, thinning out the air by your head along the way.

“I haven't had a proper shower in six days,” he replied, his voice coming through the earpiece.

“I thought your job was in the city?”

“It started off that way.”

“Are you. . .” You were confused when you spotted Rose dancing on the stage in a brunette wig, topless and wearing only a thong and stilettos. Immediately averting your eyes, you asked Slade what was going on.

“Sometimes she fills in for dancers when they're low on numbers,” Slade explained casually. “Stop looking away.”

“She's your child,” you shot back in exasperation.

“Who you're supposed to be protecting.” This was weird, it felt wrong to be seeing her like that. You did as he asked but didn't focus on Rose as she began performing on the aerial straps. One of the men on her detail was raucously throwing money onto the stage where she was. You took a seat a couple rows back from him.

Keeping an eye on that man, you noticed how natural Rose's movements were, the fluidity of them like she'd been a gymnast her whole life. That was one of her powers, wasn't it? Eidetic kinesthesia, where she could seamlessly copy another person's movements by watching them. She was hanging upside down and slipped her ankle into one strap before spinning in the air whilst doing the splits and holding her other leg against her chest. She was extremely talented. You could feel the air shifting around her body in the spin.

After finishing the routine, she collected her tips and headed backstage, it wasn't long before she was back and working the room. Three out of the four men on her detail were vying for her attention, it made your jaw clench to think of these bastards lying in wait for Slade and leering at his daughter while getting paid for the privilege. You raised your finger when she looked in your direction and began walking towards you.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving her from those assholes.” You responded, surely it was obvious enough.

“You really think she hasn't danced for them before?”

“Oh. . .” You hadn't thought of that, you hadn't thought of that at all. “Shit.”

“Hi, I'm Cindy. You looking for a private dance?” Rose asked you with a smirk, a hand resting on her hip. You hesitated, realising the situation you'd gotten yourself into.

“Answer her,” Slade prompted angrily.

“Yeah. That'd be. . .great.”

“Follow me.” She took you by the hand and you helplessly followed her to the booths out back.

“The fuck do I do?” You desperately asked Slade as you were approaching the exit out of the main ladies room.

“You do nothing.”

“I am not getting a lap dance from your child.”

“You are and you're going to tip her twenty dollars and not a cent more.” Rose guided you into the booth at the end and closed up the curtain. You reluctantly sat on the armchair, mind trying to think up some way of getting out of this.

“Could we. . .could we talk for a bit?” You managed to say.

“Talk? Really, kid?”

“I don't need saving and I don't need a lecture about my life choices,” she responded in annoyance. That had obviously happened to her before.

“Not about any of that.” She looked at you for a few moments, her brown eyes sizing you up, not unlike how Slade had looked at you before. You pulled out some cash, giving her seventy dollars.

“Sure,” she agreed, tucking the money into the side of her thong and perching on the armrest. “You're new around here.”

“Yeah. . .I haven't been here long.”

“You live close by?”

“On fifth near the docks,” Slade interjected and you repeated his words verbatim.

“Figured you'd taste the local flavour, huh?”

“Uhh. . .yeah. Guess so. Do you. . .like working here?” Her expression immediately hardened.

“What did I tell you about not lecturing me?”

“I mean. . .is this place above board?”

“What's it to you?”

“Well. . .trafficked dancers don't really do it for me.”

“It's legit. We get paid better than elsewhere. The club is under the protection of Nightwing.”

“The vigilante, right?”

“That's right. I like your hair by the way,” she complimented, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Oh uhh. . .thanks. I like yours too.”

“That's my girl. You've just been made,” Slade commented, unmistakably proud. You tried to keep your expression blank as she suddenly sat on your lap, her arm leaning on the back of the chair behind you. “Your comm's going dark.”

She was far too close for you to risk the reply to Slade, not that there was anything useful to say aside from what the fuck do I do? There was suddenly loud static coming through the earpiece before it fell silent. Rose pulled back with a knife in her hand and pressed it against your neck. Shit. She slowly took the wig off your head and curiously picked at the dried liquid latex on your neck before ripping chunks of it off. Digging the knife under your chin, she forced you to tilt your head right back as she tore most of it off, revealing the scars underneath.

“You're not with the others, are you?” She asked with a threatening tone, pressing the knife against your throat.

“No.”

“So who the fuck are you?”

“I'm a friend of your dad's.”

“Slade doesn't have any friends.”

“What about Billy?”

“Who?”

“Wintergreen, his old army buddy.” She said nothing, obviously not believing you. “He has a house in Vermont, we had tea together there two days ago.” She continued to stare so you described his living room, how he makes great sandwiches cut into little triangles and he prefers to dip custard creams into his tea.

“You've met him, so what.”

“The first time I met Billy I was with Slade. It was a few weeks after we escaped.”

“Escaped?”

“Yeah. I was a prisoner with him.” There was only confusion on her face. “Didn't he. . .didn't he tell you that's why he missed your birthday?”

“He was on a job.”

“I'm sorry, but he wasn't. He was imprisoned in a military facility. Why don't you call him and ask?” You motioned slowly to your pocket and she pulled out the phone herself. “I was talking to him as we came in here before you jammed the line.”

“I didn't hear anything.”

“I'm a meta too, I can. . .” you trailed off and demonstrated rather explained, thinning out the air until all the background noise went quiet. Her eyes flicked around the booth briefly.

“You were talking to him?” She asked, her tone less disbelieving than before.

“Yeah. . .he wanted me to keep a low profile.”

“You were keeping a low profile by asking me to give you a lap dance?”

“I figured you'd prefer to avoid those assholes who are watching you.”

“You're saying instead of them, I'd prefer another asshole who's watching me?” You were stumped, regretting the decision once again, unable to come up with a reasonable explanation. “Besides, he wouldn't hire an amateur like you.”

“He's not paying me anything.”

“What does he have on you?”

“Have on me? He's not threatening me.”

“Why are you doing this then?”

“Slade's the only reason why I'm not rotting in a cell. If he asks me to make sure his kids are okay, I'm more than happy to do it.” As she called Slade, you said you'd give her some privacy, but she pressed the knife against your neck even more, you could feel blood dripping down your neck.

“You're not going anywhere.” She told you emphatically, putting the phone on speaker. “Slade? What the fuck are you up to now?”

“Can you put the knife away.”

“Why should I stop cutting up your little spy?”

“The kid was supposed to be discreet.”

“If you were going to test me, at least put some effort into it.”

“This wasn't a test for you.” You grimaced, well you definitely failed the test didn't you.

“Take that off,” Rose directed, tapping the knife against the collar of your sweatshirt. After taking it off, she put it on herself and sat on the armrest, leaving you in the tank top. She looked over you, examining the scars on your arms. “How'd you meet 'em?”

“Undisclosed military installation in Alaska.”

“You. . .really were a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

“Let me guess, that bitch Adeline?” Adeline Kane? His ex-wife?

“She wasn't involved.”

“You had Uncle Billy lie to me?”

“He improvised, he didn't want you to be upset.”

“If he had told me, Joey and I could have gone to his friends and help try to find you.”

“No need for code. The kid knows everything.”

“Who's Nightwing?” Rose asked you directly.

“Richard Grayson.” She grimaced at your answer and rolled her eyes.

“Why didn't Uncle Billy tell us? The Titans would have asked for the league's help too.”

“You think those do-gooders would waste their time springing me from one prison cell to put me into another?”

“Joey and I would have helped, we could have-”

“Wintergreen sent word to Pennyworth for the Bat's help. The only thing the world's greatest detective found was my sword which he immediately pilfered to his cave and Wintergreen had to barter for it back.”

“Barter what?”

“No taking contracts in Gotham for a year, unless the Bat hires me of course.”

“Well that's not gonna happen,” Rose murmured. “Those assholes that are looking for you, they're military then?”

“Spec ops.”

“They're looking for you too, aren't they?” Rose asked you.

“Yeah.” She picked the wig off the floor with her high heel and handed it back to you before returning her attention back to Slade.

“You found yourself a little indentured slave to do your bidding, hmm?”

“I will never be anyone's slave,” you interjected, trying to hold back your anger. “Not ever again.” She stared at you for a few moments and said nothing in response.

“The kid's pretty touchy about that,” Slade responded, your mind immediately thought back to what happened with Billy and you looked away, forcing yourself to calm down. “They are there to protect you while Grayson's gone back to daddy bats to wipe his nose for him.”

“I can protect myself just fine, and Dick's got the Titans checking in on me every ten minutes.”

“That's not good enough.”

“Urgh whatever. When can I see you?”

“I'll arrange something for next week.”

“With Joey too?”

“I'll see.”

“Dad? You. . .didn't miss my birthday on purpose?”

“No, Rose,” he replied softly, Rose's expression immediately brightened. “How's the Inertron sword?”

“It's fucking awesome. You should have seen the look on Dick's face when I showed it to him. He was literally speechless, it lasted like two seconds but still.”

“What makes you think I didn't see his face?”

“Pfft, anyways. Dick like completely forgot that his baby brother carries a katana around even though he's like five. Damian's so jealous, he's already tried stealing it from me twice, the little brat.” There was an unmistakable fondness in her tone.

“I can imagine. He'll no doubt keep trying.”

“No shit. So. . .I better cover up your little not-a-slave, huh?”

“If you would.”

“Alright, fine. I'll see you next week then?”

“You will and don't be mean to Uncle Billy. You'll make him all sad.”

“I'll try not to. Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, Rose.” She peeled off your sweatshirt and after you put it back on, she wiped her finger along your neck to collect the blood before smearing your nose, chin and one of your hands with it too. You put the bits of dried latex into your pocket.

“Eddie!” Rose called out with her head stuck out the curtain into the corridor. “I've got a nose bleed in here. Bring the first aid kit.” She adjusted your wig, ran her fingers through the hair.

“Thanks,” you told her, and she merely shrugged. “I'm sorry about all this by the way. I know watching you is invasive. Slade wants to make sure you're okay.”

“I get it.” You sensed someone heading towards the booth. “Pinch your nose.”

“Hey, Eddie,” Rose greeted one of the bouncers who was eyeing you up. “This one got a little bit too excitable.”

“Problem?”

“Oh no. They're. . .kinda sweet actually.”

After sticking plasters onto the two cuts and cleaning up the blood, Rose led you into the staff changing rooms and had you sitting in front of one of the mirrors.

“Should have some in here somewhere,” she muttered to herself before finding a bottle of something. After putting on a crop top and nitrile gloves, she lathered your neck with liquid latex and covered up one of the plasters too, leaving the one right under your chin. “How'd you get those anyway?”

“Uhh. . .it was a. . .shock collar.”

“Like what evil people use on dogs?”

“Basically.”

“That's fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

“Some of these scars look old though, how long were you a prisoner for?”

“It was. . .for a few years.”

“What did they want from you?”

“They wanted me to be their weapon.”

“You figured you'd be my dad's weapon instead, huh?”

“It's not like that.”

“He wouldn't keep you around if you weren't useful to him. You seem nice so I figured I'd give you the heads up.”

“He's useful to me too, it goes both ways. He's helped me a lot, kept me from losing my shit.” The conversation fell silent as she used a hair dryer to speed up the drying process. When she was done, you remembered to tell her your real name.

“He had a fake identity created for me so my ID says I'm Sam Ashwood,” you explained.

“I'll call you S.”

“Is the S for spy or for Sam?”

“Both.” Rose started applying liquid makeup over your neck. “My dad told you to accept the lap dance, didn't he?”

“Uhh. . .yeah.”

“Why didn't you?”

“You're his child.”

“So?”

“It's. . .it's weird.”

“You care about him, don't you?”

“Yeah I do. He's my friend.”

“What else can you do aside from the sound thing?” She asked while dabbing powder over your skin.

“I can manipulate air and I can fly too.”

“Did you fly my dad out of jail?”

“Yeah I did. I can take you flying too some day, if you'd like that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Joey's busy with work so he doesn't take me flying as much as he used to.”

“He's. . .in LA, right?”

“Like you don't know. You really are a shitty spy, aren't you?”

“Yeah.” She was looking at you in the mirror and grinned, you smiled back at her. Rose took off the crop top and gloves, checking herself over before taking you by the hand.

“Do you want my number? You can call me if you need anything.” You offered as she led you back to the main ladies room.

“Anything like what?”

“If you need help, want to talk or. . .if you want to complain about your dad being a controlling asshole.”

“You know he's listening, right?”

“You think I haven't called him that to his face before?”

“I've changed my mind, the S is definitely for stupid.”

- - -

At the end of another day in tornado alley, you returned to Blüdhaven. Nightwing was due to return to the city later in the week so you wouldn't be going back to the strip club next Friday or Saturday. You'd been in the club for well over an hour when you raised your finger at Rose as she had a free moment.

“Hey S. My feet hurt,” Rose complained, taking you by the hand and guiding you to the booths out back. She took you into the same booth as yesterday and you took off your sweatshirt, handing it over to her. After putting it on and kicking off her stilettos, she pulled out a small device from the back of the armchair and you heard static in the earpiece again like yesterday. Rose perched on the armrest and you sat on the armchair by her. “Can I bum your vape?”

“Sure.” You pulled it out of your pocket for her and thinned out the air around the armchair. “Do you want me to try and give your feet a massage?”

“You. . .want to try and give me a massage?” She repeated back, hesitantly taking the vape from you.

“Yeah, I could push the air against them. I'm not sure if it will help or not though.”

“Oh! Why not.” She slid backwards right to the back of the armchair, laying her legs along the armrest, and you used spurts of air against her feet, making sure to be gentle and move the air up and down from her toes down to her heels and back up again.

“How's that?”

“Not bad, S,” she replied before trying out the vape. “Ooh. . .is that maple syrup?”

“Yeah.”

“It's good.”

“Any other problems aside from your feet?”

“No, I'm okay.” She vaped for a few moments before continuing. “Cherry tells me you're a good tipper.”

“Well. . .I don't need to keep the same kind of low profile anymore because you know I'm here so. . .”

“Mmmhmm. And that tip you gave her last week, was that you trying to keep a low profile?”

“Uhh. . .” She giggled at your sheepish expression.

“You have fun with her earlier?”

“Yeah she's great.”

“And Johnny danced for you last week, right?”

“He did, he's great too.”

“When you say great. . .does that mean you think they're both hot?”

“Yeah they're both hot.”

“So you think my dad's hot too then?”

“What?”

“Come on, I'm not gonna be offended or anything. Frankly it'd be weird if you said no seeing as Johnny looks exactly like Dad did when he was younger.”

“He does?” You tried to ignore the burn of embarrassment in your gut.

“Yup,” she took a long drag from the vape. “So?”

“He's. . .attractive.”

“Aww, you're actually blushing.” You shifted awkwardly in the armchair, wishing she hadn't noticed that. Why was this more uncomfortable for you than for her? “Listen S. My dad doesn't do relationships. He's a messy slut, certifiable, so if you're looking for something no strings attached you should be fine with him, probably. But otherwise? Forget it, okay?”

“Okay,” you replied with a nod. Did she really just call Slade a messy slut? “He's. . .a messy slut?”

“Oh yeah, he's the worst. Joey was going out with this guy and things were getting serious between them, they started living together and I think they were talking about getting a dog or a cat, but anyways, my dad didn't think that Joey's boyfriend was loyal or trustworthy or whatever, so he goes and proves his point by sleeping with him.” You blinked at her in disbelief, you stopped the spurts of air against her feet.

“I know, right?” She took a brief pause before continuing. “Joey found out because he came home to their apartment and found them lying in bed next to each other, his boyfriend's snoring and Dad's lying there with his balls out smoking a cigarette.”

“That's. . .fucked up.”

“That's my dad. If I'm being totally honest that guy was kind of an asshole and Joey deserved so much better than him, but Dad didn't need to do that. He could have threatened him or something, you know? Something normal. Not that my dad could do anything normal.”

You thought back to what happened in the Berlin nightclub, him teasing you about what he sounds like when he comes, shielding himself in a protective facade because you'd gleamed at something outside of his control. You had found a weakness and he had automatically gone on the offensive.

“Sex is a weapon to him.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Slade loved Joey and Rose, you remembered how relieved he was when he first contacted Billy after the escape, how he hadn't slept until he knew that they were both okay. So why would he do that to his son? Did he believe he was protecting Joey by doing that? Was it an act of love in his eyes? Proving Joey's boyfriend to be untrustworthy in such a brutal way? Was that what Slade's love was? Brutal? Did he not understand how hurtful that would have been to Joey?

“Is Joey okay?”

“He took it real bad for a while but he's over it now. Joey's a real sweetheart and he sees the best in people. Somehow he sees the best in Dad too so he forgave him.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He said Dad's heart was in the right place or something and that he was trying to protect him,” she paused to let out a sigh. “Dad. . .Dad takes it all the way.”

“I bet Billy went ballistic.”

“Fucking nuclear. I've never seen him so angry before. He was threatening to never speak to Dad again unless he apologised to Joey. I don't think Dad's ever apologised to anyone for anything so, it was a pretty big deal when he actually did.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“I'm not as forgiving as Joey, I was pissed off for a while, I was angry at Joey too for letting it slide. After things settled down, Dad was actually. . .trying with the both of us, you know? Trying to be more of a dad, trying to make up for what he did. Then he goes and disappears. We figured he was just doing what he always does, leaving us in the lurch, but it turns out he didn't.”

Rose handed the vape back and slid off the armrest. To think of all the pain that Slade had caused when he was only trying to protect his son. His perspective was warped beyond anything you had imagined.

“We better head back,” she told you, picking up her stilettos from the floor and putting them on. Were you really so far gone that you hadn't been able to see it before?

“He's like me,” you murmured before Rose took off the sweatshirt.

“Huh?”

“I didn't realise it before but. . .Slade's like me. He's fucked in the head too.”

────────

°✦｡･Chapter Twelve･｡✦°