A/N: Welcome to a new chaptered story. It is just a drabble that got too long, so it's divided into 6 chapters, to be posted every Friday (remind me!). Thank you to Aikino for being beta and sounding board! J

The Stray

Chapter 1: Lucky Dog

It was always the same thing with strays, Slade thought. They showed up, scrawny, scruffy, hungry looking, and then they either disappeared again or stayed. His had stayed. Black hairs here and there were often the only proof of existence, though. It kept to itself.

It had sat outside one day. Slade had brought fast food home. Hamburgers. He had gotten the super size meal at the local chain: two double cheeseburgers, fries and soda. His metabolism demanded the calories and would burn them much too quickly.

It had looked so pitiful. Hungry. He wasn't in the business of charity, but had nevertheless stuck his hand into the bag and pulled out one of the burgers, tossing it at the stray. It had pulled back, looking bewildered and suspicious for a moment but then tucked in.

It was back again the next day. Somehow he left the door open and the next thing he knew the stray was sleeping on his sofa. It came and went for a while, keeping odd hours, but then again so did Slade.

He was watching the stray sleeping now. Slade had asked for a name and his age and reluctantly gotten the answers "Dick" and "seventeen". The boy looked younger than seventeen, but Slade had accepted it. He was on the short side, and though not exactly scrawny he was lean. A build that, with the right amount of protein and training, would fill out very nicely. Despite his youth, sometimes, when he looked at the man with those big, blue eyes, there was something in them… something that made the boy seem far older than his years. He had clearly experienced things a teenager wasn't supposed to. And still… the stray acted strange. Strange as in the way he behaved, namely perfectly. The man had been sure the kid would try to rob him, but so far he hadn't as much as touched a piece of bread without permission. He even cleaned up after himself, and more than that; Slade had returned sometimes to find the apartment clean and laundry done. He assumed the boy did it to 'pay rent' and he didn't mind. Dick did owe him, after all.

Slade mainly thought of the boy as "the stray". The kid didn't seem very at ease with the name he had introduced himself as, sometimes taking suspiciously long to react to it and then appearing almost offended at Slade using it. The mercenary understood the need to anonymity better than most, however, and had left it alone.

He noticed, by the changed breathing pattern, that the boy had woken up, so he moved away. He hadn't meant to stand there and watch him; he had just been on the way to the sink through the open plan kitchen/living room to get himself some water. The boy had good instincts though, trying to hide the fact that he was awake. The way the stray moved and acted also told Slade that there was potential there, maybe something to work with. But first he had to find out a little bit more about him…

Robin, because he had chosen to only think of himself as Robin since he had been on his own, tensed. The man was watching him. Would he attack? A moment later the guy, Slade Wilson, moved away towards the kitchen and the teen relaxed slightly. He had found out the name by snooping around a bit. Carefully. Very, very carefully. Being in this house at all was probably suicide, but so far the man had treated him better than most he had met the last couple of years. He had seen the signs outside; homeless people and street gangs all had their own way of marking properties and territories, a tag here, a small scratched symbol close to the door… they had all said the same thing: "keep away!", "danger!", "don't break in!", "protected!". The building itself was a small three storey house in red brick. It was old, originally a stately home of some rich family back when Gotham was founded Robin thought, and it was squeezed in between much bigger buildings. The reason it hadn't been torn down to make room for something more modern was probably because the plot itself was so small. Not much you could build there. The house had since then been remodeled into apartments but Slade obviously owned the whole place with no one else living there.

Robin had taken to rest outside the door simply because he was left alone there, and then the owner had given him food. It had been a rather amazing experience, close to hypnotizing, and he had been drawn in by it. Still, it was stupid, staying here. He had no idea who the man was apart from dangerous. Clearly dangerous. The way he moved, acted… yeah, this wasn't a guy who worked in an office and considered poker night with his friends exciting. But still, so far so good. He was only allowed on the bottom floor of the apartment building; the rest was off limits and had electronic locks. Even the windows were blocked and the one way in through the roof was also locked and hooked up to the kind of alarm Robin didn't want to mess with without the proper tools. He had checked it all out, though, out of curiosity.

He didn't know what the man kept or did up there, he could disappear for hours at a time, but it didn't matter much. If this place was safe, then why leave it? The other places sure as hell weren't safe. The shelters sometimes called the authorities when they suspected that he was underage and he had fought off people to save both his meager amount of cash and his body several times. Speaking about cash, he was running out. It was time to start charging again. Robin sighed and moved into a more comfortable position. Tomorrow night. He'll do it tomorrow night.

When Dick left the next night he was being trailed. The young man had no idea, however, as Slade was an expert. The man watched from a distance as the stray took to the roofs like he was born up there, and then moved through the city seemingly without any specific target. First he had stopped and changed, though, which was more than a little odd. Slade was too far away to see what the kid had changed into and the dark muted any colors. Maybe he had just put on something for warmth. His silhouette didn't seem much different.

A cry for help had both of them turning their head, but as Slade was going to shrug and continue following the boy said boy turned and hurried towards the sound.

What was this? Slade frowned behind his mask. He had his uniform on which would deter all but the most stupid of threats, and he liked having all his weapons on hand. He might have to use them too, because the boy was obviously suicidal. For the next fifteen minutes Slade watched from the shadows and his expression changed from an annoyed scowl, to surprised, to finally settle into a pleased smirk.

The scream had come from a middle aged woman held up at knife point. The woman was, hands shaking badly, about to remove her watch and bracelets when the boy landed behind the robber. The man turned around and, with quite good reflexes, slashed out with the knife. The kid was faster, though, and the knife was deflected by one of two short wooden weapons, sawed off baseball bats Slade guessed, that the teen had been carrying stuffed into the back of his belt.

The fight was impressively short. The woman then thanked the kid as he returned all her stuff but was then taken aback when the boy went through the robber's belongings and took the cash the man was carrying, stuffing it in his own -Slade's eye narrowed- belt? Belt pocket? Hmmm…

"You're stealing from him? I thought you were a hero!" the woman gasped.

"I'm as much of a hero as I can afford to be," the teen replied wearily. "See it as a tip you don't have to pay. Do you need an escort out of here?"

The woman declined and the boy temporarily stepped out into the street light to be able to reach a ledge on the next building from where he could swing himself over to a fire escape. That's when Slade started to grin.

As the night went on he edged closer, took in the details, and yes: a dark red t-shirt over some kind of padding, maybe a light bullet proof vest. The jeans were the same the kid had worn when he left the house, but the belt and the mask were new. The belt looked homemade and had pockets all around it and the mask… it was barely more than a cheap black Halloween mask. He had entertained the thought of this being a wannabe, but no. The kid knew how to fight and Slade recognized some of the Bat in him, but he had a style of his own, clearly developed and close to perfected over the years. He was the real thing. The real Boy Wonder.

Richard Grayson, former ward of Bruce Wayne, who had been killed in the bombing of Wayne Manor almost four years ago. That would actually make him seventeen, despite looking younger. The kid had been at a friend's house according to the media. Slade quickly went through the old news on his phone to update himself. As the billionaire hadn't formally adopted him and the slow moving system meant that there weren't even any signed papers about guardianship, the thirteen year old had been thrown into the foster care system with nothing of the Wayne fortune to his name. It had not gone well. The kid even had a few strikes with the police. In the end he had simply run away, and as far as Slade and the internet knew he had been living on the streets for almost three years now. He had dropped under the media's radar a long time ago, though.

People had barely wondered what happened to him after the Wayne disaster. There had been a gala there that night, the crème de la crème of Gotham had been there, to see, be seen and die. Batman was never seen after that and most people came to the conclusion that he had been among the ones killed, though who was never settled. Some had speculated that he had been Bruce Wayne himself, but the billionaire and the Bat had been seen at the same time in different locations several times. Slade knew better, though. The sightings had been staged when people had gotten a little bit too close to the truth. In the end someone had made up their mind and targeted the man anyway. Or the missiles had been set off by someone who just didn't like rich people; there were never any real answers, no culprit found, no one had taken the credit. Slade himself hadn't been involved, he had been on the other side of the world and had not, until now, even thought about the possibility that the boy wonder might still be out there. If he had then maybe he would have taken advantage of the situation sooner.

He had met the Bat and his sidekick only once. He had politely asked the man to look the other way and let him do his job, which on this occasion was delivering a bullet into the head of a high ranking drug dealer who wouldn't keep in line with the rest of the syndicate, but no. The man's protective instincts apparently included scum, so they had fought. Brutally. The boy had tried to join in too, but Slade had quickly put him out of commission by hitting nerve clusters, leaving him lying helpless on the roof only able to watch as the mercenary took out his mentor. Not that it had been easy; the bat was a very good opponent, but not, of course, good enough. Slade had only taken him down hard enough to be able to finish his job. He had had no interest in killing the man after all; he had been an ally in the past and might have been one in the future too. The good thing about Batman had been that he had understood when things were 'just business' and not personal.

Slade watched for a little longer but then returned home. The kid seemed fine and he didn't want to be spotted, not yet at any rate. He had some other business to attend to first, but now he at least knew that the stray really didn't have an owner, and that, in Slade's mind, meant that he probably needed a new one.

Robin returned to the apartment in a bad mood, guilt gnawing at his guts. He hated stealing, even from criminals, but he needed the money not only to live but he was saving up for a new life. He had found someone to forge papers for him, everything from a birth certificate to passport, but it was expensive, Very, very expensive, but the man was the best there was, so Robin figured it would be worth it. With a new identity, putting him at 18 with decent school records, he could apply for university somewhere, move away, start over and finally have a chance at a real life, a clean slate. But he did need money. Lots of it. He had gotten the idea when someone he saved insisted on paying him. It hadn't felt quite right, but he had been very hungry that night. In the end he refused to charge, though, and had decided that whatever the thugs might be carrying would be his. Luckily they still used a lot of cash. Cards and phone transactions could be traced and probably not the best thing to buy drugs with anyway, meaning that Robin usually got paid and sometimes very well. Now he was saving money on housing too, at least Wilson hadn't said anything about rent yet, though he wasn't keen on the way the man looked at him sometimes… well, if the guy wanted some other kind of rent the teen was possibly up for it. He had never done anything like that before, things had never gotten that desperate, but the man was attractive and hygienic at least. Then again he might be looking at him because he planned on killing and skinning him…

Slade frowned a little irritably at his own reflection and then added another eye drop. He was wearing his prosthetic eye just as he always were when he used this house. It drew less attention to him and this place was about lying low. However, the thing chafed. He hated to admit that it annoyed him, as it was such a silly little thing, but he would be glad when this job was over and he could move on. As it was, with the stray in the house he couldn't take the thing out at all. It was unlikely that the boy would make any connections between him and Deathstroke, but Slade preferred to not give him the chance or he might have to put the stray down, rather than risking his safe house and business.

His work here was almost done. It was a complicated target, a board member of Wayne enterprises which had been taken over completely by the board after its owner died. The man was a recluse, however, and/or paranoid and lived in the heavily protected Wayne building. Working and living in the same building and apparently having no need for a social life meant that this man was seldom out an about and after weeks of observation Slade had given up on a pattern that made the man leave the building. Whenever he did it was random and he didn't seem to even have a favorite restaurant. That meant breaking and entering, much more risky than taking the shot from a distance. The windows to the building were bulletproof and wouldn't let you see inside though, so he had to get in. He had decided to go in through the roof and had worked to take over the security cameras with a push of a button. He had also done research on the electronic lock and was sure he could get around it, but once in there he was pretty much flying blind. He had studied the blueprints but knew not to trust them. He had gotten a member of the guard team drunk one night and milked him for details before slipping a little pill in the man's last beer which would make sure the guy wouldn't remember anything, but what he had been told could have changed. Slade didn't like it. He was tense. He wasn't worried about his own safety, but he did want to do a clean, silent and effective job. No blood bath, no alarms, no police chase. Get it done and move on.

A few days later Robin was out on patrol when he spotted a shadow moving over the roofs a few buildings away. He knew the roofs didn't belong to him, there were others around, vigilantes, heroes and criminals, but he always checked them out when he spotted someone. He was careful when he did, not wanting to be spotted unless he had to stop a crime. He didn't want anything to do with the hero community who had turned their back on him when Bruce died. The league had been against Batman training him in the first place and Superman himself had comforted Robin, telling him that this was a chance for him to start over as a normal kid in a normal family. His first foster family had probably been just that, a nice, normal family, but Robin at thirteen, and unable to talk to any outsiders about his true former life and the losses he had gone through, had not been an easy person to deal with, he admitted that to himself. He needed to be out there, experiencing the world, fighting, doing things, not sitting around a dinner table answering questions about his day at school. By the time the foster family had more or less given up Robin had left, been caught and placed at a new home and in the meanwhile the league had stopped checking up on him. Robin had no way of contacting them either and by that point he was too angry to ask for help there.

He shadowed the person, a man he could see now, and froze as he realized he was heading for a very specific building. Robin hurried. He knew how to get up on that roof although it was a jump he wasn't usually willing to risk. He had lost all his gear all those years ago and to build a jump cord from scratch without the proper tools was impossible. However he had hooked up zip lines here and there, which helped a lot. This just took a long jump, though, and Robin let himself fly. He landed softly on the roof but not softly enough. The man whipped around. Robin's heart nearly stopped.

"Deathstroke." No, no, no, he could deal with a simple thief well enough, but a fully equipped killer like this man? He wouldn't stand a chance. But being a hero wasn't about fighting fights you knew you would win, it was about doing the right thing, not the easy one.

The man straightened up and his head tilted a bit to the side as he apparently assessed the threat.

"Well, well, well… if it isn't the Boy Wonder…?" he said. The man's voice was flat, but there was a hint of something else… amusement? He didn't seem to think Robin was any real threat and the boy silently agreed.

Honestly Robin was a bit flattered that the man remembered him and even more so recognized him in his home made suit. The red t-shirt was getting much too tight on him by now, especially with the paintball chest protector he had on under it, and he was somewhat embarrassed about the black "R" over his heart, drawn on with a permanent marker. It didn't look quite right, but it hadn't felt proper without it.

"You're busted, Deathstroke, you'd better leave," Robin tried very hard to keep his voice as level as the man's as he pulled out his wooden weapons from the back of his belt.

Slade almost snorted at the 'threat'. It was brave. Stupid, but brave. Maybe mostly stupid. He knew his mask would change his voice, but he made it a bit harsher still when he spoke, just in case.

"I have business here, little hero. Go play somewhere else." Oh, the boy didn't like that at all, judging by his snarl. Clearly had a temper. Someone should teach him to keep it to himself.

"This is my city, you have no 'business' here!" the teen growled. Slade could practically see the feathers ruffle and stand on end.

"Very well, I see we need to discuss things. Briefly," Slade nodded. He had a time frame to keep to, after all. He took a step towards the boy who predictably lounged at him.

Slade barely focused on the fight, busy thinking over options. He could simply kill the boy, but something inside him didn't particularly like the idea, unless it was necessary. Still, to take him out and then drop him over a side of a building once the job here was done was quick and easy. A boy dressed up as a hero falling from a roof? No one would even bat an eye.

"Uf!" Some of the air in Slade's lungs were pushed out as one of the wooden weapons the teen wielded had hit him rather hard in the stomach. It seemed that the stray had some rather good moves. He should pay attention, then, and finish this.

The boy fought well but was too open, relying on his speed and agility too much to get away. He had clearly not fought anyone good for a long time. Slade took advantage of this and soon slammed his fist into the side of the boy's head, just hard enough to knock him out. Still undecided he then removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt and locked the boy to a pipe. He'd decide later.

Robin had seen the punch coming but hadn't had time to get out of the way. He was able to move just enough to deflect some of the power, but his world still turned black for an instant. He came to a moment later to feel cold steel snap around his wrist but then the pain from the blow registered and he was out again.

He grunted as he woke up. He could practically see the cartoon bells and birds swirling around his head, and everything hurt. Everything. Even his hair. He tried to sit up but his arm was suddenly caught on something. It took him a moment to realize that he was chained up. He carefully shook his head, trying to clear it. He needed to get away. He fished out some simple, homemade lock picks from his belt and got to work. The lock was complicated, more so than simple police cuffs, but still not much of a challenge. He decided to keep the cuffs, even with the extra time it took to get the other end off the pipe, but then he had a decision to make. Wait for the man to come back and fight again? Go in after him? Robin chuckled at himself. He wasn't suicidal. Deathstroke might come back for him and that wouldn't be pretty. He decided to leave. 'Flee' might be a better description, but also more hurtful to his pride.

Slade came back to the roof after a successful mission to see that his decision was made for him. He returned home, came in through the roof as usual, changed and walked downstairs to find the stray there, grimacing while trying to clean a wound on his back. The boy was only wearing jeans, hair still damp from a shower, and bruises had started to form all over his body. Slade stopped and feigned surprise.

"What happened to you?"

"Got jumped," the boy claimed.

"Big gang, it seems like," the man answered and almost grinned as the boy grunted something under his breath. "Here, let me help you. I can't have you bleed on my furniture," he added as the teen seemed reluctant. Dick then nodded. The wound was rather low on the teen's back so Slade sat down on the couch and guided the boy to stand between his knees as he helped clean and bandage the injury, which wasn't worse than a shallow scrape.

"You barely have any medical supplies," the boy let him know in the middle of it all.

"No? Well, I'll make sure to rectify that if you intend to let this continue," Slade told him with a chuckle. This was bordering on the most they had ever spoken with each other at once.

"I'll try not to make it into a habit," the teen snorted. "Ow! That hurt!"

"Just checking these bruises. Are you sure your ribs are okay?" Slade asked, pretending to be worried. The truth was that he rather liked sliding his fingers across the teen's pale, marked skin. He had immediately registered the young man as attractive, but like this, half naked, wet hair, body strumming with adrenaline and testosterone, pupils still wide from excitement… like this he was rather hard to resist.

"I'm fine," the teen told him and pulled away. The man had to restrain himself from catching him.

"Very well. So what exactly happened?" he asked once more.

"Don't really wanna talk about it."

"Well, I might need to know. Is it going to bring any trouble to my door? Will people be looking for you?"

"No, it was just a one-time thing."

"Alright then. And who won?"

"He- they did."

"I see." Slade put the meager medical supplies back in the small bag Dick had found in the main bathroom and stood up. On the way to the bathroom he, as an afterthought, turned around towards the boy. "If you'd like I could help you train to fight. Make sure this doesn't happen again."

Slade watched the teen's expression carefully as he gave him his offer and the first flicker of emotion was one of almost contempt, like 'and what do you think you can teach me?' but then the teen's eyes ran up and down the man's body and the expression changed to a more thoughtful one.

"Well… yeah, we could… try? Thanks…" Dick answered.

"If nothing else sparring is good exercise. Once you've healed, of course," the man nodded, inwardly grinning in triumph. "Just let me know."

"I will. Thanks again," The young hero nodded.

Robin went to bed later that night, early morning actually, wondering if he should take the man up on his offer. He did need to train, desperately, but did Wilson really have anything to offer him? The man was built, yes, and dangerous, yes, but that didn't mean he knew shit about hand-to-hand combat. And did Robin really want to show off his own skills? What if the man got suspicious of them and… well… and what? Batman and Robin were long gone, why would anyone make a connection between him and a thirteen year old side kick? And Wilson wasn't even a Gotham resident; at least he had told him that he was just here temporarily.

The next morning Robin was swearing over the news on the TV.

"Woke up on the wrong side?" the man asked him as he came into the sitting room.

"I- no, no it's just… some guy was killed."

"Did you know him?" Wilson asked and glanced at the TV where a picture of his latest victim was displayed. It was a 'before' picture. An image of someone with their head blown off wasn't pretty.

"What? No, no, I mean… not directly. Just… You know… bad news."

"People get killed in Gotham every day," the man shrugged but then frowned. "Last night…? You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?"

"No!"

"To be clear, I don't care, but I do care if the cops show up here, understood?"

"Trust me, they won't. I had nothing to do with it! It was an assassination inside the Wayne building, how the hell would I be able to pull that off, even if I had wanted to?"

The man had looked amused but nodded and went over to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. He made some for Robin too, and the teen gladly ate it.

It seemed last night had brought them closer somehow, and they talked much more in the weeks to come. Robin didn't let any of his secrets slip, of course, and he could tell that Wilson, or Slade as he apparently preferred to be called, was guarded as well, but he didn't mind. He frankly didn't want to know how much trouble the man was, he was just grateful for the room and board… and the company. It was nice to talk to someone again. Slade lent him books which they discussed once Robin had read through them and they even caught some movies on TV now and then. The man was home more now and so was Robin, partly to heal up properly, partly because it was more difficult for him to come and go as he pleased when the man was there but most importantly… he kinda liked the company and the feeling of having a place to be. It had been a very long time since he last had that.

"Soo… about that offer to train…?" Robin said one morning after discovering that his wound was now fully healed. It hadn't been serious, but it had started bleeding a few times as it was stretched whenever he moved, so it had taken a while. The teen had still gone running and worked out in general, of course, but he was getting itchy.

Slade smiled to himself when he heard the question. He had stayed put after the job instead of leaving as he had planned to do, and this was the reason. He had gotten word out that his services were available in Gotham for a while longer just to see where this might lead. He didn't have a clear plan or purpose with the boy, only a curiosity and the sense of potential.

"Of course, let's get changed and start. Meet me out back in five."

The house had a small enclosed back yard which gave them some room to move. Both arrived there in barely two minutes and exchanged grins.

"So, what is your background? What do you know?" Slade asked.

"Um… quite a bit… Aikido, Karate, Judo…"

Slade knew that was just a small part of the styles the young man had been trained in, but the boy was clever and only mentioned things that were more probable for someone like him to know. The man pretended to be impressed.

"My, my, that is very good. How come?"

"I… um… had a trainer in like a youth project… you know, a keep kids off the street thing…?" Dick lied.

"And you trained with him for how long?"

"A few years. How about you, what do you know?" the boy dared ask.

Slade smirked.

"Quite a bit too. Special training. Are you afraid I won't be able to teach you anything?"

"I don't mean to be rude or anything…" the boy said, looking so embarrassed that the man forgave him.

"How about this… we spar, and if you think I know anything you'd like to learn afterwards we'll take it from there? And maybe you can teach me some things too."

Dick nodded curtly. "Um… do you know any of the disciplines, or should we free style fight?"

"Let's start with karate," Slade decided. "Ready?"

Slade held back rigorously. He didn't want the hero to see any unnatural speed or strength and he also made sure that his fighting style was as different as he could make it, keeping very carefully to the movements of each discipline they tried. He actually didn't know as many as the boy did, because why waste time learning such details when he already knew how to fight and had the abilities he had? He didn't care for fancy kicks or flowing movements, he took his enemies down with brute force and speed. The styles worked very well for the boy, though, he had to admit.

He very much enjoyed the self assured look on the boy's face when they began and how that expression slowly slid off to be replaced with surprise and then almost frustration.

Robin took it slow at first. He didn't want to hurt the older man, after all. How old Slade was, was something of a conundrum: He could really be anything from late thirties to sixties, but he moved like a young man. He sometimes spoke like an older person, though, just some words or phrases here and there… it didn't quite all add up. And now they were fighting and Robin had trouble keeping up. He actually had a feeling the man was holding back…

They started freestyle fighting and Robin found himself holding back less and less until he was going almost full out. His t-shirt was soaked in sweat whereas the man barely seemed bothered.

"You're starting to get sloppy," the man told him after a while. "Let's stop."

Robin just nodded and had to lean against the wall for a moment, catching his breath after a frantic series of attacks that hadn't even touched the man.

"How the hell are you so good?" he panted.

"Experience and training," Slade told him as a matter-of-fact, without a smidge of smugness in his voice.

"I thought I was good. Apparently I was wrong," Robin growled.

"You are good. Very good, in fact, but you haven't had a teacher in a while, have you?"

Robin shook his head. He hadn't trained with anyone since Bruce died. He thought he had kept his skills up, but now he wasn't that sure anymore.

"Well," Slade continued. "I'd be willing to be your teacher if you're interested… but I have a few conditions."

"Such as…?" Robin didn't want to be rude, but he knew nearly nothing about this man after all.

"Firstly I will teach you to fight, not a specific discipline. We'll practice hand to hand as well as with weapons. I'm going to teach you how to defend yourself, but also how to attack. Some of the solutions I teach are permanent, but it's of course up to you if you want to use them."

"I'm not interested in hurting people," the teen said, "unless I am helping someone else."

"A bit of a hero-complex there," the man smirked, "fine, but like I said; use what you want. I have a military background, though, you should be aware."

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well… as long as it's just practice, I'll agree."

"We're not done with conditions yet. I expect you to obey me, and as my work demands that I travel you will either come with me or stay here, depending on the situation. You don't mind travelling, do you?"

"No, but… ummm… if you mean abroad, then I don't have a passport and-"

"I doubt you have any papers we can use. I'll take care of that."

"Really? Thanks, but… well, I'm working too… kinda… I'm saving up, and-"

"Training won't occupy all your time, and I'll let you know if I can use you. If I can, you'll get a small share, say… ten to twenty five percent depending on the job."

"As long as it doesn't involve hurting people," Robin shrugged. "How much would that be, roughly?"

"Ten percent of my last job would be two thousand five hundred dollars."

Robin's eyes widened.

"Wow." Then reality clicked in and warning bells rung. "What… what kind of job do you do? It has to be something illegal, right?"

"What kind of job do you do yourself? What would happen if I looked up who you really are?" the man asked smoothly and then smirked. "I'm in… protection. Personal protection and the protection of assets and interests. It's not all above board but I get some government jobs as well… not that they are any more morally defendable. I won't get you involved in anything too bad."

"And… and if I agree, what will it…. I mean… what do you want in return?"

"Simple," the man smiled coldly. "A hard working, obedient apprentice."

To be continued…

A/N: sooo… what do you think of the set-up? Let me know, reviews feed my soul… ;)