A/N: This is a series of Slade-centric one shots, mostly based on the island and the relationships between Ollie, Shado, and Slade. Not necessarily in linear order, probably a mix of fluff and angst and random stuff as I wait for the next Arrow episode to come out. Basically, Slade's my favorite character on the show and because barely anyone writes about him, I'm going to try to fill that gap myself. :D

Critiques and comments welcome!

Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, y'all.

-LdD

Things Left Unsaid

Oliver misses Laurel, Slade feels something that he always tries to avoid feeling.

The stupid kid is looking at that picture again. The photo of that smiling brunette, pretty enough, although watermarked and faded. Faded in more ways than one – Slade can tell by the way Oliver looks at it that memory is starting to fade along with the once-glossy print. Oliver clings to that picture; he looks at it whenever Slade leaves to hunt or Slade and Shado are sparring. And sometimes, late at night when everyone's pretending to sleep, Oliver leaves the plane, picture in hand.

Now he's pacing up and down the wrecked shell of the plane, picture in hand. The sound of his footsteps is quiet but constant; he weaves in and out of Slade's peripheral vision in a way that is fast becoming profoundly irritating, and all the while, he traces the outline of the brunette's face.

"You're going to wear a hole in that thing," Slade says. He's stretched out, feet kicked up and eyes half-closed. Armor off, swords to the side, he's a bit drowsy but with the kid fidgeting and fretting, it's impossible to nap.

"Whatever."

"Don't you whatever me," he growls. "Either settle down so I can sleep, or make yourself useful."

"Fine." Oliver stops pacing and sits down, frowning into empty air. The picture rests in his hands but he stares past it.

Quiet, finally.

Slade lets his eyes slide another fraction of an inch closed; he lays limp and lets the tension drain from his muscles. A feat which, for the somewhat (scratch that, extremely) paranoid Australian Secret Intelligence Service agent, is something of a marvel.

No sound but the wind stirring the trees, an occasional bird call. No distracting movements that keep Slade's well-trained eyes from closing. No stupid angsty kid being stupid and angsty—

Until Oliver sighs loudly and starts pacing again.

"For the love of—!"

Slade jumps up, starts towards the kid. Oh, the brat is going to sit down and be quiet if he has to tie him up in order for it to happen—

"Slade, Oliver! I'm back!"

Oliver's eyes flicker to Shado as she enters the plane, bow in hand. Swearing under his breath, Slade plops back down again and points forcibly at Oliver.

"Next time," he growls to Shado, "you're taking him with you when I'm trying to sleep."

Looking back and forth between the two men, she sets down the bow and sighs. "You two can't get along together for a few hours – how did you survive before I came along?"

Slade mutters something; Oliver shrugs and edges closer towards Shado.

"Why were you two even fighting?" she asks.

"He's a sulky, obnoxious brat—"

"He's a grouchy, paranoid old—"

"Stop. Just stop already." She rolls her eyes and unstrings the bow, leaning it against the side of the plane. "You're painful to listen to. Can't get along for a few hours – crazy men."

"He started it," Oliver says, sitting down in a corner. Flashing a glare at Slade, who just growls something unintelligible in return, he pulls the photo out of his pocket again.

Shado heaves a sigh before walking over to Slade and nudging him in the ribs with the toe of her boot.

"Spar with me?" she asks.

"Fine," he says, joints popping as he pulls himself up with a groan. "Since my nap appears to be over."

Shado smiles and, before he's quite ready, throws a punch. Sidestepping it, he retaliates with a kick towards her knees, forcing her to leap backwards out of the way. They circle each other, Shado with a teasing smile. When she tries for another punch, he catches her first but she kicks out, leg arcing high, and he's forced to let her go or suffer a broken nose. Oliver watches from the corner, the photo still in his hand.

They fight for a few minutes until Shado gets the better of Slade and he finds himself on the ground, a hidden knife pressed against his ribs. With a grin, Shado climbs off him and, stowing the knife, pulls him up.

"Shouldn't have showed you that trick," he grumbles.

"I'm glad you did." Shado glances over at Oliver and then back at Slade

He shrugs – if the kid's sulking again, it's not his problem. Besides, at least Oliver isn't whining at the moment.

"Come on," Shado says, plucking the photo from Oliver's hands and setting it aside. "Your turn."

"Give it back, Shado."

"No."

Slade sighs – he can already guess where this is going.

"Please?" Oliver says, standing up. He towers over Shado by several inches but still manages to look like a puppy next to her.

"Fight me."

Slade smirks, slouching against a crate to watch the confrontation. Called it.

Oliver swings his first halfheartedly; Shado catches it and twists until the kid yelps, dropping to his knees as she wrenches his shoulder a little.

"How are you going to survive this island if you do not fight?" she says, releasing him. "Daydreaming all the time – that picture will get you killed. See how easily I took her away from you?"

She gestures at the picture; the kid glowers at her.

"You need the will to live, Oliver, not the will to lay about dreaming," she says.

"She's my reason to live!"

"And if you're distracted, she will be the reason you die." Shado's eyes are cold and dark; for a brief moment she looks at Oliver the way an assassin would. "So get up and fight me."

"I can't fight."

"Can't only means won't."

"Then I won't."

"Why?"

"I don't want to turn into someone – something – that Laurelwon't recognize." He looks up at her, a plea in his eyes. "I just want to go home."

A moment of stillness.

From his spot by the crate, Slade clears his throat. "You're not the only one who misses someone, you know."

"I know."

"Yeah," Slade growls, "I know you know. But Shado and I – we're not whining about it. So stop."

The ASIS agent and the ex-playboy glare at each other for a long moment. Neither one speaks or moves; they glare at each other, tension rising, until—

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Oliver repeats. He glances around at Shado, then back at Slade. "I… I just miss Laurel."

"It's okay."

Another long silence, in which the three refuse to look at each other.

And then Oliver coughs.

"So," he says uncertainly, "Who do you guys miss?"

Slade just glares at the wall.

Opening her mouth, Shado pauses, and then offers Oliver a faint smile. "My mother… I miss her the most. But my father…" She pauses again. "Even though he is here with us, on the island, I miss him as well."

Oliver and Shado look at Slade, who quickly focuses on something else. A patch of the wrecked plane, a crate, the bow in the corner – anything other than their questioning gazes, Oliver's stupid question. He forces a smile, something cruel and biting and unnatural, but he can't hold it.

When he closes his eyes, Slade can't remember his wife's face, much less his son's. Can't remember the sound of their voices (the voices are always the first to go, he's heard), can't remember how he used to joke around before the island (before the constant missions, he reminds himself), can't remember anything but two blonde blurs. How the child (my child, he reminds himself, that's my kid, that's Joe!) got his mother's light blonde hair and not Slade's dark features is a mystery. Try as he might, the details evade his grasp – faces, laughter, all worn and gone to pieces.

Stop, he tells himself. Stop this now.

He looks at Oliver and Shado, a ghostly shadow of a smile crosses his face. "I… I miss my…"

The words stick in his throat like shards of glass, he struggles for a minute with the roiling emotions, the fear of falling apart, and then smiles again.

"Just stuff," he says lamely, lying through a tourniquet of gritted teeth and clenched fists. "I… I just miss…"

And then he laughs. He can't speak, he just laughs that harsh, mocking laugh of his for a minute or two, and Oliver and Shado (how young they look right now, even Shado, they're just kids) stare at him. At last, he shakes his head, he looks back at them with a twisted smile.

"Some things are easier left unsaid."