A/N: Hello m'dears… and welcome!

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S/N: This story is happening within the spectrum of events that have happened up to the most current aired Television episode (Time of Death). Updates will be wrapped around what happens in the rest of the season, or I will make it up as I go along. You can say I am slightly AU-ing things, but I will do my best to follow what is seen in the series to the best of my ability. Hopefully people enjoy this as much as I am enjoying writing it!

Also, much thanks goes to NeoMiniTails for helping to go through this chapter with me and make suggestions and point out lines and phrases which didn't work. Many thanks Neo!


'Are you cut up

Or do you easily forget

Are you still around

Why haven't you managed to die yet

You could prop up the bar in hell'

-Karma Killer, Robbie Williams


"I want you to begin production of another batch of the serum," the man said in a dark baritone that Jacob knew could just as easily command respect and loyalty as it could bring on waves of mind numbing fear. "Is that clear?"

"Of course…" Jacob said with a nod, but his employer shushed him with a look.

When silence again reclaimed the room, the man said, "I also want you to locate another group of samples in which to test the serum on. And I strongly suggest that you not fail in acquiring viable samples this time. Remember that your position within this organization is a tenuous one."

Jacob Justice began to pace restlessly back and forth across the king-sized living room while his employer lounged on the sofa, perfectly at ease in his surroundings. And why shouldn't he be at ease? he thought bitterly. Slade Wilson's luxury penthouse occupied the top floor of a high rise in one of Starling's ritzy uptown neighborhoods. The surfaces inside the apartment were hard, its edges sharp. Colors were dark-black walnut, crimson, onyx. Burnished gold trim and charcoal toned leather advertised his wealth and eclectic taste. The swarthy man reclining upon the couch was anything but a flamboyant playboy, though. Every inch of his employer screamed with how little he had in common with the city's pampered society set. Even relaxed, Slade's body resembled that of a caged tiger. Every muscle was taut with tension, every limb coiled and ready to spring when his prey crossed his path. His one eye gleamed with anticipation, and amusement.

"It's not my fault that the last batch of the serum needed to be thrown out," Jacob said defensively. "The samples became contaminated when the refrigeration units failed. We weren't able to save any of the supply we had ready for testing."

"I don't want to hear excuses," Slade said softly, smoothly. "I want to hear your assurance that you will have another batch of the serum ready for testing by next week."

"Of course," Jacob quickly replied. He'd heard the silky undercoating inside that dark purr and knew it for what it was: a warning. "However, to restart manufacturing the serum will, I'm afraid, require another sample of your own blood. When we lost the last batch of serum, we also lost the sample we had of your blood."

The corner of Slade's lips quirked upwards and he gave a slight nod of his head. "I will see that you get what you need."

Jacob took that as his dismissal and turned to exit the apartment. He fought the sudden urge to bolt from the room like a gazelle. He had a feeling Slade was waiting for him to do just that so he could hunt him down and rip him limb rom limb.

He was not about to give the man the satisfaction.


Slade watched the man go, his long lips crooking upwards into the faint shape of a smirk. He knew the man feared him, he could smell it on him. Everything about Jacob Justice, from the nervous twitch of his hands, the slight flaring of his nostrils and the way he'd kept glancing at the exit had told him Jacob desired to be anywhere but in front of him. Not that he could blame the man. If he was being hunted by a man as dangerous as himself, he might react exactly as that spineless wimp had. Slade shifted his head to the side and found himself staring at the familiar face of Moira Queen, the former acting CEO of Queen Consolidated and current mayoral candidate, who was saying something he could not hear. He reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

"...has been a three percent increase in the approval rating for mayor candidate Moira Queen," an anchorman was saying over the images rolling across the screen . "This must come as some surprise to Sebastian Blood, who until just a few days ago was about to run for mayor of Starling on what appeared to be an unopposed ballot. If the ratings are any indication, then the battle for mayor has just become an interesting one. Who will emerge after the ballots are tallied is anybody's guess at this point in time. Stay tuned…"

Slade glared at the screen. This was not the sort of news he'd anticipated receiving. Brother Blood was clearly failing in his objective to secure Starling for them. Another failure, he thought, his long fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm upon his thigh. It was time to again remind the Alderman about how easily another could be chosen to wear his mask.

"Go," he growled at a figure that'd been standing at the ready should he have need of anything. "Get Brother Blood and bring him here. Do not take no for an answer."

He saw the figure nod, once, before they ducked into the hallway behind them. A current of lightning sizzled through Slade's one remaining eye as he looked again at the television screen. The report had changed to some fluff piece about a cat being rescued from a tree. As if he cared. He shut the television off and rose to pace, like a jaguar, in front of the huge bay windows. Starling glittered like a trillion stars in the ever growing twilight. Yet he saw none of the sparkling beauty laid out below him. No, his vision was focused far off into the distance and upon the man whose sentence he'd yet to see carried out. Well that, he decided as his lips peeled back in a snarl, was going to change. Starting tonight.

"Oliver Queen," he rumbled. "It's time you discovered what hell really looks like."


A room away, behind the closed door of Slade's private office, a petite figure crouched in front of a safe, working the combination lock with quick, clever fingers. Sienna James's avid brown eyes gazed out from behind her thin, wire-rimmed spectacles, watching the numbers on the tumbler as they clicked into place. She'd tucked her long hair up into a messy bun earlier that afternoon, but fly away tendrils had started to escape and were tickling the back of her hair, distracting her from her task. She tucked the loose strands around the pen she'd forgotten she'd stuck in the mouse-brown strands before twisting the tumbler to the left and hearing the click that said she'd entered the correct combination. Her lips lifted into a smile that was a mixture of both relief and wry amusement at how such a simple thing as a combination lock could give her so many problems.

She reached for one of the leather-bound ledgers on the floor by her feet, unaware she was being watched by the figure that'd entered the room just a second after she'd entered the last number into the lock. Slade leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and watched her for a moment, charmed and soothed (as he always was) at just the sight of her. This petite woman had definitely become the queen of his dark domain. A few of his more daring underlinings had questioned why he gave Sienna the keys to his castle. He'd answered simply that it "suited him." Of course, Sienna had proven to be more than capable of running both his household and business affairs. She'd shown him she was more than capable of seeing to all of his personal needs. The woman also had demonstrated that she was quite adept at handling him as well. And she manages that without even trying, he thought as the hard lines of his face softened.

"You're not working late again, are you, Sienna?" he queried as he finally shoved away from the wall and made his way into the room. Those eyes shifted, pinning him for a moment in an expression which reminded Slade of a doe trapped in the glare of headlights. Then her expression relaxed into that quietly intense one he'd come to realize was her unmasked, and her lips curved up into a shyly sweet smile.

"You said that you value workers who know the meaning of loyalty and hard work, Mr. Slade."

"Sienna," he reproached gently. "How many times must I insist upon you calling me Slade?"

"Just once more, Mr. Slade," she replied in that soft, lyrical tone that managed to coax him out of even his foulest of moods. "As always."

It was a game they had been playing since he'd rescued her from a panderer fourteen months ago. During one of her lucid moments she'd asked him who he was. Not knowing what to tell her (given the amount of drugs still in her system), he'd told her that he was a "pirate." She'd called him Jack until learning his name. Normally, he'd have indulged himself in a few moments of their usual back and forth banter. It was always entertaining to trade quips with Sienna. His little dove had quite the acerbic wit beneath that shy and demure mask she wore. Sparking it had become somewhat a hobby of his, a way to relieve the tedium and boredom of his life.

Yet, it was something he knew he could not indulge himself in while he still wanted to spit nails over Brother Blood's second failure.

Sienna was not accustomed to that side of him. She'd never seen that side of him. She had no idea that he was both the man who could easily snap a man's neck as he was the man who could politely shake his hand at the close of a business deal. She'd never seen his more predatory side, the one which smiled when he was cruel, and who was cruel when he smiled. He had done his best to keep her oblivious to that side of him; to that part of his life. That was why he took a seat behind his desk, putting distance and his desk between them. It was precautionary as much as it was conscious of how easily he could hurt her if he was not mindful.

"Have you managed to unravel the financial mess that my previous secretary left my books in?"

"No," Sienna replied with a slight grimace. "And I have matched up every receipt with its appropriate transaction, tallied all payouts and accounted for every dollar that was spent according to the ledgers themselves. But," she paused to take a breath. And released it in one long, frustrated exhalation that had his lips twitching. "The money that should be there, that the books specify should be in your business account?" She shook her head before saying, "It's not there. And I don't know why that is. I do not understand what Miss Sanderson did or where she might have hidden your money."

"And the discrepancy is only in that one division?"

She nodded, once. "Only the Miracle division is the one coming up short. The rest of your accounts balance perfectly. It's just this one that I cannot get to balance." She turned back around, cracked the lock and opened the safe. The thick steel door opened without making a sound. "I'm sorry Mist... Slade," she instantly corrected. "I do not like reporting that I have failed to accomplish something that you specifically asked me to do."

"You have not failed me, little one," he assured her in a low, soothing murmur. "The one who failed me was your predecessor."

And I have already made her pay for the error of her ways. Slade said nothing about that, merely watched Sienna place the ledgers one by one into the safe. He did not need to ask her if she was keeping the leather bound books in order, he knew she was. Nor did he need to ask if she'd filed the daily reports in the order he preferred them to be filed in, he knew she had.

And that, he thought as he studied her, is because Sienna James is smart, highly efficient and quite capable of performing any of the tasks I assign her.

She was quickly proving herself to be the most trustworthy member of his staff. Anything he asked of her, she did without qualm or question. If he asked her to listen, she listened. If he asked her to obey his directives, she obeyed them. If he asked for her best, he got it. No questions asked, no excuses made, no protests given. Sienna's only faults came from trying to unravel the failures of those who came before her. That was not something he could rightly hold her accountable for. Yet, no matter how willingly and diligently Sienna worked for him, no matter how she obeyed his every command and followed his every direction explicitly, there was still a festering question in the back of his mind asking him if she was loyal to him because she respected (or cared for) him, or because she felt indebted to him for having rescued her from hell.

Slade was not sure he really wanted to know the answer.

He watched as she shut the safe and rose to face him in a rustle of sea-green silk. He could see fatigue breaking through, haunting her eyes and knew she'd worked through the night (again) to try and unravel the mystery of his misplaced money. She routinely worked herself into physical and emotional states of exhaustion. The months she'd spent in the custody of her pander had left some deep psychological scars. Scars which Slade (who had plenty of those for himself) knew would take years to fully heal. Thinking of her ordeal brought him to a whole new dilemma: did he dare test her loyalty to him considering all she'd been put through?

Do I push her out into society, knowing she still gets anxious in large groups of people? He wondered, frowning slightly. Do I ask her to confront someone she does not know, knowing she fears strangers (and men most especially)? Is she ready for this sort of an undertaking?

The answer that came back to every question he asked was a simple one: yes.

Slade was forced to admit that Sienna was stronger than she (or he for that matter) gave her credit for being. It was not as if he would dump her into the middle of a pack of hyenas. He would give her the security of taking her himself so that she would know he was nearby should she find herself in need of him. It was time to start pushing her into rejoining society anyway. She needed to become more independent. He might not always be there to protect her. Or be there to rescue her. Flickers of memories rose up and Slade hammered them back with the same ruthlessness he showed his enemies. He had no time to remember days which were best left in the past. Not at that moment anyway. For now he had a choice to make. One that he realized was a surprisingly easy one when it came down to it.

"Sienna," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Have you heard of a club in the Glades called Verdant?"

He saw her frown her confusion. "No, I don't think so," she said slowly, hesitantly. "Should I have?"

He shook his head. "It is not important whether you have or not, really," he told her truthfully.

She turned to the sideboard and poured an amber colored liquid into a crystal tumbler that she set in front of him. "Why do you ask if I have heard of Verdant if it is not important then?" she asked curiously. "Are you thinking of purchasing the club?" Her face brightened, causing his breath to catch. It was so rare to ever see her truly happy. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of her pleasure before she dispelled the moment by saying, "I will do some research on it for you. I can pull their financials; see what sort of revenue they pull in and what sort of debt they are currently carrying."

Now wouldn't that toss a wrench into things? Slade mused while sipping at his rum. He could just imagine the look on the kid's face were he to suddenly find himself with his old friend Slade as a business partner. It almost was worth investigating. Instead, he smiled at Sienna and told her, "I'm not thinking of acquiring the club."

"Oh." She sounded almost disappointed about that. Slade took another sip of his drink to cover the small sound of amusement which sprang into his throat. She did love helping him with the acquisition of the businesses that covered his real job. "Is there a reason then for why you asked if I knew of the club, then?"

"Yes, there is," he said with a slight nod. "I would like for you to deliver a gift to the owner of the club for me. Tonight," he stated in a firm voice, "if you do not mind doing so."

He saw the brief flash of fear, of panic that flickered across her face; through those expressive eyes and knew instantly what she was thinking, feeling. For a second, he thought she was going to either outright refuse his request or crumple to the floor in a quivering mass of panic. Then he saw her notch her chin, an open act of defiance, before she said in a voice laced with a hint of steel, "Of course. I would be happy to deliver your gift for you."

Silently, he applauded her. He knew what it cost her to hammer back the fears tearing at her. Such courage and strength would have been impossible for her a few short months ago. But that persistent voice in his head then asked him about whether or not she was complying out of loyalty to him, or because of her feeling of being in his debt. He shoved the thought aside.

"I have some business I need to take care of," he said gruffly. "But once I am done, I will take you to Verdant."

"All right," she said before slowly turning to leave. "Shall I prepare coffee if you are having company?"

"No," he said. "My guest won't be staying more than a few minutes." He saw her acknowledge his words with a nod before she crossed towards the door. "Sienna?" he called before she reached for the handle.

"Yes, Slade?"

"Wear one of the dresses I bought for you in New York. I want to take you to dinner after you have delivered my gift."

He saw by her expression that she was pleased. "Of course," she said before exiting the room. Slade turned to stare out the window, willfully ignoring that voice telling him he was being a damned fool.


"You told me to leave Moira Queen to you!" Sebastian Blood exclaimed angrily a half hour later. He tossed down a drink from the bar. The single-malt whiskey did little to calm him. He paced back and forth across the floor. "You told me that you were going to handle her!"

Slade watched him in silence. The man's smell was Calvin Klein and nerves. It was an empowering, intoxicating scent. His lips lifted into a slow, predatory smile. "And I will handle Moira Queen in due time," he said in a low, moist hiss. "But my own business is not why I requested that you come here this evening."

Sebastian stopped pacing and turned to stare at the man who was seated behind that ornate desk. Slade Wilson looked like a modern day pirate with his eye patch and the days' worth of stubble darkening his cheeks. Yet his suit was exquisitely tailored, his stripped tie perfectly knotted, and his salt-and-pepper hair neatly trimmed. Of course, Slade has that woman seeing to his "every" need. Exactly why it bothered him that his superior had the James woman caring for him, Sebastian could not quite explain. It was not like the woman was of any particular importance to him. Nor was it like he particularly cared to have her services for himself. He put the woman out of his mind and focused again upon Slade.

"Why did you call me here, then?" he asked.

"I called you here to address your failure," Slade replied smoothly. "Your second failure, in fact."

Sebastian regarded him with eyes he knew shimmered with resentment. "My failure?" he asked calmly. "And what failure is it that you are placing the blame upon me for?"

Slade fixed him with a look so black that the Alderman thought he was staring at the entrance into Hell. He started to squirm beneath that glare and hated himself for it. Slade's lips twisted into a cruel smile. It was a taunt, Sebastian knew. It was a taunt as much as it was a challenge. The man was daring him to do something to him. As if there was anything he could do to this man. Even four armed bodyguards had not been enough to slow Slade Wilson down.

"I promise you..." Sebastian began, but Slade cut him off before he could even begin to spin what he already knew was going to be another gossamer web of half-truths and pipe dreams.

"For a man who has promised to deliver me much, you have so far only delivered me failure after pitiful failure. I am beginning to lose both my patience, as well as my faith in you. Need I remind you, yet again, about how easily another can be taught to wear your mask?"

"No," Sebastian replied in a sullen tone. "You do not need to remind me about how easily another can be taught to wear my mask."

"Then I suggest that you do not fail me again."


"Misser Slade has asked you on a date."

"This is not a date, Marta," Sienna said while securing the back of her earring. "Mr. Slade is only taking me to dinner as repayment for my agreeing to drop a gift off to the owner of the Verdant for him."

Marta sniffed. Loudly. "Si, he has asked you to go on a date after work."

Sienna smiled at her from over her shoulder.

"It's not a date, Marta," she again said. "It's just dinner."

"As in a dinner date."

Sienna swallowed her sigh and turned to look at the older woman. "Why are you so insistent that this is a date, Marta? Why can't it just be a dinner between two friends?"

Marta reached up to give her cheek a motherly little pat. "You trust Marta on this," she said calm as you please. "I might be old now, but I remember that when a man tells a girl he is taking her out to dinner that he means he is taking her out on a date."

"I have gone to dinner with Mr. Slade dozens of times in the last few months," Sienna pointed out calmly. "And none of those times constituted a date to you."

"You weren't asked to put on a nice dress for any of those dinners."

Sienna picked up her second earring, let it dangle between her fingertips for a moment. "Why does my dress suddenly make this a date?"

"Dress like that is meant to make a man think thoughts."

She certainly didn't see how her black dress was designed to make a man think anything. It was a simple chiffon material, unadorned by any needless trappings or glitzy thingies. To Sienna, the simple halter dress was the basic staple of any woman's wardrobe. It was capable of being dressed up or down, worn day or night, in the office with a jacket or over a casual dinner with a friend. There was nothing sassy or snazzy about it in her mind. It certainly shouldn't inspire whatever thoughts that Marta seemed to think it would. Whatever those were, she thought with a sigh.

"Exactly what thoughts should a man have inspired from such a basic black dress?" she asked the housekeeper.

Marta heaved a heavy sigh. The child was either completely clueless about men, or willfully oblivious to her own sexual appeal. "Missy, woman puts on a dress like that when she wants a man to think about what is, or isn't on beneath it."

Sienna fought to not roll her eyes. "Marta, please. As if Mr. Slade is the type of man to waste time imagining what might or might not be on beneath my dress."

"Misser Slade imagines what might, or might not be on beneath your clothes all the time."

Sienna felt her cheeks flood with heat. "Marta!"

The housekeeper merely sniffed. "Don't you Marta me, Missy!" she scolded fiercely. "I see what I see! And what I see is that Misser Slade watches you when you don't think he watches you!"

A long-suffering sigh just wouldn't do. Pointing out that Slade was merely keeping an eye upon her and making sure she was well would only continue the argument. Since it was impossible to ignore the scowling woman jammed in the bathroom with her, Sienna tried another tactic.

"Maybe Mister Slade does watch me," she said gently. "But that doesn't mean his offering to take me to dinner tonight in anyway constitutes a date."

"You will see," Marta said on a sigh. "I just hope that it will not be before you potentially miss out on something that could make the both of you very happy."

Softening, Sienna cupped Marta's homely face in her hands. She did not need to struggle with finding patience, she realized. She'd only had to remember love and patience automatically showed up.

"If there is something meant to be, then it is meant to be."

"Missy," Marta muttered. "Misser Slade keeps you with him. He has allowed no other woman to be as close to him as he allows you to be."

"He trusts me," Sienna said with a delicate shrug of her shoulders. "And, in his own way, I think he does care about me. Same as I care for him. Isn't that enough?"

"For you, perhaps. But I do wish that you would be a bold woman for once. You are a good woman Missy Sienna. You deserve happiness."

Sienna turned, applying perfume with a rose colored wand to her wrists, the column of her throat, and behind her ears. "Well, if this dress is capable of making him think about what I am, or am not wearing beneath it, then I tend to think I am making a rather bold statement without intentionally trying."

Marta curled her lip, angled her head to the side. "Maybe you not so stupid after all."

"Or maybe I am a cautious woman who doesn't care to tempt fate." Sienna slicked on a touch of lip gloss, shook back her mane of hair, turned. "So, how do I look?"

"Like a tasty morsel that Misser Slade will want to devour once he sees you."

Sienna just sighed. "I'm not sure that I like the thought of being something he'd like to consume," she said. "But it'll do."

Marta just shooed her from the room.