Author's Note: Sorry it's late. Three words: New Pokemon game. Things will return to normal now, every three days like clockwork. As for particular notes on this chapter, it's got my own writing and Gavin's writing woven together. I'm sure you can figure out who is who! Enjoy.


THE COWL AND THE MASK


The door was closed and the windows were locked, and that was the way it was.

He was hiding from his family, from his friends and from his responsibilities. Bruce Wayne had never shied away from his duties as Batman, but as a parent? He wouldn't subject Damian to the brutality that Jason had been forced into, to the coldness he'd offered Dick. As soon as Talia returned, Damian Wayne would leave again.

Questions would be asked about the sudden appearance of a son that nobody knows existed. He'd lived the life of the billionaire bachelor, and any changes to that would be noticed by the city. Bruce carefully cultivated the image of the reckless playboy – a character he played well. If he was asked about the mother, the answer would be difficult to concoct.

Oh, Bruce, a son? Who is the mother? Bruce thought. That's what they'd say. And how would I reply? "The mother is the daughter of a criminal emperor and immortal master assassin."

He stood up from his desk and walked past his bed and over to the window, looked out over the city. The clouds were thick and low over the city of Gotham, even the lights from the high buildings did not break them apart. The symbol was noticeably absent from the sky, with Batgirl dealing with situations as they appeared in Gotham. Behind him, two knocks on the door and a little as it opened and Bruce turned to see Alfred emerging, a tray in hand.

"I took the initiative to prepare you something to eat regardless of whether or not you claimed to be hungry, Master Bruce."

Bruce nodded. "Thank you, Alfred."

He closed the door and placed the tray on the table at the foot of Bruce's bed, but he did not leave immediately; Alfred Pennyworth hovered around the room and Bruce knew he had something else to say. He often did.

"Something to say, Alfred?"

"Do I have permission to speak freely, Master Bruce?"

Bruce smiled and came away from the window. "You're going to anyway, Alfred. Why deny the inevitable?"

"It's the boy, sir. It seems that such a long time in the company of the League of Shadows has left an impression on him."

"What kind of impression?"

"He seems to believe that violence is the ultimate resolution to any conflict. Perhaps if you could talk to the boy –"

"I've been occupied. It was wrong of Talia to drop Damian on me with no notice–"

"Would notice have made a difference?" Alfred asked. Bruce said nothing. "Diana has been gone for three days, and Damian here for the same amount of time. You've lost three days already. There's still time to catch up."

Bruce turned back to the window, unwilling to hear Alfred's thoughts – all of them true. He knew that he must see his son, talk to him, get to know him, but how could he? Bruce had no idea how to act around children. He'd hardly even been one himself.

"I'm sure that you will return to brooding one day, sir. However, at the moment, he needs a father."

"I can't be a father to him, Alfred."

Alfred sighed long and hard, staring at the back of Bruce's eyes with a longing, a longing that Bruce knew was for him to be happy and whole. Bruce Wayne would never be either of those things. The place where this thoughts lived, in the wilderness of his mind, was dark… Bruce turned around to see Alfred in the silence. "I'd like to be left alone, Alfred."

"A teacher, a mentor, a partner… but never a father. Of course, Master Bruce. Of course."

As footsteps trailed away and Bruce turned back to the window, he saw the light above the city… balanced on the clouds. "Alfred, why is the Batsymbol raised?"

The butler paused. "I'm not sure, sir. Perhaps I can–"

A person running outside, up the corridor, footsteps thumping heavily. Dick Grayson was at the door, his red costume on instead of his blue.

"What do you want, Dick?" Bruce asked.

"It's Penguin, Bruce. He's dead. Murdered in the Iceberg Lounge." There was a long, heavy pause, and Nightwing's mouth knotted up as though a bad taste festered in his mouth. "Deathstroke."

"I'll go. You stay here."

"Are you sure? I can–"

"I said stay here." There was force in his words, and Dick stunted back a little, irritated and off-set.

"Master Bruce, will you be back before morning?"

"Yes," Bruce said, removing his robe and leaving the room, heading towards the Batcave, hoping that Damian would not be there. Nightwing and Alfred followed behind him, matching his pace.

"Good," Alfred continued with a sigh. "I'll prepare your usual breakfast – toast, coffee… bandages."

Ten minutes later and still no sign of the boys in blue – classic Gotham.

Deathstroke, armoured once more, and the assassin from the League of Shadows looked onto the wreck of the Iceberg Lounge from a few buildings away, the smoke rising slowly into the sky.

"So. You said something about a job?" Slade asked him.

"Yes," he replied, looking away for a view of Gotham. "As you can see, I'm unfamiliar with the new territory. Gotham isn't my home. I don't know it's type – the dark, criminal underbelly. It's… not easy to navigate."

"That's an understatement."

"If I'm to do my job," he beat on, "I need you to help me seek out those who can tell me what I need to know, and avoid those who would seek to hinder me."

"I'm not a tour guide."

"I'm not overly fond of your tone, Mr Wilson. I'm offering you a contract. If you don't want it, walk away now."

"I never said I wasn't interested," Slade replied. "You know my fee?"

"Money is not an issue. I can pay you in full when the job is done."

"Half now."

"Any chance you can break this policy, just once?" The assassin was clearly irritated.

Slade remembered the last time someone tried to hold out on a fee. The thought made a smile break out across his face, not that the assassin could see it. "No."

"Very well. I'll organise something before we set out."

"Now, a little details about the job."

"I'm here to assassinate a dangerous man. A warlord who has come to Gotham City only recently."

"Does the poor bastard have a name?"

The archer was silent for a time, no doubt trying to discern how much to tell Slade and how much to keep close to his chest. In the end, it all came down to a question.

"What do you know of Ra's Al Ghul?"

What don't I know about that old bastard?

A long time ago Slade had been approached by a member of the League of Shadows, asked to join their ranks. Of course Slade declined, completely indifferent to the quest to bring balance to the world. Days later, he'd been on a hit in South Africa, and he was jumped by five assassins. It was clear that Ra's al Ghul did not take rejection well.

While the fight was brutal, stretching out into a three day long hunt through the jungles, in the end every assassin fell to his blade. After that he fulfilled my contract and began to compile everything there was to know about the League of Shadows – and that wasn't much.

"He's six hundred years old. I ought to find out what anti-ageing cream he uses," Slade said, "Any particular reason you want him dead?"

The assassin was quiet again. His eyes seemed unfocused, his mind elsewhere. "He has a daughter," he began. "Her name is Talia." That I didn't know. "She has a child, a child that Ra's never wanted born. It didn't concern her that he disapproved; all she wanted was the child of the man she loved."

"Who's the dad?"

"I don't know, nor do I care. Now instead of silently standing by, Ra's has opined that the boy must die. Talia was warned in advance… She asked that I track her father down and end his life. Again."

"A beautiful story," Slade said tiredly. "I didn't know you assassins could kill your own leader if you don't like their policies on child care. Glad to see their still some honour among leagues."

"I owe Talia al Ghul my life. I intend to do as she asked to repay her." The archer looked Slade dead in the eye with a cold stare.

Slade nodded. "Do you have any leads on his location at all?"

"No. I failed to learn anything from Penguin. I doubt he even knew of Ra's al Ghul's presence in Gotham."

"There are a few people I can get in contact with," Slade assured him. Maybe I'll call Calculator again. He'd love another reason to take more of my money. As Slade extended out his hand he asked. "Before we get down to brass taxes here, what can I call you, chuckles?"

He hesitated before shaking Slade's hand. "My name is Merlyn."

I recognise the name – an archer too. The one that beat Green Arrow in the archery event. Could it be the same man, or a successor who wants the recognition?

He decided eventually the question was best unasked and walked away from the archer, searching through his PDA for Calculator's number, but even before then, he heard a muffled thud and the distinct sound of a grunt.

Slade turned to see Merlyn hanging upside down from a water tower, bow on the ground beneath him. The sight almost made Slade smile – not just because the sight was comical, but because he knew who had strung him up.

"So you finally found us," Slade said sounding pleased.

A dark shadow leapt down from the water tower, a cape almost invisible in the darkness rippling behind him as he fell. He landed on the roof without a sound, the cape – more of a cloak, Deathstroke thought – falling around him, hiding his boy completely. The cowl he wore covered his face aside from his mouth and chiselled jaw. Though he could see his eyes, in the dark he couldn't make out their colour.

"You aren't that good at hiding, Wilson," Batman replied.

"I've been ducking you for six months, so clearly I'm doing something right."

The two circled one another, Slade twirled his sword between his fingers, almost playful, and Batman just maintained his stare. Slade's mind was racing, formulating a plan just as Batman was no doubt doing too.

It had crossed Slade's minds once or twice that the two of them were alike, with a few key differences. If Batman had simply taken another route, he'd make a fine mercenary. Deathstroke had never been captured by Batman in a fair fight, but only because they never had a fair fight. When it came down to a battle between the two, it was about territory and luck. This time, Slade reckoned his chances of escape were fifty-fifty – only this time, he had back-up.

"You're going to jail, Slade," Batman vowed, ignoring Slade's quip.

"Just because Sinestro was an alien doesn't make it a hate crime."

He knows I'm stalling. And the only reason he hasn't made a move is because he's doing the same. If I free Merlyn now then he'll change his strategy and we'll never kill him. But if he gets free without him seeing, he'll be able to take him unawares. Batman will never see it coming.

"Murder is still murder Slade, no matter the race," Batman growled.

Faintly Slade could see Batman's hand moving to his utility belt. A Batarang, how charming. Before Batman could throw it, Slade leapt backwards, jumping clear of the building. As he fell his hand reached out and grasped a washing line that stretched between the buildings. His sword make short work of it and he used it to carry him, swinging him across the gap and straight through the window of a third floor apartment.

A small family of three were sat on a sofa watching TV as Slade burst into their living room. All of them cried in terror as he rolled across the floor and barged out of their front door into the hallway. At a sprint he made a beeline for a tiny window at the end of the corridor. Crashing through it too he rolled in mid-air, landing on the roof of the adjacent two story building. Crouched on the ground, he looked over his shoulder in time to see Batman in pursuit, cape spread wide like a great pair of wings.

Batman offered a brief glance at the old, bound archer in black. "I'll be back for you."

He made chase – running after the master assassin, who darted across other building tops. His grapple line caught the gutter at the other end of the building and his feet lifted from the ground, pulling him up towards the other building and then releasing him; his cape widened and let him glide towards Deathstroke. The mercenary was weaving in and out of buildings; every batarang that Batman threw missed or he slapped away with his sword mid-run. The old bastard is good, I'll give him that. There was a reason that Slade Wilson hadn't been incarcerated for any real length of time. That will change tonight, he thought as he chased him.

Rain began to beat down lightly on Batman's suit, but it didn't hinder him. Deathstroke's movements were erratic, but the cowl followed his heat signatures; something that even Slade Wilson could not obscure. The tracks went down the sides of buildings and around corners, weaving in and out of public areas.

Batman saw the Gotham police department building in the distance; directly above it the light from the Batsymbol was stark against the dark night. They were headed away from the inner city, and for that he was thankful – Deathstroke would use civilians against Batman if he could. In the distance, a gunshot rang out, but Barbara could deal with that. I am occupied.

Up the side of a building, and Deathstroke was just standing there, unmoving. Slowly, Batman's hand went to his belt for a batarang and waited. Ready for anything that Deathstroke could throw at him. To his side there was a vent, big enough for cover if Deathstroke aimed to fire his guns, and Bruce was sure he could get to them on time. If Deathstroke came at him with his sword, his wrist blades would allow blocking.

There was a reason Batman was known as the world's greatest detective; he always had a plan. Slade Wilson was just another criminal.

"I really don't get it Batman," Slade said, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. "I killed Sinestro, a man who has killed for years without remorse. I killed Penguin, a criminal whose gang had killed hundreds over the years. I've killed these bastards, essentially making your job easier and this is the thanks I get?"

"Killing them makes you just as much of a criminal as them," Batman replied.

"I do what I do for the challenge; they did it for power. I'm not like them, I'm above them."

"And I'll still bring you to justice."

"I'm sure you'll try," Slade said as he drew his handgun and fired.

Batman dove out of sight, behind an air vent of some kind – just like Slade knew he would. Behind Slade was the Gotham Presidential bridge, covered in bright lights and slowly moving cars trapped in gridlock traffic. Great place for a stand-off, Slade thought as he leapt from the building and made his way towards the bridge.

After a quick sprint up the slopping cables of steel that connected the bridge to the shore Slade stumbled to the top of the first tower. Even with his enhanced speed and stamina the sprint through Gotham's slums was still exhausting. The top of the tower was flattened out with no cover, no vantage points. No shadows for the bat to sink into. Faintly he heard the sound of wings, followed by silence.

"You have to tell me how you do that appearing act," Slade chuckled as he turned to face Batman.

Sure enough there he was, standing tall with his cape rippling in the high wind. Wordlessly Batman lunged at Slade. With a swift side step Slade evaded him and brought his sword around to cut him down. Batman caught the blade on his wrist guard, swiping out at his face with the elbow of his other arm. The blow sent him reeling, his feet coming dangerously close to the edge of the tower.

Slade dove away from the ledge, slashing his sword as he moved through the air. Batman hadn't been counting on such a reckless move and barely got out of harm's way. It brought a smile to Slade's grim set face as the blade cut through a section of Batman's chest plate, cutting the skin underneath. As he rolled across the floor Slade drew his hand gun again and made to fire at him.

But Batman was quick and kicked it from Slade's grasp, the bullet ripping harmlessly through his cape instead. The gun skittered off the bridge and into the cold back water below. Again Slade struck out, jabbing his Sword towards Batman's chest. The Dark Knight was quick, batting the blow away with his wrist guard. Drawing on his bubbling anger Slade launched an all-out assault on Batman, swinging his sword faster than even his eye could follow. Unable to hide the strained expression on his face as he tried to catch every strike Batman retreated, giving up ground to Slade.

He ducked under a savage punch from Batman before leaping into the air, bring his sword down towards Batman's skull. Just at the last second Batman intercepted the blow again with both arms, catching the blade between the metal fins on his gauntlets. With a simple jerk from his arms Batman shattered the sword, reducing it to the size of a butter knife. Taken by surprise Slade made to stab at him with his broken weapon. Before he knew what was happening Batman had twisted the blade from his grasp and delivered a hard strike with his knee straight to Slade's chin.

"It's over, Slade. I will smash your old skull against a wall and drag your unconscious body into a cell myself."

Deathstroke nodded, and if his mask wasn't on, Bruce was sure he'd see a smirk. He hadn't seen Slade's face for a long time. The last time he had seen him, he was driving a sword through Sinestro… and then he'd escaped. You haven't escaped this time.

"Old skull? Why, Batman, I didn't think insults were your thing. They are usually mine."

"Prison will soon be your thing."

"I don't think so." Deathstroke looked to his right, and gave a curt nod.

Batman turned too late. The cowl amplified the whirring of the arrow cutting through the air towards him. Much louder was the rushing of the air past him when he twisted and staggered back, falling off the bridge. His hand fumbled for his grapple but it was too late. The water under the bridge slammed against his back hard and he was under.

Above him, the last things he had seen was the twisting sky falling away from him, and the mask staring down. Black, orange and victorious.