Present day…
The blood spots on the carpet blurred together. Sunlight streamed through the windows, the only indication of how long Slade had been sitting there. Six had left hours ago, shortly after Amanda made her appearance. Slade had sat in the chair by the window for hours, thinking over the last thing Six said: "she told me not to."
Adeline didn't want Slade to know where she was. She knew he was alive, and it didn't matter.
Slade found himself taking out his phone and dialing a familiar number before he realized what he was doing. He didn't know why he hadn't called before.
"Hello?" came the answer on the first ring.
"Bruce?"
"Slade? Is that you?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't call sooner."
"I thought that looked like you on the news. Are you still in Starling City?"
"No, but I'm heading back." Slade hadn't completely decided to go back until that moment. It seemed like the best thing to do.
"I'll be there in a few days, as soon as I can get away."
"You don't have to. I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine. What's going on?"
"You're the genius, Bruce."
"Adeline? I'm sure she's safe."
"Six knows where she is. He said she did not want me to know."
Bruce was silent for a moment. "Is that all he said?"
"There may have been something about her not wanting to see me because of how I left."
"And you believed him? Slade, you know how manipulative he is. After you disappeared, Adeline told me what happened. She was upset, but she still wanted you to come home. Wherever she is, I'm sure she wishes you were there."
"Then why would she tell Six not to tell me?"
"I don't know… maybe she's trying to protect you from something."
Slade had to laugh, though it came out harsh and empty. "If you knew me half as well as you seem to think you do, you would realize how ridiculous that sounds."
"I'm not saying it makes sense. It must have something to do with the secret sort of work you two were doing before."
"I know it does."
"Look, I'll be in Starling City in a few days, and we can talk about this in person. Just don't put too much stock in anything Six tells you. There's always something he leaves out."
"Right." Slade wasn't particularly convinced. "I'll see you soon."
##=======
Laurel woke early, thinking she would try to get some work done on the latest Canary case before heading to her actual job. But when she walked into the kitchen to find some breakfast, she was greeted with the gruesome sight of Six sitting on the counter by the sink, pulling a bullet from his shoulder with a pair of small pliers.
"What the hell happened?" Laurel said, a little too loudly.
Six looked up calmly. "I got shot," he said.
"Why didn't you go to the hospital? Why didn't you wake me?" Laurel rushed over to get a look at his wound.
Six finished pulling the bullet out and dropped it in the sink. "It's really nothing."
"Nothing? You got shot!"
"I've been shot before. Remember what I said about being hard to kill?" Six reached for the antiseptic next to the sink.
"This isn't funny."
"No, I'm serious. I mentioned the experiments, didn't I?" He poured the antiseptic over his wound and then dabbed at it with a clean paper towel.
"I thought you were being sarcastic because you didn't want to tell me why your name is Six."
"People always think that. I really was part of an experiment—test subject number six. I really am stronger and harder to kill than most people. You'd have to, I don't know, blow me up or something."
Laurel crossed her arms. "Are there any side effects?"
"You mean like my unique personality?" He grinned. "No. You can credit that to my childhood. Or genetics. I'm not sure. What are you looking at me like that for?"
"You scare me sometimes, you know? I don't have to know about everything you do, but I want to know you're okay."
Six's smile never wavered. "I'm okay."
"I want to believe you, but you understand why this is hard to believe?"
"Secret government experiments and superhumans? Yeah, I get how that could seem fake."
"It was ARGUS? They made you… superhuman?"
"One of their mad scientists, yes. Having super strong agents can be a great advantage."
Laurel's eyes widened. "There are more?"
"None living that I know of."
"What happened to them?"
"Didn't survive the procedure. Which is probably why they haven't tried to do it again."
"Did ARGUS do this to you?" Laurel gestured at Six's wound.
"No, that was just a misunderstanding. Not that Waller wouldn't kill me if she got the chance. She just can't get over me."
"'Get over you'?" Laurel repeated.
"Did I never mention that?"
Laurel narrowed her gaze at him. "Six."
"It was before I met you. She and I were…"
"What? Was she your girlfriend?"
"I wouldn't call it that."
"Of course you wouldn't. Was she whatever it is you think I am?"
"I mean, sort of. But then she tried to kill me because I was her only weakness or whatever. I don't see you doing that."
"Can you see why it's a little upsetting that you neglected to tell me that your former boss was also your girlfriend, and she wants to kill you, and she runs the organization that we have been fighting against this whole time?"
Six hesitated for a moment. "Yes?"
"Is that a question?"
"Look, it was a long time ago. I don't still have feelings for her or anything. Not that I have feelings in the usual sense of the word, but—"
"That's not what bothers me. It seems like this would have been pertinent information when we first started working together. Even before… this." Laurel gestured between them to indicate their non-professional relationship.
"I was under the impression that talking about former… you know… was off limits when you like someone."
"We weren't even dating!"
"No, but I was hoping you would let me make you dinner once in a while."
Laurel tilted her head to one side. "That's sweet, but it doesn't get you off the hook for not telling me sooner."
"Would bacon wrapped meatloaf for dinner help?"
Laurel bit her tongue to keep from smiling. "Maybe," she said.
Six reached out his clean hand and squeezed Laurel's shoulder. "You know I don't want to be with anyone but you, right?"
Laurel nodded. "If I thought otherwise, I never would have let you make me dinner the first time."
He smiled and went back to treating his wound, and Laurel decided to let him without interference. She got out some cereal and a bowl, but before she could fix her breakfast, Deathstroke came prancing into the room, meowing to be fed.
"What is that?" Six asked, staring at the cat.
"Slade's cat," Laurel said, picking him up and scratching his ears.
"Obviously. Why is it here?"
Laurel held the cat against her shoulder with one hand while she put some food in his bowl with the other. "Slade was going out of town for a few days and needed someone to watch him."
Deathstroke jumped out of Laurel's grip and began chomping down on his breakfast.
Six got very quiet after that as he put his shirt back on, bloody hole and all, and started cleaning up his mess.
"Don't tell me you don't like cats," Laurel said.
"They're fine."
"You can't stand that something is cuter than you, can you?"
Six frowned. "It's just wrong."
Laurel laughed and kissed him. "You'll just have to get over it," she said with a smile as she turned back to prepare her cereal.
##=======
Thea tapped her pencil on her notebook as he English teacher droned on about the importance of Romeo and Juliet's influence on modern romance. The only thing Thea had written in her notes was "Romeo and Juliet not a romance, a tragedy." Her teacher was going to hate her essay.
Thea glanced out the window. Just another half hour until she could leave this place. Oliver had promised to come pick her up since she wasn't working with Laurel today. Thea had begun to look forward to her afternoons with her brother the way she used to look forward to working with Laurel and Six. They hadn't called recently. Thea had the sinking feeling they wouldn't.
"…what do you think, Miss Queen?"
Thea looked up at her teacher with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, could you repeat the question?"
"I was just discussing how themes from Romeo and Juliet show up in modern young adult literature," the middle aged woman said smugly.
Thea took a deep breath. "While I agree that modern YA frequently references Romeo and Juliet, I don't think it's accurate to say the stories have the same themes. Most YA seems to argue that teenage romance is an ideal, something so powerful and true that it transcends all other relationships and responsibilities, but Shakespeare was writing a cautionary tale on the perils of young love and how suppressing a teen crush can legitimize it and lead to suicide."
Her teacher frowned—no, she glared at Thea. "Who are you quoting from?"
"My essay."
"Your essay is supposed to be about how modern authors are influenced by Shakespeare's work."
"Influenced, but not dictated. We take what we want to believe Shakespeare meant, whether that's what he really said or not."
"See me after class, Miss Queen."
Thea groaned and sunk into her seat as the teacher launched back into her spiel.
Forty-five minutes later, Thea walked outside to find Oliver waiting by the curb with his motorcycle.
"What took you so long?" he asked with a smile.
"Differences of opinion over the authorial intent of William Shakespeare."
"And here I thought you got in trouble for cutting class."
"I only do that when it's absolutely necessary. What is this?"
"What?"
"This." She gestured toward his mode of transportation. "We're supposed to go shopping, remember?"
Oliver reached behind him and held out a second helmet.
"And you didn't think for a moment that I might be a girl who cares about her hair?"
Oliver grinned wider, still offering the helmet.
Thea sighed and took it. "If we die, I'm gonna kill you."
"Come on, Speedy," Oliver said, getting on the bike. "Where's your sense of adventure?"
Thea put on her helmet. "It's on vacation," she said, climbing on behind him.
"I promise I won't crash."
With that, Oliver sped out of the school parking lot, eliciting stares from the few students who were still hanging around. On the road, they gathered speed, and Thea felt her heart pound faster. She had missed this sort of thing, the thrill of chasing bad guys and avoiding the cops. Of course, a shopping trip with Oliver hardly compared, but for a moment, she could imagine she was somewhere else. Then it dawned on her that she didn't need to imagine herself anywhere but here. Oliver was back, really back. She didn't want to be anywhere else.
They drove downtown to where all the good shops were. Thea loved the mall as much as anybody, but today she was in the mood for tiny vintage stores and antique bookstores. The motorcycle definitely made parking easier, and Thea wondered if that had been Oliver's intention, or if he just wanted an excuse to get away from Mr. Diggle.
They shopped for a while, and Thea found a purse she loved. She made Oliver try on all kinds of ridiculous hats and took pictures on her phone when he wasn't looking. Blackmail material for later. When Thea felt that Oliver was sufficiently worn out, she suggested they stop for dinner and then head home.
It was still light out, so they found a cafe with outdoor seating. As soon as they ordered their food, Thea asked the question she'd been holding in for weeks.
"So what's her name?"
"What?" Oliver replied, looking very much like a cornered animal.
"You know, whoever it is you sneak off to see all the time."
Oliver shook his head. "I'd much rather hear about your, what was it? Authorial something or other?"
"Don't try to change the subject."
"I'm really not seeing anyone, Thea. That's just what I tell Mom to get her to leave me alone."
"Then what are you doing?"
Oliver shrugged. "Sometimes I hang out with Tommy. Sometimes I just do stuff by myself. I'm used to being alone, so it's weird to be surrounded by people."
"What about Slade?"
"He's one person, and I can't tell you how many times he spent the day hunting just to get away from me or pretended to be asleep so I wouldn't talk to him."
Thea laughed. "I don't believe that."
"Ask him. I was incredibly annoying if you believe his account."
"He's probably just saying that. I think he's nice. But kind of sad."
"What do you mean?"
"You know him better than I do. Maybe it has something to do with losing his family. He doesn't really talk about them."
"No," Oliver agreed. "He only mentioned them two or three times to me in all the time we were on the island."
"It kind of seems like he wants to help everyone else but…"
"But he avoids his own problems? Yeah."
"I wish there was something we could do."
Oliver nodded. "Me too."
Through the rest of dinner, they talked about school and Oliver's work on the nightclub. It was dark by the time they left, and the streets were empty. They were about a block away from where they had parked when someone bumped into Thea from behind. The strap of her purse dug into her arm as it pulled away from her body. The thief took off running, and Thea took off after him. He was only a little taller than she was, making it easier for her to hit him between the shoulder blades and knock him to the ground. He sprawled out on his stomach, Thea's purse sliding out of his grasp across the sidewalk. As he got to his feet, Thea slammed into him, shoving him against the nearest building.
"Oliver, call the police," she said.
"Whoa, whoa," the thief said. "Look, you got your purse back, just let me go."
Looking into his eyes, Thea saw that he was close to her age and not bad looking for a thief. "Why should I do that?" she asked.
"Please, I just needed the money for my mom. She's been sick, and I lost my job. Please, I can't go to jail."
"Thea?" Oliver said from behind her.
She turned, still holding the thief by the sweatshirt collar. Oliver started at her with wide eyes.
"Let him go."
Thea turned back to her assailant. "You're lucky I didn't break anything," she said, shoving him one more time before letting go and picking up her purse. "Your mother would be ashamed of you."
The boy turned to leave, but Oliver called after him. "Hey, kid, you need a job?"
Thea stared in disbelief. "Are you crazy?"
The thief also stared. "You know, I was lying about my mom, right? She's been dead for years."
Oliver nodded. "I know. But you still need a job."
"I don't think mugging looks very good on a resume," Thea argued.
"You should listen to your girlfriend."
"She's my sister, and I rarely listen to anyone. Do you want to work for me or not?"
"Yeah, okay, what's the job?"
Oliver smiled. "You'll start as a busboy. If you don't steal anything, you might get promoted. So, you got a name?"
"Roy Harper."
Oliver held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Roy Harper. I'm Oliver Queen."
##=======
Slade barely managed a few hours of sleep after arriving home. He was awakened by nightmares he couldn't remember a few minutes later. It was just as well he didn't sleep during the day no matter how tired he was. He thought of going to pick up Deathstroke, but he wanted to wait until Laurel was off work to avoid having to talk to Six, should he happen to be there. Slade didn't know how he was going to manage being in the same room as the other man, let alone making conversation.
The thought of talking to anyone at the moment made him want to kill something. Violence had been an unhealthy outlet for Slade in the past. On an island full of enemies, it was justifiable. Not so much in civilized society. In the end, he settled for cleaning his guns for the rest of the afternoon. It was a familiar task, but intricate enough to keep his mind mostly occupied. He couldn't spend too much time thinking right now. He'd go mad if he did.
Unfortunately, he finished that chore before the end of work hours. So he went into the kitchen to see about making something to take to Laurel to thank her for watching the cat. It wasn't as if she didn't have plenty of food with Six around, but it would seem rude to show up with nothing. Not that Slade cared much about seeming rude, especially now, but it gave him something to do. He settled for a pan of cinnamon rolls with lots of cinnamon and no raisins because some people didn't like raisins.
When they were finished, he texted Laurel to see if it were safe to come over. She responded quickly that she was home, so Slade put the cinnamon rolls in a plastic container and headed out. Everything about what he was doing felt strange. Nothing seemed to make any sort of sense, but he kept going through the motions in hopes that he would find his way.
Laurel was all smiles when she answered the door, holding Deathstroke cuddled against her shoulder.
"Is that what I think it is?" she asked, looking at the container in Slade's hand.
"It's probably not proper cat-sitting compensation," he said, holding it out to her.
"If it's edible, I don't care." She took it and handed the cat to Slade, suddenly enamored with the contents.
Deathstroke pawed at Slade's jacket and chirped irritably.
"I think he missed you," Laurel said. "Come on in. How was your trip?" She spoke as she walked into the kitchen to store the cinnamon rolls safely.
Slade took a quick glance around to see that Six wasn't in the room. "It was… eventful," he said.
Laurel started packing up the cat's food and toys. "Man of mystery," she said. "Well, we had fun. Six can't stand being in the same room as something cuter than him, which I think is great because he's so difficult to tease."
Slade forced a smile and said nothing.
"You okay?" Laurel asked, handing him the bag full Deathstroke's things.
"Fine," Slade replied, taking it. "Thank you for watching him."
By this time, Deathstroke had settled down and started purring.
"Sure you wouldn't like to stay for dinner? Six always makes tons of food."
"No, thank you. I should get home."
"Okay. Let me know if Deathstroke ever needs supervision again."
Slade managed a half real smile. "I will."
##=======
Rain splattered the awning over the sidewalk, creating a constant chatter like machine gun fire. The passenger loading and unloading zone was full of people rushing in and out, trying not to get caught in the downpour. It had been a few years since Bruce Wayne had last visited Starling City, but he hadn't forgotten the frequent gray skies.
An expensive black sedan with mud on the fenders pulled up to the curb in front of him. The driver got out, and though Bruce had seen pictures and surveillance footage, he was shocked by how much his friend had changed over the years. It wasn't the eye-patch or the bit of gray hair at his temples; it was the look in his eye that told Bruce he was looking at a drastically changed Slade Wilson.
"You carry your own bags now?" Slade joked, but his smile didn't reach the fine lines around his unobstructed eye.
"Alfred hates flying," Bruce replied, choosing not to challenge the false humor at the moment.
Slade pulled Bruce into an unexpected hug. "It's good to see you," Slade said with a weight of sincerity that surprised Bruce.
"You too."
Slade turned around and walked to the back of the car, deliberately facing away from Bruce for a moment. "Let's get out of here before the sky falls on us," he said.
The words sounded just like something the old Slade would have said, but they lacked his accustomed good humor. Bruce knew the magnitude of changed circumstances since Slade crash landed on that island, but he hadn't been prepared for how drastic the change would be in Slade himself.
They drove in silence until they got away from the airport traffic. Even then, Slade made banal conversation about jet lag and what was for dinner. It all served to solidify the doubts Bruce harbored about keeping Adeline's secret. He wouldn't betray her, but seeing the effects of his deception he almost wanted to.
Slade stopped at a high rise apartment building. Not the sort of place Bruce ever imagined him living. They were silent again as they took the elevator up several stories and reached a gray hallway with black doors and silver numbers. They went inside one of these apartments, and Bruce was instantly diverted from his prior train of thought by the appearance of a black and orange kitten.
"Hello there," he said, reaching down to scratch its ears. "Are we in the right place?"
"A gift from Oliver Queen's sister," Slade said, nodding toward the cat. "He's all right."
The kitten rubbed his face against Bruce's hand and purred. "Obviously a good judge of character," Bruce said, standing upright again as the cat continued to rub against his shoes. "I thought you wanted a dog?"
Slade was silent for a moment. "Adeline wanted a dog," he said before turning and walking into the kitchen.
"Does he have a name?" Bruce asked, following with the cat close behind.
"Deathstroke," Slade said.
Bruce laughed. "That's fantastic."
Slade tried to smile and failed miserably. This was beginning to look like more than a quick visit.
Bruce found the guest room and unpacked while Slade finished dinner. In those few moments to himself, Bruce considered how much he could say to Slade, how much he could reassure him without giving away his involvement in Adeline's disappearance. While he was prone to act on emotion rather than logic, Slade was a perceptive man. Bruce couldn't let his guard down. He hoped some day Slade would forgive him for this.
When he returned to the dining room, Bruce found the table set.
"A bit less formal than you're used to," Slade said, gesturing to a chair as he sat down on the other side.
Bruce sat as well. "It's a refreshing change," he said. "I'm glad you called me."
"I'm sorry if I pulled you away from work. It's not as if there's anything you can do."
"Maybe not, but considering the only familiar face you've seen recently was Colton Six, I see it as a duty to human decency. And I did think you were dead for a while there."
Slade shook his head. "I shouldn't have gone."
"You couldn't know what would happen."
"I lost my whole family. My mother died alone, and my wife and…"
"They miss you. Wherever they are, I'm sure of that."
Slade shook his head again. "Maybe Six was right."
"He wasn't. He's never been angry at anyone in his life except maybe you. It clouds his judgment and makes him say things he knows will hurt you. You can't trust that."
There was a long pause, and Slade seemed to be thinking very hard about something. "I have to ask you something," he said. "I'm not sure I want an answer, but I have to ask."
"What is it?" Bruce replied, feeling a nervous void in his stomach.
"Something Six said about… about the baby."
Relief flooded through Bruce's mind. "Rose?"
Slade was stunned for a moment at the name. "Rose?" he repeated. It was Adeline's middle name, her mother's name. "Is she…?"
Bruce reached into his breast pocket for the pictures he brought. He handed them to Slade without a word. The first one was of Adeline holding Rose as a baby, less than a year after Slade went missing.
Slade put his hand over his mouth as he stared at the image and ran his thumb across the edge of the photo. "When was this?" he asked, his voice muffled and wavering.
"A little over five years ago," Bruce replied. "The others are from after your mother's funeral, about a year later."
Slade flipped to the next photo that showed Joe and Dick playing with LEGOs while Rose sat in the middle of the pile of bricks, chewing on one of them.
"Adeline refused to have a funeral for you," Bruce said. "She always believed you were still alive. She always waited for you."
Slade choked, his eye turning red and glassy.
Bruce felt a twisting sensation in his chest. He was relieved when Slade stood and left the room. He had to remind himself that he was keeping Adeline and the children's whereabouts a secret for the good of all of them, including Slade.
