Chapter Twenty-two

Disclaimer: Don't own Teen Titans.

"Still thinking about staying out here for another week? Sir?" The younger man asked Slade hesitantly.

He was curious about the soldier's situation. Hell, everyone was. The story of Slade's marriage had gotten distorted so much that some people swore Slade had slain a hundred men with his bare hands, simply because he was so angry at his wife. The young man fresh from Halliburton did not want to meet the same fate.

"I'm leaving. The rest of you can handle this and finish up on your own."

"I'll tell them to bring your bags to the jet."

"Thanks," Slade said curtly, sliding on a pair of sunglasses against the bright Arabian sun.

The wind toyed with his white hair for a moment and he sighed, some more of the after-battle adrenaline leeching out as he did so. Slade didn't want to be buzzed on it when he returned home. Even though he and his men had stayed at the world's most expensive hotel for a week, there was soreness in his muscles that came from sleeping on the ground in the desert for three nights, stalking terrorists.

"That paycheck had better be in my account," the mercenary muttered under his breath, briefly touching the hilt of a knife that needed to be cleaned as he jogged to the Lear jet waiting on a thin line of tarmac.

"What is it, Rose?" Slade asked as he answered the phone, an edge in his voice that came from both gritty sand and irritation.

"It's Arella."

His heart skipped a beat. His outer body kept climbing the stairs up to the plane.

"Well? Has she been kidnapped or injured? Because that is not conducive to your health, you know. Think it through before you tell me anything."

"No Slade, it's you. She's worried about you—says you've been gone a week longer than you told her you would be. Arella practically forced me to call you."

"I'm alive," he said condescendingly, "Tell her she should know that by now. I told her that I always win, and it's still true. Don't let her "force" you to do anything ever again, Rose. That's a little weak of you, and it would be of me if I let that happen to myself as well. Goodbye."

Slade closed his eyes to relax on the private jet.

Arella turned red and Rose shut down the speaker phone.

"Your father is—a horrible, horrible person," Arella said angrily, "You'd think he'd be over this by now."

"No offense, but I don't even know what you two are fighting about," Rose replied, propping her feet on the glass table and grabbing a handful of popcorn out of her bowl, "Besides. I'm not the best person to bitch to, you know."

"I mean, I can't even stand swearing and he makes me want to scream every profane thing in the dictionary!" She huffed, yanking her hair back in a ponytail and walking around the living room to straighten it up, "Rose, I understand that he's your father and you know him, but…I just don't know about his sanity anymore. And the way he just won't let this go. I make one mistake and…it's like he can't ever even forgive me for it. He said he did, but…"

Arella tilted her head back to stop the hot smarting behind her eyes. She wasn't going to cry. It wasn't worth it, after all, this whole situation. But the whole thing was tearing her up on the inside, how Slade couldn't even stand to look at her anymore. They needed to talk about it and it was time they both learned that having sex all day wasn't going to cure their marital problems.

"Uh…Arella? Earth to ARELLA WILSON."

"Sorry Rose," she said quickly, shaking her head, "I spaced for a minute."

"A minute? You've been broody all day. Aren't you pacifists supposed to be all tranquil and calm and "Use the force Luke" and everything?"

"I used to be," she sighed, "I used to be that way. But living with Slade…I don't know. It's just different. I don't really know what I believe anymore. Certainly pacifism can't solve my problems now."

"Just as I suspected all along," she replied, doing a flip over the couch while holding her popcorn bowl.

"What?"

"My father," Rose said dramatically, whimsically balancing the bowl on her head, "Is an asshole."

"Rose," Arella said flatly, "You know I don't like swearing in here."

"Yeah, but doesn't Slade…"

She shook her head.

"Not in this house, he doesn't. I've got him pretty well-trained."

"But he said"—

"I don't really care what he said. And Rose, it's late. I'm going to bed, and you should do the same."

"Arella, it's only eleven. I'll be up for awhile, watching TV."

"Goodnight then," she murmured, walking into her room and flicking on the lamp.

The entire room seemed empty without Slade there. Arella didn't feel right sleeping even thought it had been almost three weeks since she'd seen him last. She settled down under the covers to try and fall asleep, curling herself into a ball.

On his side of the bed, of course.

"Oh, shit," Slade muttered, slamming a hand on his laptop, "Goddamn battery."

The mercenary, having been around other soldiers for too long, was starting to pick up a few choice words and insert them into his own speech. He knew how to cleanly eradicate that vocabulary though. But for the present, swearing at his dead laptop suited him just fine.

"Pilot, how long until we land?" Slade asked, pushing the intercom button on the side of the seat.

"Ten minutes and we're inside the city."

"Good."

He closed his eyes. There was so much that still needed to be done at this point. Bills to pay, he had to get his car from the airport, the apartment was probably a wreck since Rose and "that woman" had been living there alone, and God only knew what food would be left in the refrigerator. Probably half an apple and leftover Chinese from that place his wife loved so much.

But the very first thing Slade was going to do was take a long, hot shower.

And it was a very pleasant dream indeed, but suddenly there was a light brush against her forehead, and an "I'm home, darling…" whispered in her ear that she probably imagined and—

Arella woke up slowly and heard the shower from her bathroom running. But that was impossible, she pondered, falling back against the pillows and reaching a hand up to pat down her hair. A lamp was on and a gentle golden glow bathed the room.

"Slade's home," Arella thought wildly, burrowing her face in the pillow to fake being asleep.

She must have dozed off again because the next time she opened her eyes, Slade was standing with his back to her, wearing nothing but a loose towel around his waist. He stood with his arms folded. Water droplets clung to Slade's skin, which was so much more tan that when he left.

But what bothered Arella was the fresh pink scar that ran diagonally down his back. It could have been from a sword, a whip, anything.

"Go back to sleep, Arella," he said flatly, not turning around to look at her, "It's four a.m."

"Are you coming to bed?"

"I'm hungry."

"Oh…alright," she replied.

Arella slowly sat up and shook her head to clear the cobwebs from her brain.

"You're not sick, are you?" She asked, using it as an excuse to walk over to him and lay a hand on his arm.

He quickly pulled away from the touch and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Sunburn."

"I…understand. Do you want me to fix you something to eat?"

"I'll get it myself. Just go to bed."

"Don't you think you should get some rest before"—

"I'm sure," he said, turning to face her, "That I'll get plenty of rest on the couch."

She didn't win the staring contest and dropped her eyes before he did. Silence hung heavily in the air as Slade started to walk out. He paused for a moment.

"And Arella?"

"Y-yes?"

"I'm taking my pillow."

Author's Note: Thanks to all my faithful reviewers who constantly want me to make long chapters, I have FINALLY made one. Tell me what you thought!