Chapter Twenty Five

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans.

Arella stared at the wall of the shower as hot water pounded down on her back. She couldn't see anything but the blurry white surface of the marble, beaded over with dampness. But the former priestess wasn't really looking at anything at all.

It had been two days since Slade had come home.

In the meantime Arella had busied herself with cooking, cleaning, and sucking back espresso at the recently-opened coffee shop (members only) that had opened in the lobby of their ultra-exclusive apartment building.

She really hadn't given much thought to the section of town they lived in. But with Slade being gone, Arella was starting to notice things like security cameras, plainclothes policemen, and the large number of well-dressed people that frequented their corner of the city.

Yes, her husband had chosen well: Many of the wealthy didn't want to be noticed or photographed, choosing instead to retreat to places such as these where they could lay low.

Which led to another question: Just how much money did Slade have?

And what else could he possibly be keeping from her?

She pounded one thin hand on the wall of the shower. The water had started getting cold so she yanked the knob even farther to the left, biting her lip to keep back a sob. Slade never told her anything. And weren't married couples supposed to talk to each other, for Azar's sake? Granted, their situation was never normal, exactly, but…still. She had never been married before. Arella had absolutely no experience before he came along—in more ways than one.

What if he didn't love her after all?

The question made her stomach turn over in knots.

"No. Don't even think like that," Arella scolded herself, turning off the shower and slicking her hair back, "You're wrong. That's WRONG. He does love you. He has to."

Only her husband could get away with doing the things he did. Although the time had come when she wasn't so tolerant of his going away for weeks on end, (although the longest time Slade had been gone was three weeks) mysteriously disappearing, and stumbling home at all hours of the night. She was starting to get paranoid.

"I'll talk to him later," Arella decided, "When he's cooled off from being angry with me."

She reached outside the shower and pulled in the white towel that hung on a hook nearby. Wrapping it snugly around her body, Arella stepped tentatively outside and placed one foot on the rug. The steaming hot shower she had taken had fogged up the mirror completely, and the door was—

The door was open.

A hand spun her around and the next thing she knew, Arella was being crushed against—

"Slade," she gasped, kissing him harder than he kissed her, "You're home."

"Yes," he replied, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting Arella off the floor.

Running her hands through his hair, Arella felt a rush of happiness that had nothing to do with the way Slade had started breathing against her neck. He was home, and he had obviously forgiven her.

"I missed you," she murmured, kissing Slade's temple just above his right eye.

His right eye?

"Dear Azar!"

Arella shot out of his arms and covered her mouth with her hand. Slade looked confidently back at her, folding his arms. Two identical blue eyes searched her face.

"Oh, Slade, what happened?"

"It was time for me to do something," he said, shrugging as if he had decided to have Chinese food instead of Italian for dinner.

"It looks perfect, Slade, may I…"

She trailed off and smoothed her thumb along his cheek. His right eye watched her just as steadily as the left one did, and was the exact same heartbreaking shade of blue.

"What do you think, Arella?"

"Wow," was all she could manage.

Even before, Slade had always been great to look at. On the other hand, he was completely…different. She couldn't stop staring at him, touching his face, looking at the dizzying symmetry that Arella had taken for granted on other people's faces her whole life.

"You look good," Slade murmured, his voice muffled against her neck as he pulled her to him, "Really good."

"Slade," Arella replied, blushing as his hands crept lower and threatened to completely rip off the towel she was wearing.

"I want you," her husband breathed into her ear, "Why don't you take that towel off so we can"—

Riiiing.

"What the"—

Slade swore under his breath and answered the phone. Arella sighed and moved away from him, but he pulled her back to him with a "You're not going anywhere" look.

"Yes, but—NO, not right now. I know, we have a deal. Don't bother me about—yes, I realize the terms. Right now isn't the best time."

Arella frowned as a faint female voice kept protesting over the phone.

"It hasn't even been—tomorrow. Alright? I promise. Tomorrow. Let me have tonight."

"Who was that?" Arella asked crossly, "It sounded like"—

"The doctor. She was a bit impatient to receive her money, that's all."

"Alright," Arella replied, "Just let me get dressed"—

"You'll do no such thing," Slade replied, picking her up easily with one arm so that they were at eye level.

It was a game they had been playing ever since they got married: Arella would pretend to be disinterested or clueless as to what he wanted, and Slade would pull her back; take care of her, or complain about how high-maintenance she was.

But it really wasn't Arella's fault that she had an entire safe filled with jewelry.

"Slade," she asked him later, about to drift off to sleep, "You don't really think I'm one of those…horrid high-maintenance women, do you?"

Slade turned over and she shivered as he breathed against her neck, wrapping an arm snugly about her waist.

"Slade."

"Arella," he replied tiredly, "If you really want an answer to your question, don't ask me right after we've had sex."

He was asleep before Arella could argue otherwise.