Dick--Crutches--No, I'm Renegade now, remember?--was glad to get back to Deathstroke's warehouse gymn, and wasn't that a laugh? But he'd pulled something in his half-healed leg when he swept Rose off the balcony, and she was still complaining because he hadn't let her kill the security guard. Well, she could complain to her daddy now and give Dick's ears a rest.
Slade's presence was still a shock. Every time. Like Batman, he filled any room he was in, and his cold eye opened you up like a razor.
Dick didn't limp. Animal instinct; never show weakness before a predator. But Slade, damn him, noticed it anyway.
"Sit down, kid. Let me see your leg."
Dick pulled off the--new--mask. "I'm fine."
"I said sit down. You're no use to me or Rose if you cripple yourself." One large hand descended on Dick's shoulder and pushed him towards the knee-high stack of gymn mats against one wall.
Irritation distracted Dick from Slade's other hand, which was always a deadly mistake. Something--a finger?--brushed the base of his skull.
"--"I said I'm fine,Dick said, but for some reason the words weren't coming out.
It wasn't until Slade caught him that Dick realized he was falling.
"Don't worry, kid," Deathstroke said, lowering him to the mats. "You'll be able to move again in a few minutes."
He looked up across Dick's body at his daughter, their matched white hair and eyepatches mirrored so that for one queasy moment Dick felt like he was seeing double.
"That's a serious weakness in the Bats, Rose. They always push themselves too hard. Part of good conditioning is learning when to relax."
His hands turned Dick more fully onto his back and eased his head up a bit to open up his breathing. "Go shower, girl, and then do sword drill for an hour without letting yourself tense up. I'll take care of this."
Dick couldn't even turn his eyes to watch her go.
Deathstroke's hand came up to his throat, and Dick knew bitterly how easy it would be to die like this. He'd fought Clayface, Croc--hell, even the Joker--and given good account of himself. But one casual nerve strike and Deathstroke had him helpless, unable to fight back. Damn it!
"Relax, kid. I just want a look at your injuries without all the backtalk."
Efficient hands stripped the suit from him and examined his bruised and lacerated shoulder, his ribs, the half-healed bullet wound in his thigh. "Looks pretty good; you didn't even pop a stitch. But you have to keep it from stiffening."
The sting of alcohol, and some kind of gel rubbed lightly but thoroughly into his wounds. And fingers probing gently at the surrounding muscles, finding the points of knotted tension and working them loose.
Having Deathstroke this close to him made him edgy, but the man knew his stuff; he might even be as good as Alfred or Batman at therapeutic massage.
It felt--good.
His breath must have caught, just a little, because that ice-blue eye flicked up to meet his again. And under that razor-edged perusal, so nearly familiar and so wrong, Dick was jarred out of any sense of normalcy and suddenly knew himself to be naked and defenseless with a man's hand hot on his thigh.
Slade's eyebrow flew up as Dick blushed, and then those white teeth were bared in a grin. "Well, well, well. Modest little Bat-boy, aren't you. I know Daddy must have treated your previous wounds. Don't tell me you always hid yourself behind a towel."
Deliberately, his gaze raked down the length of Dick's body and came back to his face. "Not a bad view, either. I hope he enjoyed it?"
He chuckled. "No? Oh, Dick, you'd be amazed at how much you give away just by the tightening of your eyes.
"So, did you *want* him to look at you that way? To--touch you? Oh, look at your eyes, Dick; you're hating me again. Or is it fear?"
He leaned in slowly until his face hung only a few inches above Dick's. "Tell me," he said softly, "Which one of him made you hard? Did you dream about romping with the playboy in his silk sheets? Merciless black gauntlets pinning you to a gargoyle high above the streetlights? Or did you want it cheap and sleazy with Matches, all stale smoke and beard stubble against your inner thigh? Oh, yes, I know who he is; some things can't be disguised."
His long callused hand brushed lightly down Dick's jaw and slipped behind his neck, leaving every follicle sensitized in his wake.
"Just look at you. All your training, and you still can't control yourself. Your eyes are dark with it. And the smell of your sweat; I'd know even blindfolded that you're aroused. Is it for Daddy, you bad boy? Or is it for me?"
His face came closer, far too close, until Dick could feel the breath of Slade's laughter on his lips. "I think you like dangerous men, Dick. Big, scarred men with hard hands and no mercy at all. I think you want to be overwhelmed."
"Son of a bitch!"Dick thought, and then realized he'd said it out loud. Slade chuckled.
"There you go, kid. I wondered when you'd notice you could move again. But you haven't exactly been struggling to get away."
Deathstroke leapt back as Nightwing rolled off the mats and went for him. "Oh, kid, I haven't had this much fun for years!"
He brushed aside another strike, still laughing. "So what are you going to do now, Grayson? Kill me for seeing the truth? Hide yourself like an outraged virgin in the clothes I gave you, and pretend we never had this little talk?"
His elbow blocked Nightwing's kick hard enough to bruise, but he still didn't attack. Not physically.
"You want to just walk out, don't you. Sweep off in all your offended dignity and leave me here. With my daughter, and my weapons, and everything I know. About you.
"And Bruce. And all your friends.
"So tell me, Dick, do you want to break our little pact?"
Dick hesitated, panting, and Slade threw back his head and roared.
"You're the one who came to me, Dick. And you don't want to leave. Poor lonely boy, no friends. Where would you go?
"Not back to your Daddy. He threw you out, boy, and he won't take you back. He never loved you, did he? Not as much as he loves the ideas in his head. Every murdering thug out there is more important to him than you are.
"But I'm not throwing you away. I'm keeping you.
"You think you have any choices here? You don't. Oh, sex is up to you; you're a very pretty boy, but I can get plenty of willing tail elsewhere.
"And if you want to live in denial, like your Daddy, I'll have a lot of fun watching you fight yourself, the way you do every time you remember that you aren't a little Bat any more. No, kid, you're mine. And I'll never let you go."
Dick felt himself shiver. He-- Deathstroke was right; part of Dick wanted this, wanted to be owned, both protected and overmastered. So why were his teeth clenched so hard that his jaw ached? The words came out before he thought.
"No. I'm not yours. I'm my own."
Slade's eyebrow raised.
Dick straightened his spine and kept his voice level. "You're damned right Batman won't take me back; I wouldn't let him if he tried. I won't be owned again."
"Really." Slade's grin was wider, but Dick saw that his gaze was narrower and--more interested?
Helpless prey amuses him. But he only respects the strong, and if you're not going to be swallowed up--if you want to set your own terms with him--you've got to be strong. No more running, even from yourself.
Dick crossed his arms and stared back. "What can I say? Yes, Batman was a father to me through my teens. And yes," he kept his breathing steady, "I've wanted him since I was old enough to know what sex was about. But even he couldn't keep me. So how exactly do you plan to compete with that?"
Slade married a woman as strong as Addie. He let Roy live because Roy had survived those gunshots. Even Terra was strong-willed.
"Well, well, well, kid. You're starting to be more interesting. But don't push your luck."
Dick picked up the uniform Slade had peeled off him and began to pull it back on. "No? Your daughter worships you. I don't. If I didn't have a backbone, you wouldn't have hired me."
No, if worship were what you wanted, Slade, you'd be teaching her everything yourself. But she's just a responsibility to you now, isn't she. All cling, no more resistance. And you like resistance.
"I think you're forgetting something, kid."
And that growl was as clear a warning as any you've heard from Bruce.
"My friends, Deathstroke? No, I haven't forgotten. But I'm doing what you hired me for, and if you're the man you used to be, you don't break your word."
Slade's hand tightened into a fist, but his bared teeth were still more grin than snarl. "No."
"So you've got them for insurance. But that's not a coin you can spend twice. And for now, if you're done looking at my injuries, I need a shower."
And with every hair prickling on the back of his neck, Dick turned his back on Deathstroke and walked away.