B-DAY REQUESTS ARE CLOSED! They have been since winter, but I keep getting a few requests each week from hopeful readers and it kinda hurts to turn ya down… so, again, sorry, the requests are closed and will REMAIN closed for the rest of the year. That goes for other requests as well and I won't write "even number review prizes" either unless I announce that I will.

Also, I might as well tell you before I get those mails: no, I WON'T be doing this again next year. Writing several drabbles (this month eight) with a deadline every month is sometimes exhausting (try it yourself if you don't believe me) and next year I want to do something different.

A/N; Happy b-day yaoigurl12 (July 1)!

This is a short story from the Black Robin/Dark Bird universe inspired by a sentence-prompt... which I changed… just slightly… ;)

Warnings: nah… this is Black Robin so it will contain death, but the boys are having fun, so why wouldn't you? ;)

Can I…?

"There's no way in hell I'm coming out of here, you sick fuck!" Robin snorted from inside the bathroom.

"You will use a different tone when speaking to me," Slade said darkly.

"There's no way in hell I'm coming out of here, Master, you sick fuck," Robin amended.

"You are, right now, or I'll rip the door off its hinges, and the repair cost will come out of your percentage," the mercenary told the young assassin.

"This is a sturdy door; I'll take my chan-…ces…" Robin finished numbly as he found himself face to face with his Master, the remains of the door and doorframe scattered over the floor.

"Oh, look at you… aren't you pretty?" the man leered in a way that almost made Robin feel a bit better about the situation.

"You… like?" he asked, brushing imaginary dust off the apron.

"I like," Slade confessed and pulled him close.

"But this is so much worse than the first one! It has frills everywhere and it has stockings and-"

"Yes, I can see that. The other one was an actual French maid outfit after all, I told you it was for an undercover idea I was contemplating, didn't I? At one of those dress-up restaurants?"

"No," Robin said sullenly. "Well, yes, but I didn't believe you. And I'm not waiting tables in this one, either way."

"Of course not. This is… the porn version."

"But? Why would-?"

"Are you questioning your Master?"

"No, Sir," Robin said quickly. "Umm… so now what?"

"What do you think?"

"Yeah, but shouldn't I like… dust something?"

"You can clean the place later," the man smirked and pulled the boy toward the hotel-suit's bedroom. "Right now all I want to do is-"

A that moment a rain of bullets ripped through the windows. Slade slammed Robin into the floor and dove after him.

"What the...?" the teen yelled as he covered his head. "We're in freaking Athens, who hates you here?"

"Might not be personal. Let's get out," Slade ordered.

"No way in hell!"

"This is not the time to fight back, not until we know who we are killing," his master lectured him. "This is a hotel, those bullets might be meant for the people next door, and if that's the case I'm not getting involved."

"I meant no way in hell I'm leaving the room dressed like this!" Robin clarified.

Right then a grenade flew through one of the broken windows.

"Don't think you have a choice," the mercenary stated.

Robin nodded and they threw themselves out into the corridor just in time. The room exploded behind them in a ball of flames.

"My souvenirs where in there!" Robin complained as they ran.

"I'm not sure new throwing knives counts as souvenirs," Slade snapped.

"They so do! They're better than some crappy pots!" the teen muttered.

They ran for the elevators, but Robin skidded to a halt.

"Master, people are on their way up. Good or bad?"

"Doesn't matter, don't want to run into anyone."

"Let's go down by the stairs!" the teen suggested.

"If I was them, I'd have them covered," the man said, shaking his head. "But if we head up…? The roof. Now."

It was the middle of the day, so the small tourist hotel was practically deserted. Its inhabitants were most likely out shopping for 'crappy pots', but a few scared screams where heard through the building, and all the fire alarms were going crazy.

The roof wasn't the patio-kind and was closed off to the guests by a locked door. That, of course, didn't stop the pair for more than a few seconds. To reach the actual top they had to climb a maintenance ladder and Robin was first up it, like the acrobat he was.

"I can see your panties," Slade told him.

"Yes, Master, very funny.," the teen muttered dryly.

"I should make you wear skirts and black lace panties all the time. Makes the job more fun. How does cross-dressing Fridays sound?"

"Only if it goes for the whole organization."

"I was thinking just the staff."

"I had a feeling you were."

As they were now out in the open, they glanced down.

"Only civilians and cops down there," Robin muttered. "How are we going to find out who did this?"

"They are waiting for us," Slade said and nodded to the top of the building across the street where, out of sight from the police, a group of about fifteen people stood. "Well, they sent the attackers at least."

"And you're sure they are after us this time?" the teen asked.

"People don't usually wave unless they want something."

"Right. So… do we give them something?"

"Yes. I'm curious. Let's go hear what they have to say."

"Yes, Master," Robin nodded. His Master might lead him straight in front of an actual firing squad, but the apprentice didn't question his authority. Well… not this time, anyway. He trusted his mentor completely. "Sooo… how do we get there? It might surprise you, but this outfit didn't come with a grappling hook."

"It's not too far, I'll throw you over and jump after," Slade said.

"Oooh! That's nice! Then they are busy slaughtering me so you can sneak up on them. Good plan," Robin said dryly but walked up to the man nonetheless.

"You can always piggy-back?"

"Nah, I prefer being thrown around."

"Fine. You are still wearing those shoes, though, want to take them off?"

"Are you kidding? The ground is scalding! Don't worry about my balance."

"I'm worrying the heels will break off," Slade snorted.

"What? You gave me crappy shoes?" the teen gasped, sounding insulted.

The gap between the buildings was too wide for Robin to try to cross without a staff or grapple hook, but since Slade, due to his meta-powers, could jump further, they had practiced techniques like the one they now used and soon Robin was flying through the air, landing, perfectly, not that far from the waiting group.

"Hello, my Master will come along shortly, and he's a bit annoyed. I'd run," he suggested with an easy smile.

"You are boy?" one of the men, they were all men, Robin had already noticed, all seventeen of them, said in broken English.

"Yes, but don't let that stop you from being polite," the teen shrugged.

At that moment Slade landed next to him.

"What is this about?" he asked, cutting straight to the chase.

"Ah, Deathstroke. We did not know you were busy with whore, or we would have just knocked on the door," a burly, black haired man sneered, stepping forward. He was obviously the spokes-person for this little committee and Robin thought he looked typically Greek. He could have been handsome if it hadn't been for his nose which had been broken one too many times, and that he was in his forties and had obviously let himself go a bit the latest decade or so.

"Greece doesn't have whores as pretty as me," Robin smirked. "Master, please let me kill them?"

This made the men snort and chuckle, because the slim boy in the French Maid uniform didn't really look that scary.

"There, there, Robin, let's hear what they have to say for themselves first? Well, gentlemen? Why did you so crudely interrupt our vacation?"

"Because it is not a vacation, Deathstroke. You are working. We have heard of this."

"So? My contract does not involve you, it involves an American tourist," Slade said.

"New rules. If not Greek you not work in Greece, understood?" one of the men barked.

"New times, hard times," their leader smiled and threw out his hands in the universal gesture meaning 'there's really nothing I can do'.

"Hey, if they thought any of you could handle the job they would have hired you," Robin snorted.

"Apprentice, don't be rude," Slade scolded him. "Although I'm bound to agree. Anyway, I wasn't aware of any… embargo."

"Yeah, thanks for telling us… so… we'll go now?" Robin suggested, feeling a bit exposed, and not only because the wind was trying to lift his skirt.

A few of the men, however, drew their guns.

"I am afraid," the leader of the organization, whoever they were, said, "that we need people to respect our decision. They will do so, I think, when they hear of the death of the mighty Deathstroke."

"And his pretty assistant!" Robin exclaimed in a cheery voice and curtsied deeply.

"Yes, we'll kill you too, whore," the Greek man sneered.

"Robin, I think I have changed my mind…" Slade said thoughtfully.

"So you're saying can? Really?" the teen asked sounding like he had just been offered a ride in the sled by Santa Claus.

"Well, you can help," the man shrugged.

"What are you two talking about?" one of the men exclaimed.

"Well…" Robin said. "Bad news for you, I'm afraid… I just got permission to kill you." With that he let one of his shoes, which he had slipped off as he curtsied, fly, and the long, pointy heel burrowed itself in the gang-leader's right eye. "Look! I made a Slade!" the teen snickered.

"Here," the original one-eyed mercenary barked and threw something Robin's way before attacking the group himself. The young assassin caught it deftly and had seen what it was the moment before doing so. Slade's pen knife. It was just a small, novelty thing, more suited for a keychain than anything else, and Robin had seen the man opening letters and cleaning his nails with it. It had the faded crest of a military academy on it, and the teen suspected that his Master kept it solely for nostalgic purposes. It was the only weapon they had, however… and Slade had given it to him.

The teen jumped high in the air with seemingly no effort at all, surprising the men who were coming towards him as he soared over their heads. Before even touching the ground again, two of them had been kicked in the back of their heads, hard enough so they wouldn't get up again, at least not for this fight.

The expected rain of bullets hadn't come yet, and now the American assassins had placed themselves in the midst of the men, making shooting hazardous. Also, the teen realized, the sound of gunshots might alert the cops down on the street, so they probably didn't want to fire more that they had to. Well. Their mistake for not thinking things through. If they were facing Slade they should have brought a missile launcher and a few tanks. At least.

"Hey, you thought I needed a weapon?" Robin asked his mentor as they changed places in the fight.

"You're better with a small blade than me," the man simply shrugged.

That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him, and Robin fought an urge to hug his Master, a move which would have surely killed them both. Instead they finished their opponents one by one. Well… usually two or three at once, actually. That little pen-knife got to intimately know three jugulars and a major vein that day.

It was all over in a matter of minutes.

Dead, dying and unconscious men lay strewn over the roof and in the middle, looking around for any more signs of danger, stood Slade and Robin.

"So, you think we gave them the message that we'll work anywhere it suits us?" the teen grinned as he cleaned the small knife carefully on one of its victim's shirts..

"I think they got the message, yes," Slade smirked.

"Good. Here," Robin handed the knife back. "And now…" he lifted his arms up towards the man. "Carry me?"

"Excuse me?"

"The soles of my feet are beginning to smell like frying bacon. Carry me."

"Why the hell did I get an apprentice?" the man muttered a moment later as Robin was happily in his arms.

"Because you couldn't live without me," the teen smirked confidently. "Oi! Your hand doesn't go there!"

"My hand goes anywhere it damn well please," his Master told him. "Especially as it has wanted to for the last half hour."

"This is no way to treat a lady," the teen objected.

"One more word out of you and I'll stuff your apron into your mouth and fuck you on the closest available surface," Slade growled warningly.

Robin just snorted and held on as the man jumped from one building to the other, getting them out of harm's way. When the teen thought they had gotten far enough, he glanced up at the man. "Sooo… does it have to be any particular word, or…?"

The End

A/N: the prompt for this story was "Can I kill him?", which was actually taken from an earlier Black Robin story… I just had to change it to "them"… ;)