A/N: Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!

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"Have you managed to learn anything about the woman who was with Slade the night she delivered his package, Felicity?"

Felicity Smoak lifted her eyes away from the computer screen she'd been studying and turned them upon the man who was standing behind her. She took in the stress lines about his mouth and the dark smudges beneath his eyes and knew he'd had yet another sleepless night. It had been a little over a week since Slade Wilson unleashed hell upon Oliver, first by delivering a bloody arrow tip (which Felicity suspected was the one which cost him his eye) and then by systematically tearing the very ground out from beneath him. "I'm afraid not, Oliver," she said apologetically. "Her prints are not coming up in any police or government databank."

Oliver just sighed and folded his fingers over the soft material on the back of her chair. "She's not a ghost," he said with only a faint hint of frustration in his voice. "Damn it, Felicity, she's someone..."

"She's Sienna James," Diggle announced as he came strolling into the bunker. Oliver and Felicity turned their heads in order to look at him.

"Sienna?" Felicity said with a slight tilt to her lips. "Wow, totally glad to know that I'm not the only one with a mother who loved unusual baby names."

"How...?" Ollie started to ask before trailing off into a faint smile. What a stupid question, he mused silently. There was only one person that Diggle would think to go to and ask for help with something like this. "How is Lyla?" he asked instead.

"She's good, man," Diggle replied before he held up a small vanilla envelope in one hand. "Sends her regards as well as this."

Oliver's eyebrows shot up. "Was she able to find out anything other than that her name is Sienna James?"

Diggle handed the folder to Felicity. "Yup, she was able to find out that Miss James was reported missing sixteen months ago by her family."

"Missing?" Felicity said slowly as she took the folder and began thumbing through it. "Was she...yanno..." she paused, looked up, bubblegum pink lips trembling with the question she really didn't want to give a voice simply because of the sheer ramifications it carried. "Kidnapped by...?"

"Slade Wilson?" Diggle supplied with a slight shake of his head. "No." He heaved a sigh before folding his arms across his chest. "The police in Miami believed it was just a random kidnapping."

Felicity started. "And they just stopped investigating her disappearance?"

"They pretty much closed the case once it went cold," Diggle replied with a slight sniff.

Felicity found the lack of police care to be appalling, but kept her thoughts to herself. She sighed once before saying, "It doesn't sound like they put much effort into finding her in the first place."

"They just assumed that she was dead and her body buried somewhere out in the southern Everglades."

"But?" Oliver asked, turning to smile at him. "I smell the but here, Dig."

"But," Dig stated with a smirk, "Lyla was able to dig a bit deeper and thinks Miss James was probably taken by a human trafficking ring that was operating in Miami around the time that Miss James disappeared."

"Human traffickers?" Felicity twisted the words around on her tongue. They were foul tasting no matter how she turned them. "The kind that like abducting women and children for the sole purpose of selling them into forced slavery?" She saw Diggle give a slow nod of his head. Her mouth popped open. "You're not serious, are you?"

"It seems that about the time she disappeared, thirty other women also turned up missing."

"Thirty women?" Felicity and Ollie said in unison.

"How?" Ollie demanded. "How could thirty women end up disappearing and the police not suspect anything?"

"They did suspect something," there was a hard edge to Diggle's voice. "But they couldn't do anything until they managed to connect that the women all were taken as they exited from one particular nightclub."

"How does this tie Sienna James with Slade Wilson, though?" Felicity asked. "I mean, I know he has done a lot of things-most of them not really good. Well, almost all of the things he's done haven't been good," she rambled on in her normal nervous twitter. "Yet, I don't see him as being the kind of man who is into the selling or buying of women."

Oliver stared at the image on the computer screen of Slade in full Deathstroke attire. He tried to reconcile the brutal and blood-thirsty monster that was captured in that still image with the one of the well-dressed businessman he'd seen being attentive and protective of a panic-stricken woman outside Verdant. It wasn't as hard as he anticipated it to be. The Slade Wilson he'd known on the island had found the trafficking of women and children to be as abhorrent as the three of them were finding it. The old Slade, the one before the Mirakuru, would have brought hell down upon the peddlers and the buyers. He would have...

"Rescued her," he said in a soft, incredulous voice. He turned to look at Felicity and Diggle. "That's the connection between them. Slade rescued her from the traffickers." Rescued her as he couldn't rescue Shado. The thought only dimly registered in the back of his mind. "When though?" he asked Diggle. "When did he rescue her? Was Lyla able to figure that out?" Only silently did Oliver acknowledge that why he wanted to know that information was because it would prove that the man that Slade Wilson once was, still existed. He would not have rescued her if he was completely corrupted by the Mirakuru. He would not keep her with him if she meant nothing to him. He wouldn't protect her if he didn't care for her.

"Lyla believes that he probably rescued her about fourteen months ago."

"Probably?" Felicity repeated the word as if she'd never heard it before. "There's no definite answer as to when he rescued her?"

"No, there's not," came his somber reply. "However, Lyla was able to uncover some evidence that suggests when he likely rescued her. And," he added, "I even can tell you where."

"Where?" Oliver managed to ask a split second before Felicity could.

"Russia."

"Russia?" This time, they voiced the question in unison. Diggle just nodded his confirmation, a smile trembling upon his lips.

Oliver turned to pace towards the case where the Arrow's suit was hanging, waiting. He looked back over his shoulder, asking only, "How does Sienna being kidnapped by members of a Russian human trafficking ring connect with Slade?"

"Well," Diggle said, taking the folder he'd given Felicity and flipping through it until he came to the photograph that he'd stuck in the back. "Fourteen months ago, Deathstroke, as A.R.G.U.S was now calling him, was photographed leaving a private estate on the outskirts of St. Petersburg." He caught and held Oliver's eye before adding, "The house was being used by a black market auctioneer by the name of Sergei Tschlamanov."

"And Sienna was one of the items being put up for auction."

"That's what Lyla assumes," Diggle nodded. "Especially since," he turned the photo around so that they both could see it. "She believes the woman he's carrying here is Miss James."

Felicity put her hand to her mouth and breathed out a soft, "Oh..." as she studied the photo that Diggle held up. "Wow."

There was no mistaking who the masked man was. A hundred years could go by and she'd still remember that two-toned mask (as well as the man who wore it). The sight of the clearly human bundle the masked man carried in his arms, shapely legs naked beneath the cloth covering her absolutely horrified Felicity. As a woman, she was appalled; disgusted by what Sienna James had been forced to endure. She silently vowed to up the amount of time she spent at the gym in order to be better equipped in case she ever found herself in this predicament. This can happen to anybody, though, she realized with a slight pang deep in her belly. Even the most equipped crime fighters could be defeated. She'd seen that with how often Ollie, Dig and Sara were injured. They could all be taken. Anytime. Anywhere. And from any place.

It was an absolutely terrifying thought.

Oliver stepped forward and took hold of the photograph. He knew only the general basics of the human trafficking ring. What he did know was that those women who were considered to be of the highest value on the black market were either sold on the auction block, or purchased by private buyers with deep pockets. Many of the women were force fed drugs to keep them amiable and malleable. Most women who were sold into sexual slavery were never heard from again. Most die from drug overdoses within the first few days of their capture, he thought, his stomach churning with acidic bile he knew was empowered by anger and disgust. The brief interaction he'd had with the woman had told him she deserved more than a life of never ending sexual degradation and whatever drugs her pimps forced into her body. His fingers tightened on the paper, crinkling it.

"She was not an animal," he rasped. "She deserved better than to be bought…"

"And she wasn't because Slade Wilson stopped it," Felicity cut in quietly. She reached up and gently removed the picture from his grasp. "Oliver, she survived."

"Most women don't," Dig added somberly. He'd seen the flash of anger and disgust on Oliver's face and understood it. He felt the same churning in his gut. "Many of them don't come back from their ordeal, man."

"She only survived because Slade Wilson was the one who rescued her..."

"And that makes her..."

"Our most powerful weapon to use right now," a soft voice interjected. Everybody turned to watch as Sara Lance made her way down the stairs. "She's the one thing Slade clearly cares for. We can use that to lure him here. And then," she glanced over at Oliver. "We kill him."

"No," Oliver stated in a firm tone. "I won't use her."

"And why not?" Sara demanded in a firm voice. "She's the best weapon that we have against him. He won't risk hurting her."

"She's suffered enough, Sara."

"You need to stop wanting to play the hero, Ollie." Her eyes flashed for a moment with equal parts regret and frustration. "Slade Wilson has been hammering us on all sides for the last month. It's time we fight back."

"Not by using her," was Oliver's final statement before he spun and stalked from the room.

Slade was sitting on a bench in his private armory, lacing up his boots and mentally preparing himself for the events he'd planned for that evening (all of them specially designed to tighten the screws he'd stuck in Oliver Queen, of course) when he heard the light pattering of feet coming towards him. His body instantly coiled itself into attack mode and he whipped his head to the side... only to find out that it was Sienna padding towards him instead of one of his useless underlings. His body unfurled itself, muscles relaxing as he watched her slowly approach the stand upon which his mask sat, waiting, and watching.

It was the first time she'd ever dared to enter his private domain. A part of him, the one which he kept carefully concealed from her, snapped and snarled at her intrusion into this, his inner sanctum. Yet the other part of him, the one which had made her queen of his domicile, was curious to see what all she would say, do. He quieted the dragon breathing fire along his nerve endings with a slash of ice charged patience as she reached out and picked up his mask, holding it almost reverently between her long, elegant fingers.

"I remember this," she murmured. Her right thumb skimmed over the smooth metal as if it was skin instead of that cold synthetic material. Slade knew well what it felt like to have her fingers caress his flesh like that. Unbidden, images rose up to assault him, heating his blood and electrifying his senses. He shook his head and shoved the carnal images to the back of his mind. There'd be time later for indulgence, he silently told himself.

"I thought I had dreamt this... that I'd dreamt you." Her head tilted to the side as she studied the mask with eyes he knew were seeing a dark and terrible period of her life come back to haunt her. "I figured you were something that was being conjured by the drugs they'd injected in me right before they'd pushed me out onto that auction block." She glanced over at him and he saw the swirl of emotions that turned her eyes into twin obsidian pools. "A part of me wanted to laugh about how a hell-spawn was being sent to purchase me for the devil. But the other part of me?" A hard edge that he'd never heard before crept into her voice, flickered over her face. "It was hoping you were there to bring holy hell down upon those bastards for what they'd done to me and the others."

It was the first time Sienna had ever talked about the night he'd stormed into the basement of that auction house in St. Petersburg. He'd not been there to liberate the group of women and children who were being sold off to whoever the highest bidder was. His intended target had been a man by the name of Ivan Petrov. Then he'd seen this dark haired woman standing there in the middle of that stage, her face and body the color of chalk (minus the bruises that stood out in livid contrast against the paleness of her flesh) and her doe-like eyes dull and lifeless.

In that instant she'd reminded him of this white dove he'd found in his yard when he'd been a boy. Its eyes had been glazed over like hers had been, and one wing was badly broken. Like her, the tiny thing had barely been able to stand because of how weak it had become. Unlike his friends, who'd said to "kill the bird" and put it out of its "misery," he'd taken the dove into the house, and nursed it back to health. When it had been ready, he'd released it so that it could soar wild and free along the great blue horizon once again. But he'd told himself that he was no longer a boy of ten and that he had more important things to do (like hunting down Oliver Queen and making him pay for Shado's death) than rescuing some small slip of a woman. But then she'd raised her head and begged him in a small, fractured voice to "kill" her, "please."

Something had come awake inside of him at those desperately uttered words. It was like a beast had awoken from its slumber and was just frothing at the mouth to tear into the men (and women) who were partaking of her degradation and humiliation. None in that estate had been safe from his wrath. Blood had flowed like wine, and their screams had become the sweetest melody he'd ever heard. When it was all over and done with, he'd returned to the basement, swept her up into his arms, and carried her out of hell. He'd never asked her about how much she remembered from that night (or from the two months she'd been held hostage, for that matter). And she'd never volunteered to tell him about what she did remember.

Until now.

Slade found himself wondering why that was. Even when he'd told her the basics about his time on the island, his feud with Oliver, Shado, and the serum which had saved his life, she'd not volunteered any personal information. Not for the first time did he find himself wondering about what all Sienna knew about his extracurricular activities, and was willfully choosing to say nothing about. She never questioned where he went when he left in the middle of the night, what he was doing at the lab, or why he spent so many hours training down here in this safe room. She never mentioned his mask or made any reference to knowing he was a mercenary being called Deathstroke. The night he'd unintentionally revealed his other side to her she'd been frightened; so much so that she'd worried about repercussions (as if he'd ever harm her). Why was she speaking up now? he found himself wondering. It was something he needed to find out before he left for the evening.

"You have never spoken about what you remember from the night that I saved you," he said, studying her face and seeing the faint flickers that said louder than words that his dove knew more than she'd been letting on. "And I have never asked you about what you know... until now."

It wasn't phrased as a question, not really. It was more of an open ended comment. She could either respond to it, or not. The choice was up to her. In the past she'd refrained from answering. Not tonight though. "I don't remember much from that night," she admitted in a somber voice. "But for this and the words you said to me. 'You're..."

"Safe now, little one,'" he rumbled in that same tone he'd used as he'd walked from the basement with her in his arms. He remembered speaking those words to her. He remembered the impact that those words had had upon her. Her body had shuddered in his arms and he'd half imagined she'd succumbed to the effects of whatever drugs they'd been feeding her.

Then he'd felt more than heard her murmur, "promise?" against his throat. It was the third promise he'd made to someone in the past five years—the second to a woman. This promise he'd made damn sure to keep. He wasn't going to fail to protect Sienna as he'd failed… he pushed the thought aside and looked over at her. Her lips, he saw, were curved, warm with affection. "I remember speaking those words to you," he said with a faint nod. "What I do not understand is why you are mentioning them now."

"Well," she said as she turned to fully face him. "Until a few weeks ago, I was content with allowing my avenger to remain nothing but a memory that we silently shared between us."

His lips lifted at the corners. "But you are not content with allowing your...avenger to remain a secret shared silently between us?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm not."

"And why is that?"

Her thumb again stroked over the smooth contours of the mask. "I feel with the change in things between us that there are certain things which are acceptable now for us to discuss." She held up the mask. "And this is one of those things I think we should talk about."

Aha, was Slade's bemused thought. My dove wants to know where the boundaries between us are. Well, he could establish where the limits were for her. Not that there were many lines he would not allow her to cross. Even the topic of Oliver Queen was not one that he planned to make off-limits to her. Silently, he applauded and approved of her finally stepping out of her shell. Her newfound courage was something he found alluring, her new confidence invigorating, and her sudden boldness as intoxicating to him as the floral scent she habitually wore. A thaw had set in after the night of their first official date. The fire Maiden who'd been asleep beneath the ice had finally awoken from her slumber. And he liked it.

"Come here, Sienna," he commanded quietly. Instantly, she complied, the smile curving her lips a decidedly feminine one that was more mystery than it was a superiority type one. Sienna lacked the cold and cunning demeanor that a woman like Isabel Rochev possessed. She wasn't capable of telling him even the whitest of lies (a fact which had amused him when his birthday came near). She lacked the sophistication necessary to weave complex and calculating little ploys of deception. She simply didn't have a ruthless bone in her body (except in matters of business). That was why he'd chosen Sienna to not only take over his amassed fortune in the event that something should happen to him, but take over as his representative in all his business affairs at the same time. It was his way of guaranteeing that his Queen would be taken care of in the (unlikely) event of his death.

"Am I mistaken in my belief that things have changed between us?" she queried as she drew up next to him. "Is our sleeping arrangement the only thing that has changed between us?"

He saw the flash of vulnerability, the momentary uncertainty and realized that while the fire Maiden was getting her bearings, the ice Queen was still in full control. He drew her into his lap. "No, love," he assured her in a low purr. "You are not wrong."

She sighed as her belly coiled (as it always did when he spoke in that velvety tone) and curled an arm around his neck. "Then can we discuss this?" She held up the mask she now held in one hand. "Can we discuss... Deathstroke?"

So she did know his codename. Slade trailed his fingers over her lower back, feeling the shiver that snaked through her petite frame while he pondered what else his dove knew. He took the mask from her and set it to the side of him. "And what is it that you would like to discuss about...Deathstroke?"

"Well, I'd like to discuss where he is going tonight and what he is planning for Slade to do for one thing."

Slade was only mildly surprised about how she knew about his plans. "And who told you about what I have planned for this evening?" he asked with only the ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

"Isabel Rochev. And," she made a face. "She did it with a great deal of delight."

He made a note to speak with Isabel about overstepping her bounds. It was a standing rule that nobody in his employee (save for Marta) was to speak with Sienna unless he was present. "I see," was all he said.

"Slade," she said softly, "are you planning on forcing a confrontation with Oliver Queen tonight?"

He saw no point in denying it. "Yes."

"At the labs?"

"Yes."

"I don't like it." She rest her forehead against his and blew out a soft breath. "I think it is a very bad idea. I wish that you'd stay home. I want you to stay home."

If it had been anybody else to say that to him they'd have lost their life before the last word even left their lips. Yet he knew Sienna was speaking from her heart. For that reason, and that reason alone, he allowed her comment to slide. "Do you doubt my ability to defeat the Arrow, little one?"

"No, I trust that you are more than capable of defeating the…" her lips quirked at the corners, "green fairy as you like to call him."

He swallowed a laugh. He'd forgotten he'd told her that. "Then what is it that is bothering you, love?"

She stared again at his mask, her face darkly pensive. "I don't know what is bothering me, exactly." Her brow puckered. "I just have this feeling that you won't come home." She turned eyes that shimmered in the light to his. "Promise me that you'll come home."

Any logical defense, any cocky statement he might have made quite simply crumbled. "Sienna."

"Promise me, Slade. Promise me that you will come home."

He drew her head down until it was cradled on his shoulder, and felt her long, long sigh echo his own. "I promise you," he told her seriously. "I'll come home."