A/N: Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!
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I want to thank Neo for helping me with editing and making sure that this chapter was up to snuff. Thanks Neo!
In the afternoon, beneath a salubrious sun, Slade was stretched out on the back deck of his yacht with Sienna. They were, for once, completely alone. There were no underlings to disrupt them, no staff to concern them. They were just two people who were out enjoying a relaxing day at sea. Starling City was nothing but a faint silhouette in the distance. The silence surrounding them was almost absolute. Only the sound of the water caressing the hull of the ship broke the quiet. It was a much needed moment of peace following the life changing events of a few nights prior. The monster within him had been satiated as soon as it saw the light go out in Moira Queen's eyes. Yet, Slade knew that it was only a brief respite. The beast was going to awaken at any moment, craving wanton destruction, hungering for the snap of bones and lusting for the taste of Oliver Queen's blood on his tongue.
"I don't know how to help you."
His fingers lazily skimmed up and down her back in one continuous motion. The silky texture of her skin against the rough pads of his fingers was shooting sparks of heat up his arm. The demon within him was lulled into a temporary state of calm by the warm sun and the lush body which was lying atop his own.
"You are here, love," he told her quietly. "That is enough."
Her soft sigh blew across his moist flesh, causing his senses to start tingling and his blood to simmer on a low boil. "Is my being here the only thing you need?"
"I never thought I would need anyone to be with me, not in the way that I need you. After..." he paused, considered. He felt those hot, accusatory eyes upon him and knew the woman who haunted his every waking thought was watching, waiting to see what he'd say, what he'd do. He could hear her voice, taunting him.
"Will you tell her the truth?" Shado whispered in his ear. "Will you tell her about how you might sleep with her, care for her, but that you will never love her? Not as you love me?"
He swallowed around the lump in his throat.
"After I lost Shado," he said, his voice huskier than he liked. "I closed myself off to this, convinced myself I did not deserve it, was not meant to have it."
"Tell me about her. About Shado. Please."
"No," he told her in that silky smooth tone he tended to use whenever he didn't want to talk about a particular subject with her. He felt her sigh and reached up to run a hand through her hair. He'd opened this door when he'd unwittingly allowed it to slip to her about how he saw -heard- Shado. He owed her an explanation. He knew that he did. He just wasn't ready to give her one. Not just yet. "Soon, little one," he assured her finally. "I will tell you about Shado soon. I promise."
"You're making her another promise?" Shado taunted in a moist hiss. "Do you plan on keeping this one? Or will you break this one as you broke the one about not harming anybody innocent?"
"I promise you, love," he repeated in an ominous tone. "I will tell you about Shado soon."
"I promise you, love," Slade told her in a voice that rolled like thunder across the sky. "I will tell you about Shado soon."
Sienna drew in a breath and imagined lightning cracking the sky. She almost thought she smelled ozone stinging the air and glanced towards the western horizon to see if dark clouds were sweeping in. They weren't, of course. There wasn't a cloud to be seen for miles, in fact. She then found herself wondering if he was making that dark promise to her, or Shado. If it was to her, it marked the eighth promise he'd ever made to her (and the first one he'd ever made in this particular tone). If he was making it to Shado, she found herself not only wondering just what it was he was promising her, but why he was making his declaration in such a harsh tone.
Promises, Sienna had come to learn, were things that carried special meaning with Slade. They were not guarantees that he made recklessly, nor that he treated lightly. Sienna recalled how the first promise he'd ever made to her was about how he would "never allow" her "to be hurt again."
"I will protect you, little one," he'd crooned to her in a silky smooth timbre that had made her belly do jumping jacks even while her head swam in a drug induced haze. "And I will keep you safe. I promise."
It was a promise he'd yet to break.
The second promise he'd made to her was about how he'd never lie to her. Granted, it was a promise he'd made while she'd been under the influence of the amphetamines her jailers had shoveled into her system by the milligram (and one clearly made in order to keep her calm). He'd still meant it. Once the drugs had cleared her system, she'd quickly learned two things about the man who'd rescued her: Slade Wilson always said what he meant, and he always meant what he said. He'd also set some very strict ground rules for how things were going to be between them. The first thing he'd told her, in no uncertain terms, was that even though he would never lie to her, it did not mean he was going to tell her "everything" about either "his business" or "his personal relationships."
The second rule he'd set?
That she was "never to lie to" him under "any circumstances."
She never had.
That was why she'd never pressed him for the answers to any of the questions she desired to ask him. It was a matter of respecting those boundaries he'd set, of keeping to the promises she'd made to him. Until a few nights ago, she'd been fine with leaving things that way. She'd been content with waiting until he was ready to invite her into that vast and private chamber where his memories were stored. She'd meant it when she'd told him that she wanted him "to want to share that part" of himself, and his life, with her. However, something happened the night Slade chose to kill Moira Queen (that went beyond his choice to kill an innocent woman). He came home to her, as he'd promised (promise number seven, in fact) he would. But he came home a changed man. The man she'd awoken to find in their bedroom was not the man who'd left it earlier that evening.
She just didn't know why or what had brought about this change...
"Leave her be," he snarled out of nowhere. "You leave her be! She's got nothing to do with this!"
Sienna's startled gaze flew to his face. What is going on? she thought as fear and worry clawed at her insides. She whispered his name, but Slade didn't seem to hear her. His gaze was locked upon something... or someone that only he could see. An agonized moan was ripped from him, reminding her of an animal which was mortally wounded. The sound of it made her heart weep, and her soul bleed. There was raw pain etched into the lines of his face. Yet, like always, it was the look in his eye that was her ultimate undoing. She was lost, helpless, and almost ripped apart by the emotions she saw churning within that charcoal gaze. That eye was burning with desperation, haunted by grief brimming with what she recognized as the last vestiges of anger, and swirling with a primal hunger that left her mouth dry and her pulse kicking like a Rockettes.
"Slade...?" Fear and worry made her voice thin and breathy. "Honey, who are you talking to?"
"Shado," he gritted, not bothering to turn and look at her.
Her eyebrows shot upwards. Sienna felt as if she was adrift in a roiling sea of confusion, desperation and fear. She was cast out even farther into the deep when he fisted his fingers in her shirt and buried his face against her shoulder with a soft moan. Instantly her arms wound around him, holding him tight.
"Shado?" she murmured. She, of course, knew who he was talking about. He had mentioned the fallen woman a few times over the months, but always in terms that Sienna equivalated as meaning that the woman was no longer alive. "But... Slade," she spoke slowly, taking extreme caution with her choice of words. He could blow hot or cold without a moment's notice. "Shado's dead."
"I know she is," he mouthed against her throat. His hands slid beneath her night shirt, stroking up and down her bare back, the coldness eliciting a tiny gasp that was part surprise and part burgeoning interest. "I know she is," he repeated again.
"Then why are you..." He silenced her with a kiss that was hunger laced with desperation and chased by need. It stole her breath; her wits. She could only cling, could only give while her heart slammed against her chest.
"Love me, Sienna," he begged when he lifted his head a second later. "I need you to love me."
It was the first time Slade Wilson admitted he needed her for anything. They'd been together for well over a year now (and lovers for a few months), but he'd never once told her that he needed her. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state had rocked her to the core of her being. For all his skill, all his experience, he was still only human. He had wants, same as everybody. He had needs, like everybody. He could be hurt, just like everybody. The man who was her savior could, himself, be left helpless, defenseless, and open to attack. Sienna had discovered three things that night about the man she'd given her heart too:
He was not immortal.
He was not invincible.
And he needed her to love him.
Him. This one-eyed hell-spawn who'd dished out bloody vengeance in her name was now calling for her to do battle against an invisible figure she could not see, could not hear, could not physically touch. He was asking her to fight now. Fight for him, his heart, and his very (tortured) soul. She could do that. She would do that, in fact. She'd go up against this ghost who was tormenting him. She'd fight Oliver Queen, Godzilla, and the Grim Reaper if he needed her too.
"Slade," she began in a quiet, reasonable tone, "I need you to talk to me..."
"Sienna," he said in that honeyed tone she knew meant she was treading on thin ice right now. "I said no."
"Okay," she conceded quietly. "I will let it be." Then she added a somber, "For now."
"Thank you, love."
Sienna sighed out a soft, "You're welcome," before burying her face against his shoulder.
She didn't see the flash of pain that swept his face. Or know that Shado's icy fingers were trailing across his chest, over his cheek, flicked over the hole where his eye once had been. Or that she was whispering to him, telling him to do things he couldn't bring himself to do.
"Slade, if you won't talk with me about Shado..."
"Soon, I promise," he repeated his earlier phrase. "I will tell you about her soon."
"Answer me this one question," she continued as if he hadn't interrupted her, "is what you are experiencing being caused by the Mirakuru?"
He turned his head, rest his lips against her brow. "I don't know."
"It is possible, though." She tipped up her head so her lips brushed his cheek. "Isn't it?"
"Yes."
She blew out a soft breath. "Okay," she said slowly. Her mind was working at a mile a minute. "Okay. That makes sense. Everything you've told me about the serum..."
"Sienna?" There was a ripple of what might have been dark amusement in his tone. "Love?"
"Hrm?" she murmured distractedly. She looked up. Met his eye. "What is it?"
"Will you shut off that brain of yours for the remainder of the afternoon?"
She frowned. "But..."
"I would prefer to discuss where you would like to go once my business with Oliver Queen is concluded."
She made a sound low in her throat before asking, "Can we go anywhere?"
He slanted a look at her. "Long as it is not a tropical island, yes."
She sighed. "You are such a killjoy, Slade."
He slid his hand into her hair, drew her head down until it was again cradled on his shoulder. "I spent enough time on an island to last me for one lifetime, love."
"I know you have." She curled her fingers over his heart. "I know you have."
He was silent for a few moments. Sienna wondered if he was thinking about their conversation, Shado, or the plans he'd put into play in order to exact payback upon the man who he felt had stolen everything from him. She suspected it was the last two. Sienna was under no delusions about the position that she occupied in either Slade's life, or his heart. She was his partner as well as his lover. He trusted her and he cared for her. But she knew he did not love her. Not in the same way that she loved him, and which he loved Shado. She'd resigned herself to being content with just being with him. If he came to love her, even just a teeny bit, she would be happy.
"Sienna?"
"Hrm?" she murmured.
"If we were to get married..."
She sat up in one quick, jerky motion. "Married?"
"Yes, love, married." There was wry amusement in the wretched man's voice, upon his face. "As in honor, cherish," his lips curved. "Obey."
She harrumphed. "I know what marriage is, thank you very much."
"And it bothers you?"
"Not bothers, no," she said. "And stop smiling at me that way, as if I'm being incredibly dense. You did rather just spring this upon me." She looked out over the water, toward the sparkling city perched upon the horizon. "Why are you mentioning marriage now anyway, Slade?"
"It is something I have been thinking about for the past few days."
She looked over her shoulder at him, felt her stomach flutter. "And exactly what have you been thinking about it?"
"If we were to marry, would you prefer to live somewhere rural or urban?"
It was a second jolt. "Rural or urban?" she questioned curiously. "As in some place like Starling or somewhere more quiet, like Northern Australia?"
His eyebrow forked. "Northern Australia is sparsely populated, love."
"Exactly," she said, nodding. "The likelihood of you getting into trouble with any government agencies is less if there are not a lot of people around in which to draw your ire."
His lips twitched. "Is that your way of saying you want me to give up my life as a mercenary?"
"Even mercenaries have to retire at some point. And besides," she said before he could speak. "I hate every time that you walk out of our apartment now. I hate not knowing if the last time I see you is the last time I am ever going to see you. I hate the worry. Not knowing if you're hurt. Or if you are dead. I want more than a life of blood and vengeance."
"Vengeance shall be mine soon. However," he said. "You have not answered my question about marriage."
"I know you have will have your revenge upon Oliver very soon. And you did not actually ask me," she said with some annoyance. "You more or less posed a theory about marriage."
"If we were to marry," he repeated for the third time, and the humor in his voice had her sighing with vexation, "would you consent to live with me in some sparsely populated area so that my bloodthirsty ways can be contained?"
Her lips twitched. Just for a moment. Then she recalled the subject at hand and sobered. "Why are you going on about marriage all of a sudden?"
He cupped her cheek in his palm. "In a few days I will unleash the last of my plan upon Oliver Queen. He and I will fight, and one, or the both of us, is going to die."
His tone clearly signified just who it was that he figured was going to end up dancing with the Reaper.
"And you want to make an honest woman of me before you go off to die?" Sarcasm poured like molasses off her tongue. "Gee, thanks."
He fixed her with a look that said he didn't appreciate her tone, or her comment.
"I want to make sure that you are provided for in case I do not survive."
Of all the reasons he could have given, providing for her was the last one she'd expected (much less wanted to hear).
"You will survive," she gritted. "You will!" she insisted when she saw the look on his face. "Damn you! Goddamn you!" she raged. "You are not going to die on me! You hear me? You are not going to die on me!"
Slade continued talking as if he hadn't heard a word of her angry outburst (though she knew the wretch had heard every word she'd uttered).
"I had a new will drawn up a few days ago," he said in that velvety baritone he used whenever he was addressing the staff or some of the men in his employ. "You're the sole beneficiary who is named in it. Everything I own will transfer to you in the event of my death."
"I don't want it!" she cried. She scrambled into his lap, pummeled his shoulders with her fists. "You hear me? I don't want it!"
"Isabel will contest the will. She will make things extremely difficult for you."
"Then make her the beneficiary of your damned estate," she hissed. "I don't want it."
"What do you want, love?"
"What do you think I want, you idiot man?" she ground out between her teeth.
What did she want? he mused silently. Oh, he knew the answer to that. Getting Sienna to admit it, though, was what he wanted; needed to hear. It was her hesitation about the subject of marriage that had prompted him into pushing her to admit that she wanted him instead of the fortune he'd managed to amass since leaving the island. He'd needed to prove Shado wrong. He had to prove that Sienna was not the gold digger Shado was telling him she was. He had to show her that this was a flesh and blood woman with a heart of gold and a warm and gentle soul.
He needed her to see how Sienna was Penelope to her Clytemnestra.
He wasn't blindly giving his heart to this woman. She'd proven her loyalty to him when she'd pushed herself beyond her limits just to deliver his gift to the kid. She remained with him despite his innumerable faults and flaws. She overlooked the darker side of his business ventures. And she overlooked those times when the monster surfaced to address his idiot minions. In seeing the anger and hurt and desperation that had all but sizzled upon her face, the woman plaguing his every waking moment fell silent. It was only momentary, however. He knew that once Shado had had time to process everything she'd seen—heard, she'd be back. Until then, there was only one thing that he wanted to hear. The one thing, in fact, that Sienna had not said: that she'd marry him.
"Sienna," he said. "You never answered me, love."
"About?"
"If we were to marry," he repeated for the fourth time now, fighting to contain a chuckle when he heard her cursing vehemently. Now where had his dove learned that language? he wondered, smiling. "Would you consent to live with me in some sparsely populated area so that my bloodthirsty ways can be contained?"
"I've said I would."
"Yes, you have," he agreed. "Yet you have not said if you would consent to live with me as my wife."
She glowered at him. "You have not asked me to be your wife," she snapped. "So the answer to that would be a big, fat, no."
"Will you marry me, Sienna?"
He heard her muttering, "Patience is a virtue," beneath her breath. Then her expression relaxed into that quietly intense one he'd come to adore. "Is this something we need to be discussing now?" she asked him. "Shouldn't this conversation wait for until after you have finished your business with Oliver Queen?" She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. It was a clear sign that his dove was unsettled with their conversation. He hid a smile. "You're talking marriage here," he heard her say, "not just sharing a house. There are things we haven't even discussed yet for chrissakes."
"Such as?"
"Shado?" she said pointedly.
"Soon," he swore again. "I will talk with you about her soon."
She heaved a sigh. "Children?"
He smirked. "I have a son, Joe."
She harrumphed. "I meant us having a child, Slade."
A possessive lust filled him at the thought of her pregnant with his child. His voice wasn't quite steady when he spoke.
"And that is another reason for why we should get married."
"What is?"
"You could be carrying my child," he stated in a firm voice, "and I want to make sure that you and our child are provided for in case something happens to me."
Just the thought of having his child made her heart ache. But it was not enough of a reason for them to marry. Her own parents were a prime example of two people that never should have married. She touched her lips to his cheek, telling him so.
"And I want the man asking me to marry him to at least love me a little."
"In that case..." his arms twined around her waist, pulled her close. "There is no reason for why you cannot say yes, love."
She frowned at him. "There isn't?"
Brows high, he met her gaze. "Sienna. Do you think I would ask you to be my wife if I wasn't fond of you?"
She blinked, then her features became a kaleidoscope of different thoughts and emotions. "But..." She didn't have any buts she could think of.
He sensed it; he studied her, then said, his voice lower, huskier-more beguiling: "Marry me, love."
Her head, mind and senses were whirling. She forced herself to strip aside the complications of his plans and intentions. She looked beyond her own pride and insecurities. And then she got straight to the heart of the matter. After one more quiet moment she sighed before asking, "You're not going to let this go until you have an answer, are you?"
His gaze didn't waver; she'd read his answer in his eye before he stated: "No."
She considered him. His face was that usual impassive mask of his. But there was a raw vulnerability in his eye, and a dark desperation. It matched what was echoing in her heart. Dragging in an unsteady breath, Sienna straightened, feeling invisible ropes close gently, but securely around her. "Then yes," she said. "I'll marry you."