No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem

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[Author's Note: This story was suggested to me by one of my awesome reviewers, mastersam. Thanks a metric ton of bunches!

Insert Standard Disclaimer Here: DC & Co. own the Titans in all their various incarnations. Damn the luck.]

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Part 6: Batman and Deathstroke

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{Monday late afternoon}

The shot glass hit the bar. "Do it again."

Benny gave the big man a narrow gaze for a couple of seconds, then shrugged and poured another jigger of spiced rum into the glass. "You should think about slowin' down."

"You have my keys."

"You still gonna hafta walk to th' door, y'know."

The big man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a fountain pen, which he balanced on one fingertip. "Through three cheese trees three free fleas flew. While these fleas flew, freezy …"

"Okay, okay, fine, I get it. Ya got a hollow leg. Sheesh." And he moved to the other end of the bar.

The big man slurped half the rum and then held the glass, swirling the contents slowly and staring into their depths as if in search of answers. He paid no attention when someone took the barstool next to him until …

"You know, I would have pegged you as a single-malt scotch man, had anyone asked."

The hand holding the shot glass stilled. Carefully, the big man's head turned to his left to zero in on the newcomer, a well-set-up older gentleman with white hair and an eye patch. He had recognized him by his voice, but since he was here in his civilian guise, it wouldn't do to give that away. "I'm sorry. Have we been introduced?"

"Oh, I hardly think Bruce Wayne needs an introduction." The other man held up a deprecatory hand, indicating their surroundings. "One does wonder why you're slumming it today, though."

He turned back to the bar. "I have my reasons."

"Ah. As you say."

Benny had walked over. "What's yer pleasure?"

The newcomer responded, "Do you have any single-malts today?"

"Got a Laphroaig 10-year and a Glenfiddich 15."

"Oh, very nice! I'm partial to the Islay distillers. Kindly set up a flight."

"Laphroaig it is." And he shortly had three shots sitting in front of the dapper gentleman.

Bruce Wayne eyed the glasses of potent liquid, which his bar-mate noticed. The other man raised the first glass and said, "I have found the overtones of heather that come from the Islay Island streams produce a superior whisky. Not that there aren't several others nearly as good." He tossed off the first glass and slammed it to the wood, pausing to let the rich, slow burn work its way down his throat.

Bruce downed the rest of his rum and remarked, "Your point about the water is cogent. I prefer Lagavulin myself."

"Not bad, but a shade too peaty for me."

"I like it. Tastes dark."

"Yes, well …" The other man glanced around. No one else was close. "It only makes sense that the Batman would prefer something dark."

Bruce deserved an Oscar for his utter lack of reaction to that statement. He turned with a very slight frown and said, "I beg your pardon? What did you say?"

"Oh, don't worry about it." He gave his hand a desultory wave, as if the topic were trivial. "I deduced the connection quite some time ago. It really was fairly elementary, once Starfire and your former sidekick started stepping out together."

"… Do tell."

"Indeed." He paused to slam the second shot of his flight, sighing in utter contentment for close to half a minute. Bruce waited, not too patiently.

"Your ward, young Master Grayson, attended the mayoral ball two and a half years ago. At that ball he danced for upward of two hours, making the rounds of all the eligible young ladies present. Yet he didn't succumb to any of their considerable charms. Nor did he have any further contact with any of them afterwards, in spite of the valiant attempts four of them made."

"I recall that. And while what you say is true, I fail to see how that can have any bearing on …"

"Ah! But I am not finished."

Bruce just nodded.

"Then, about a year later, the Justice League sponsored a charity dance for the new Steel City Children's Home. Robin was in attendance at that fete, and danced exclusively with Starfire, even though several other young heroines attempted to, ah, cut in."

Bruce said nothing, only staring at the man.

"I was present at both events."

"… You were present at the Justice League dance?"

"I was. Not that any of you saw me."

Bruce's brows drew together as he contemplated the wood grain in the bar.

"Richard Grayson's dance style is identical to Robin's. The two young men are of similar height and build and hair color. Master Grayson is still officially unattached, which is beginning to cause some comment in certain of your circles. There is speculation that he may be gay."

"Is there, now?"

"As you well know." He then lifted the third glass and poured the contents down his throat. All was quiet for approximately a minute.

"Is there some coherent reason that you decided to sit here and spin me this tale?"

The other man didn't say anything at first. He tapped the bar and Benny came over. "Yeah?"

"Another flight, please."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Wilson." And shortly three more glasses sat in front of him.

Silently studying his most excellent whisky, Slade Wilson finally sighed and said, "As a matter of fact, there is." He downed one of the shots and leaned back slightly. "That is an unparalleled experience."

"You were saying?"

"Sorry." He sat up a little straighter. "As you know, I attempted to recruit your ward as my apprentice."

"And failed."

"Indeed. Although he had already left your … I suppose I can't really call it an organization since it was just the two of you. Your service, then."

"Yes. So?"

"And now you have a replacement."

"What's your point?"

"I also tried a replacement. It did not go well."

"From what I hear, there are a lot of things in your life that didn't go well."

"Too true." He knocked back the second glass and sat still, savoring the taste.

"I am still in the dark as to why you brought all this up."

"I know what you're thinking, and I have no intention or desire to blackmail you."

"Imagine how relieved that makes me."

Slade glanced over at him and chuckled. "You do sarcasm extremely well."

"Just one of many fine services we offer."

The assassin laughed aloud at that.

Bruce tapped the bar. "Another, please."

"As you know," continued Slade, "I made it my goal to take over Jump City."

"A goal you consistently missed." He nodded his thanks to Benny for the rum.

"There may be two schools of thought on that subject. Nevertheless, it was not the unqualified success that I'd hoped for. I gave it several tries over a period of years, and poured all of my considerable resources into the effort, and yet I was foiled repeatedly by what amounts to a group of children." He raised the third glass to his lips and poured it slowly in, swishing the heady liquid around and letting it trickle back. "Incredible stuff. No wonder the Irish called it the Water of Life."

Bruce tossed off his replacement rum. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying … that I'm getting too old for this."

"I was under the impression that you weren't exactly aging in the usual sense of the word."

"That is true. Perhaps I should have said that I realized my efforts would better be applied elsewhere."

Bruce turned to face him. "Deathstroke is admitting defeat? Seriously?"

"Defeat might be too strong a term. But I am tired of swimming against the current." He caught and held Bruce's gaze. "Tell me, O Caped Crusader: how do you deal with it?"

"Deal with what?"

"That boy."

That drew a snort from the big man. "I'm hardly the best resource to answer that question. I dealt with him the way I saw fit, and he got tired of it and left. You probably know that we aren't on the best of terms."

"Better than mine."

"You forced him. You threatened his friends."

"Not my shining moment, I'll admit. But he had such potential and it was all going to waste."

"He's not built for assassination."

"Which I finally realized. But it was a bitter pill." He tapped the bar.

Benny plumped down in front of them. "You gents wanna try somethin' a little lighter?"

In chorus they said, "Not really," and then looked at each other with identical surprised expressions.

Benny snorted and held out his hand. "I'll need yer keys, Mr. Wilson."

"Anticipating this outcome, I didn't drive."

"Fair enough. I can pour ya into a cab later." He set them up with their preferred drinks.

Bruce picked up his glass but didn't drink. "So … what? You're getting out of the megalomaniac trade?"

"I suppose you could put it that way, if you wanted to be crass about it. I'm going to concentrate on my core business. Play to my strength."

"Plain old, garden-variety assassinations."

"Oh, sir! You wound me! I haven't been a garden variety assassin in many a year."

"Touche." He took a sip.

Slade raised a glass and drew a long sniff through his nose before tossing it back. "Beautiful. If only the rest of life could be as perfect."

"It's life. By definition it is not perfect." He downed the remainder of his drink.

"That, my friend, may be where I made my biggest error."

"You may be right." He set the glass down carefully. "And I am not your friend."

Slade glanced over at him. "Hm. As you say. It is rather a pity, though, as I don't plan to cross swords with you again."

"If you kill anyone in my town it can't be avoided."

"Ah, but only if you know it is I doing the killing. Besides which, my targets tend to be of the more unsavory type. I'd think you wouldn't mind a little help."

"Some kind of help's the kind of help that I can do without."

That brought a long sigh from the other man. "I suppose it was too much to hope for that you would ever mellow out."

"Your words. But the same might be said of you. What's preventing you from turning your extensive talents to something useful?"

"I like to think that I am being useful."

"I meant to society in general."

"So do I."

That brought the assassin a long, contemplative look. "You know … I think you might actually be serious."

"Why would you think otherwise?"

Bruce shook his head a few times. "Different worldviews. Very, very different."

"Oh, I don't know." He picked up the middle glass. "Maybe not so different as you think."

Pulling a fifty out of his wallet, Bruce laid it on the bar. "Thanks, Benny."

The pudgy man gave him a wave. "Don't mention it."

Bruce stood and straightened his jacket. "This has been enlightening."

"Likewise."

"Be careful out there."

"I always am." And he tossed off his whisky as Batman walked out the front door with a sure and steady gait. "Benny? Another flight, please."

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[Author's End Notes: I fear this was not quite the chuckle-fest that mastersam had in mind. Perhaps he can do a follow-up chapter for some time later, once these two have had a chance to acclimate to their new status. One hopes so, at any rate.

Let me know what you think, eh?

Cheers!

Concolor44]