No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem

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Part Eleven: The Wilsons

[Author's Notes: My Muse simply WILL NOT leave me alone about Benny's Breakfast House. This bit was prompted by a request in a review from XxPhoenix FlightxX. It may not (probably won't) be the sort of thing she had in mind, but I can only write what the characters ask of me.

Standard Disclaimer: Oh, get real. If I owned the Titans, they'd still be making new episodes. And it would NOT be safe for children. Or work.]

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{Thursday, 7:10pm}

The white bishop slid over to queen's knight four and took a pawn, and the thin man leaned back in his seat, a ghost of a smile drifting across his lips. "Your move."

Slade Wilson studied the board, his previous frown growing much darker. After the lion's share of a minute ticked by he said, "I make it mate in five."

"Four."

One eyebrow rose marginally, the single eye zeroing on the old man across the table. "Four?"

"Definitely. You won't be able to move your knight. That will force the rook."

"… Damn." This came out very softly. Slade nodded once and tipped his king over, then looked at the other man with grudging respect. "You're making a habit of this."

"Just call me an idiot savant." He indicated the board. "Another?"

"I think two rank embarrassments in one evening is quite sufficient, so, no." He picked up his Irish coffee and drank the rest of it in three swallows.

Arthur Light shrugged and collected the pieces, folding the case around them. "I suppose I should be heading home, then."

"Your strategy is unorthodox."

"Beg pardon?"

"Your endgame doesn't look like any of the standard master techniques. Parts of your intermediate strategies remind me of Kasparov, but only superficially. You've perfected the invisible attack. You launched three in a row that last game that I just barely avoided, only to maneuver me into a triple hostage situation." He studied his opponent. "How many moves ahead do you see?"

"I really have no idea. I play as much by instinct as by plan."

"That should have made you a better villain."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? Maybe chess doesn't translate to the real world very well."

"Possibly not." He glanced up as Madge parked herself beside the table.

She grinned at the men and nodded at Slade's coffee mug. "Hey, Hon. You want a refill on that Irish?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you, my dear."

She snickered at his endearment, gave him a wink, and said, "Be right back."

Arthur tipped his head toward her retreating back and asked, "Is she taken?"

Slade swiveled his gaze around to lock onto the other man. "Excuse me? Taken? Why in all the hells there might be would I be interested in that information?"

"I don't know. But she seemed interested."

"You're hallucinating. Besides, I do believe that Benny would put my much-debated immortality to the test if I were to, ah, fish out of his pond as it were."

"Maybe so. Maybe not." He slid out of the chair and stood, snagging the case, gave the master assassin a brief, two-fingered salute, and left.

Madge returned with his coffee, put a couple of small containers of half-and-half beside it, and went over to greet a couple that had just walked in. Slade studied her for a second, then dropped his eyes. Why he would think I'd inflict my decidedly unpleasant life on a civilian is beyond me. He should know better than to ask such a stupid question. That brought a smirk to his face. Maybe that is why he was such an inept villain. Maybe he just doesn't know better.

It was at that point that Slade Wilson realized who had just entered the café and was standing there, gesticulating at Madge: his son, Joseph, along with a very petite girl who sported long, pink hair and what looked suspiciously like antennae.

I will sit very, very still. I am already in the far corner. If I maintain an air of nonchalance, if I do not look at him, if I do nothing to call attention to myself, he should not see me. He will take his seat, he will order his food, he will talk with that creature in which he seems to be interested. When he is distracted, I will leave, quietly, unobtrusively, and he will never …

The best laid plans, as the saying goes, often plop straight down into the crapper (okay, okay, the old maxim doesn't say that exactly, but that's what it means) so it's not surprising when off-the-cuff plans shatter like fine crystal against the hard tiles of reality. Madge had conducted the couple to a table just this side of the bar, only three removed from Slade's own. As Joey was holding the chair for his date, their eyes met.

The young man grew quite stiff, though his expression did not change. Slade gave him points for that. After perhaps two and a half seconds, Jericho's gaze turned back to his date as she smiled her thanks for his assistance. He started to move to her right, but hesitated and then came around to the chair on her left, presenting his back to his father. He pulled a standard menu out of the little rack at the edge of the table and placed it between them, then started signing to the girl.

Slade sighed. It was no more than he expected. It had, after all, been his plan to alienate the boy in order to spare him the difficulty and despair that would inevitably come from association with the world's premier assassin, and that plan worked out all too well. Their last two interactions had been … unpleasant. Slade could, of course, have killed him, had he been so inclined. Joseph certainly had tried to kill him. But killing wasn't the goal. Odd as it may seem to some, Slade Wilson did have a conscience, of sorts.

He opened the two creamers and poured them into his coffee, took a slow, appreciative sip, and settled into his chair. If Joey wasn't in the mood for an altercation, so much the better. He would finish his coffee in peace and leave.

That was when the next group came in: the local Teen Titans, minus Robin. Slade considered them narrowly and then smirked. Doubtless, the brightly-garbed boy detective was hard at work in his ops room, looking for ways to trap him. He wished the lad luck. He'd certainly need it.

Beast Boy saw Jericho and the girl, and waved. The girl waved back and motioned them over. As they trooped closer, Raven spotted Slade, and stopped. She was in her standard leotard-and-cape getup, and the hood covered her head, so only those intense, amethyst eyes and the tip of her dainty chin were really visible. She rose a few centimeters and floated over to his table. The other Titans, who had clustered around Jericho's table, saw what she was doing and then it registered who was sitting there. Starfire gasped. Beast Boy seemed to … enlarge somewhat, his fangs lengthening just enough to notice. Cyborg's right arm began making clacking sounds as he struggled to counteract his reflexes.

Raven stopped about a meter from the assassin and regarded him coldly. "Robin was right."

"And about what, precisely, was your team leader correct?"

"That you'd be here. That's why he didn't come with us."

"I am no threat to anyone here, least of all him."

"Indeed. The only threats you present in this place are to his peace of mind and his tooth enamel."

Slade chuckled. "I fail to see how his shortcomings are my fault."

She didn't respond to that right away, only staring at him. He returned the stare, with change. He suspected that she was trying to see into his mind, but he knew as well as she did that his psyche was much too disciplined to allow it. When she finally spoke, it was in that utterly calm, completely self-contained tone that many people mistook for a lack of interest. "You have been careful. I will grant you that. Your recent activities have centered on other cities, other countries, even. Robin is convinced it is a smoke-screen, and that you still have Jump City in your sights. I disagree. I think that, for your own reasons, you have decided not to pursue your former goals of domination and rule."

He waited for her to say something else. When she didn't, he offered, "An interesting assessment. And what does your analysis tell you about my rationale these days?"

"I think you've gotten smarter."

That wasn't really what he was expecting to hear, and he took a moment to formulate his answer. "It may be that you have gotten smarter as well."

She held his gaze for another few seconds, then turned and floated over to the Titans. Slade studiously ignored them, sipping his coffee in silence. When he finished, he left two twenties on the table and made his way unhurriedly to the exit. He was about to touch the door when a small hand landed lightly on his arm. He whipped his head around.

It was the pink-haired girl. Up close she was really quite attractive, with wide, blue eyes, a slightly up-turned nose, and a flawless, pale complexion. In a low voice, she asked, "May I speak with you, Mr. Wilson?"

He hazarded a glance back at the table. Every one of the Titans was staring at him intently. But they could no more harm him here than he could them. He shrugged. "I cannot conceive of a topic that we might discuss that would be of interest to me."

"Perhaps not. But I would like to tell you something, if you don't mind. Sort of to … satisfy my sense of propriety."

This girl intrigued him. He held out his hand. "Slade Wilson."

She shook it. "I'm Kole."

"Just Kole?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well." He held out an arm toward the side of the restaurant away from the others. "Would a bit of privacy hurt?"

"Not at all." She led him to a table against the other wall, not too far from a large group of elderly diners who were blissfully unaware of the unfolding drama.

Once seated, she began without preamble. "I've been living away from 'civilized' society for a few years now. I won't go into the details, but … Joey is the reason I'm not still underground. He's a great guy."

"Imagine my gratification."

She gave him a small, secretive smile. "Yeah. Imagine." She cleared her throat. "Before I left, I had a reasonably happy childhood. Mom and Dad and a dog and a house in the suburbs. Pretty standard. My Dad's a scientist. Bio-chemist. Works for a big pharma outfit. Nothing fancy, but he enjoys it, and it pays the bills, as he says. Even after I dropped out of society, I managed to get a message to them every few months. They were really worried at first."

"And why wouldn't they be?"

"Yeah. But they understood."

"I, however, do not. Why did you leave?"

She bit her lip. "Because not all scientists are nice people."

He had to laugh at that. "I doubt that truer words have ever been spoken. The bulk of the scientists I know … well, let's just say that I didn't feel out of place in their company." He indicated her hair. "May I assume that is your natural coloration?"

"… It is."

"May I also assume that your hair color is not the only unusual aspect of your makeup?"

"That would also be true."

"Very well. You felt you needed to hide to avoid being exploited in some fashion."

She nodded. "Good guess. Anyway, when I was little my Dad used to tell me stories of when he was my age. One of them was about this really mean teacher he had in the fifth grade, Mr. Schuemacher. The teacher picked on him, and made fun of him in front of the class."

Slade frowned. He had not the first clue where this story was going. "Was your father slow? I thought you said he was a scientist."

"No, he wasn't slow. He was really smart. He said the teacher had it in for him, and tried to get him to fail. He would give Dad a different test from the ones he gave the rest of the class. He made Dad do all sorts of really hard projects. He had to memorize the names of all the bones in the body, and draw an accurate skeleton. Once Mr. Schuemacher gave the class a test where they had to match up the names of all the states with their capitols. But Dad's test was a sheet of paper with an outline of the country on it. Dad was supposed to draw in all the states, and label them with the state name and capitol."

Slade's eyebrow rose. "Indeed. And did your father ever complain about this treatment?"

"No. See, Mr. Schuemacher was really … I dunno, subtle about it. He'd make it seem like Dad would have to be really stupid not to be able to do the work. He made Dad memorize the Periodic Table, too. It was all really hard, but it just made Dad mad. He made up his mind that this teacher wasn't going to get the best of him."

"That's rather advanced work for the fifth grade."

"Yeah."

"I'm sure this is all quite fascinating, but I very much fear that I have no idea why you are telling me this."

She persisted. "He was complaining about that to Mom one time. See, I had a teacher who singled me out because of my hair. I liked my hair and I didn't want to dye it. The school had a rule against 'unnaturally-colored' hair, see, and the teacher wouldn't believe that my hair was naturally pink. We had to go all the way to the county school board to get permission to keep it this way."

Slade blinked slowly. "Okay. So?"

"Dad was talking with Mom about it later, and brought up Mr. Schuemacher. He said it was just like that. But Mom laughed at him and said it was nothing of the sort."

That did confuse the assassin. "Why did she take that position?"

"She asked Dad about the regular school work the other kids were doing, and he admitted that it was really easy and that he was bored with it. She told him that Mr. Schuemacher wasn't out to get him; he was trying to keep Dad engaged in school by making it challenging. He could see that Dad would have lost interest if the only things he had to do were the simple stuff the other kids were doing." She giggled. "You should have seen Dad's face when he realized that Mom was right."

She sat there, an expectant grin on her face, while he mulled over what she'd told him. "Very well. What is the point of your story?"

"You're Mr. Schuemacher."

"… I beg your pardon?"

"It's okay. I won't tell Joey. He needs to figure it out for himself. But he's told me all about your relationship, and what happened with Rose, and how you two have fought so much. You're, like, the most awesome assassin ever, right? But you didn't kill him. Instead, you did everything you could to drive him into association with the Titans. And now he's one of them, and he's happy and safe, and he's getting training, and … well …" She reached over and patted the back of his hand. "I just wanted to say that I understand … and I appreciate what you did."

He pulled his hand back and stood. "Do not patronize me, young lady."

The grin hadn't budged. "Wouldn't dream of it."

She watched him as he walked quickly out the door. Jericho was at her side before it stopped swinging, his fingers in motion. 'What did he say to you? Did he make any threats?'

"Oh, no, Joey, it's all right. We just had a nice little chat, that's all." She stood. "I'm starved! You said they'd have some cocopolinos, didn't you?"

The mute Titan gave her an unconvinced look, but shrugged and signed, 'They have anything you want. At least, that's what Gar said.'

"Let's do it, then!"

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[Author's End Note:

I've never written anything involving either Jericho or Kole before, and had to do a little research on them before embarking on this piece. They are fascinating people, once you get to know them.

Kole in the cartoon has hardly anything in common with Kole from the comic, so I pretty much dismissed the comic version. If that gets anyone's back up, I apologize. But I had to pick one of them, and I liked the cartoon Kole better.

I don't believe the Jericho from the cartoon ever went nuts, either. The comic version did. Went completely off the deep end: homicidal, vindictive, the whole nine yards. Needless to say, I like the cartoon Jericho better.

I thought this worked pretty well. So did my Muse. I may be writing more Jeri/Kole in the future.]

- Concolor44