Not ours, just having fun with them.
-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-
After Dick left, Donna straightened the bed, smoothing the covers and fluffing the pillows. A simple task, she told herself, common, nothing special or unusual. This day was like any other. She had to believe that. She had to believe that nothing devastating would lock this particular moment into her memory. She and Dick would have so many more nights to figure out what they were to each other that this first one would lose its special gloss. First times didn't have to be important when they were repeated over and over.
He'd worn his costume, and she'd bought him a calf-length overcoat to use as a disguise. His jeans still lay by the bed, near the shirt she'd torn off him in passionate fun. Donna folded the jeans and set them aside where he would find them when he came back. The shirt she carried into the kitchen, intending to throw it away.
At her sink, she pressed the soft fabric to her face, remembering how it felt to rest her cheek against his chest. She inhaled deeply, his scent once again filling her awareness. How much she'd miss his smell if the worst happened. She didn't want to think of that, even though she knew it was a possibility. Still, there was one way to make sure she had the chance to breathe him in again. She folded the shredded garment carefully into a small square and tucked it into a plastic zippered bag. When he got back, they could laugh about her sentimentality.
She was on her way to put the bag with her other carefully kept mementos when a knock echoed through her apartment. She frowned. Dick couldn't be back already, could he? Dropping the bag with its precious contents inside her bedroom, she turned toward the door.
She opened the door to a broad grin and a shock of red hair. "Hey, gorgeous."
"Roy? What're you doing here?" She stepped aside to let Roy Harper come inside.
"You must have something on your mind if you forgot our lunch date. Or else you're finally sick and tired of me."
"Lunch." As soon as he said it, Donna recalled the plans they'd made a week ago. "Sorry, a lot has been going on and it slipped my mind."
"A lot going on?" His grin turned Roy-lecherous, a comical expression. "Anything X-rated and worth sharing?"
Sometimes she hated how easily she could blush.
"That would be a 'yes.' So, details?" Roy grinned even wider and held out his arms for a hug. "Possibility of a threesome?"
She hugged him, grateful that it at least hid her embarrassment. She knew her face was redder than her old costume had been. "Would you really want a threesome of two guys and me?"
"Any threesome that includes you is at least worth considering," Roy answered. "But it would depend on the other guy."
"Um." Should she tell him? On the one hand, it would be good to have someone to talk to who knew and cared for Dick, too. On the other, it was Roy.
"Okay, that sounds serious." Roy pulled back to look down at her. "All kidding aside -- you want to talk?"
"It's not serious," she began. "At least I don't think it is. More like we always were. Friends with extras."
"Benefits, Donna. It's called friends with benefits, and you were never completely comfortable with the idea. You always wanted the man of your dreams, just didn't think you'd ever get him."
That was serious talk for Roy, but Donna knew he was capable of it when something really mattered. "Yes, well…"
"Stop stalling. Spill. Who're you with, or back with?"
"It's not -- oh, gods, Roy, it's not the sex stuff or anything. It's a mission. He's going off into danger, serious danger, and I'm afraid I'll never see him again."
"Oh. Dick." He didn't sound surprised.
She gaped at him. "How did you know? He's not the only man I know who puts himself in danger."
"No, but he's the only one you'd worry about that much." Her confusion must've shown on her face, because he added, "You've been in love with him since we were kids."
"I have not," she protested. "I --" Then she stopped. Had she? And if she had, how had she been blind to it so long?
"Donna." She'd heard him use that tone with his young daughter, Lian. That he took it with her suggested he thought she was being incredibly dumb. Or blind. Or both. "Do you really think I didn't know? I mean, when you scream out his name in ecstasy, it's pretty obvious."
"I never did that." Well, technically, she had, several times over the past twenty-four hours "I mean not with you."
"Actually…" He had the uncharacteristic good grace to look embarrassed. "Yeah, you did. A couple times."
It would be convenient, she thought, if her face could just stay red. It would save her the trouble of blushing again. "Did I? I'm -- sorry. I really didn't mean to -- and why didn't you tell me?"
"Why should I?" He sounded astonished.
"Why should -- because it was embarrassing."
"Well, for you maybe, but I kept getting his orgasms, so I came out ahead." That was all Roy, right down to his cheeky grin.
She glared at him. "If I were still fifteen I'd hit you, hard."
"Another reason not to have made this confession earlier in our lives." His smile slipped and he turned serious. "Look, Donna -- in all honesty, I decided it was for the two of you to figure out. We'd never been in love, and we weren't going to be. As long as I didn't tell you, you'd still turn to me for comfort, and I thought you needed that. Not saying there wasn't that selfish orgasm thing for real, or that getting one up on ol' Robbie wasn't appealing, but mostly I wanted to give you what I could, because you honestly are my friend."
How could she stay mad at him when he was that open, that honest? She had to match that with her own honesty. Roy's words were like sunlight through clouds. She'd been hiding from the truth. She loved Dick Grayson. She always had and, gods willing, always would. If he survived his encounter with Deathstroke. If…
She smiled at Roy, but felt her lips trembling. "Give me a minute."
"Sure."
Roy sounded confused, but she ignored that, intent instead on grabbing her cell phone. She had to call Dick, had to tell him to drink the ambrosia so he would survive, so she could tell him she loved him.
Her call went straight through to voice mail -- he'd already turned his phone off. She'd never have wanted to tell him this through a voice mail, but she had to leave a message, in case he checked it before the fight started. If it hadn't already. "I choose you, Dick. I love you. Do everything possible to make sure you come back to me."
She disconnected the call, and closed her phone, praying that he'd get the message in time. Then she turned back to Roy. "Thank you."
He nodded, understanding what she hadn't said. "So, what's he off to do now? And why aren't you with him?"
"That's a long story."
"So we order in, and you talk, and I'm here -- whatever you need."
-X-
The branches of the tree Slade had chosen offered some relief from the summer storm. He didn't care about the rain. He'd had longer stakeouts in worse conditions in his life. What he wanted from the tree was a concealed vantage point. He checked his watch. Seven minutes past noon. Three minutes until Slade could climb down the tree, pull off the mask he wore when working, and return to his normal life.
He didn't expect Grayson would be foolish enough to keep this appointment. In every battle but one, Slade had emerged victorious, and in that one Grayson had only escaped through a calculated gamble. Grayson had to know the outcome would be no different this time -- especially since Slade had arranged it so there were no calculated gambles to be taken.
"Come on, kid. Be smart. Stay home. Stay alive." It would be easier for everyone that way. Of course, Slade would then need to do a bit more breaking and entering if he wanted to get his hands on that vial and whatever it contained. But, he could manage that. Offering this deal had been a weak moment to start with. He'd seen the kid's pain over killing Desmond, a man Slade was more than happy to see dead, and for that brief moment Slade had felt he owed the boy.
He really had to toughen up that soft streak. It would get him in trouble some day.
Not today, though. Eight minutes past noon. Almost time to leave. Then, he caught sight of a dark figure running improbably fast from the direction of the reflecting pool. "Oh, hell."
Nightwing slowed as he approached the Wall, to recover his breath somewhat before the confrontation, Slade knew. For a moment, he debated going home himself, but if Grayson had shown up here, he'd hunt Slade until he found him. Or Slade killed him. Either way, the outcome was the same. He didn't owe the kid anything more.
Time to go to war. Slade dropped from the tree, landed on his feet and beat Nightwing to the junction of the two walls of the Viet Nam Memorial by a second, he at the top and the kid below on the far side of the post-and-rope barrier along the walkway. "Didn't expect you to show."
"Then you don't know me."
Slade read his opponent's stance easily. Nightwing looked relaxed, but Slade could see the subtleties that meant he was ready for a fight. Slade chuckled. "Easy, kid, we're not here to fight. This is just a nice, friendly exchange."
"An exchange, maybe," Nightwing allowed. "Hardly friendly."
On the path below his perch, Slade saw umbrellas tilt upward and cell phone cameras flash. Everyone was a reporter today. But, these tourists were part of his plan, as were the police some of them would be calling as soon as the fight started.
Slade nodded. "You have the vial?"
"You have the arrow?"
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Slade pulled the tubular container from his back and opened it, tilted the shaft end of the arrow out into his palm.
Nightwing popped open a compartment on his left wristguard. He removed something and held it up. Even in the gray light, the vial glittered. "The whole thing. I don't think you broke it, but let's be sure, shall we?"
The kid was thorough. Slade had expected nothing less. He grasped the arrow and withdrew it completely from its case, making clear the weapon was still in one piece.
"So we throw things to each other and then walk away like civilized men?" Nightwing asked, a grin playing about his mouth.
"We can do it that way." Slade spun the arrow in his hand, completing the movement so he gripped it in a throwing hold. He raised his arm to his shoulder. "Shall we count to three?"
"In the case, thanks. It'll be impossible to get it on the plane otherwise."
"You take all the fun out of life." Still, Slade let him watch as he slipped the arrow back into its case. Then he raised the leather cylinder overhead. "One."
Nightwing readied the vial for an underhand throw. "Two."
"Three." The timing had to be perfect. Nightwing was good, and he'd be able to judge a wild throw. So, Slade made sure he looked like he was aiming straight down. He timed his release to be a fraction of a second behind Nightwing's. In that final moment, he flicked his wrist just enough to send the arrow case wide and to the right of his target.
He allowed his body to follow the line of his throw, caught the glass vial at the peak of its arc, and continued forward. With just a bit of luck, he'd land nearer the arrow case than Nightwing could manage. They'd likely grapple for it, of course. Not a problem.
His leap took him over the post-and-rope barrier, and he dove into a roll, skidding on the rain-slicked grass, and came to his feet less than a yard from the case and more than five feet from Nightwing.
"Here I thought you were a man who kept his word," Nightwing said. He sounded disappointed, Slade thought, if not resigned. "Now I know better."
"Truth hurts, kid." Slade scooped up the case. Something niggled in the back of his mind. Nightwing hadn't moved toward the case at all, merely pivoted to watch Slade's gymnastics. Now the young hero watched while Slade gathered up the arrow in its carrying case and slipped the strap over his shoulder, his expression revealing little other than a slight amusement.
"Impressive jump," the younger man said. "A little sloppy on the roll, though. You need to tuck in tighter."
"Gymnastics aren't my strong suit." He dropped the vial into a belt pouch and drew his sword. Slade had known going into this that if the kid showed up he was going to have to die. It was a pity, but necessary. "Weapons are more my style."
Nightwing shifted his weight slightly, ready to attack. "We can still end this like rational men. Just hand over the arrow, and we'll call it a day."
"Too late for that. We both know you'll feel compelled to come after me for the other toy. You can't let it stay in my tainted hands for long, so I have no obligation to keep my end of the bargain." Slade's danger instincts were ringing, though. Something was definitely wrong. He realized suddenly that the kid had given over the vial far too quickly, not even attempting an appeal to do the right thing. "No, you won't follow, will you? You've already emptied the vial."
"Give the man a kewpie doll. You only asked for the vial, not its contents. You didn't think I would be generous, did you?"
"Didn't expect you --" Slade knew to attack when a target least expected. He swung the sword full force and speed at Nightwing's knees before finishing his sentence. "--to show up at all."
The blow never connected. Nightwing leapt up, clearing the blade by a good five feet -- and hovered there.
Hovered? No time to consider the impossibility of that. Slade stabbed upward intending to skewer the floating man. "Good trick. How'd you manage it?"
"Upgrades." The brat darted left, avoiding the thrust. "I guess you could say I'm Nightwing 2.0."
"Always with the smart-ass remarks." Sometimes the only way to win a battle was to retreat. Slade didn't know how Nightwing learned to fly. He did know that he himself was fast and strong and could clear the area in seconds, even while sheathing his sword on the run. He took off for the trees.
Except that Nightwing was fast, too -- faster than he should've been, because he landed in front of Slade, blocking his path. "Leaving so soon?"
"You didn't just empty the vial, did you?" Slade asked, the truth coming at him like a rocket. "You drank whatever was in it."
"Are you going to hand over the arrow and the vial, or am I going to have to take them from you?"
Nightwing could dodge the sword, but could he withstand a blast from Slade's power staff? He brought the weapon up, but Nightwing slapped it aside. The force of the blow sent the staff spinning several yards away and a shock of pain down Slade's arm. "No weapons."
The tourists had stopped snapping pictures and started dialing 911 as soon as the sword came out. Slade knew that within minutes the park would be full of police, and maybe FBI and others. He'd planned to be gone before they could be an issue, and to stick Nightwing with the authorities if he was still alive. That plan was in shambles now.
Nightwing was a skilled martial artist -- one of the best Slade had ever fought. And now he had superpowers. This might be a real fight. Finally.
"Time to get nasty." Slade dove at his opponent, intent on grabbing him, crushing him with bare hands if need be. At least grass, wet as it was, allowed some purchase for his boots.
He expected the block, and tried to twist the younger man's arm into a nerve-hold, despite the rain coating both men's armor. The hold lasted a full five seconds. Then Nightwing wrenched his arm free and threw a punch toward Slade's midsection. The punch lacked the hero's usual confidence.
"Slowing down, kid?" Slade didn't know where the boy's hesitation came from, but he wasn't about to let the opportunity it presented pass by. He threw a vicious combination designed to distract the young hero and allow him to pull a stun grenade.
Nightwing dodged easily, but again the counter-attack lacked conviction. Slade caught his wrist, rolled, and threw the younger man. The move gave him a second to think. He remembered the instant after Blockbuster's death -- Nightwing frozen with regret -- and understood. The kid's powers were new. He didn't yet know how much force would kill. Slade smiled behind his mask.
Then he slammed a kick at the boy's left knee. Nightwing leapt to one side, but a half-second too late. Slade's boot slammed into the equipment case that doubled as a greave. He heard the crunch of armor giving way, wondered if it masked the crunch of bone shattering as well.
Nightwing landed hard, favoring that leg, but he could still stand. Slade couldn't take the time to wonder what other powers the kid had received. He had the advantage, and he wouldn't lose it.
Slade pressed his attack -- kick, punch, jab, kick, kick -- no order to the strikes, just an attempt to drown the young man who didn't yet know how to manage his strength. It should've been easy. The flurry of blows would've overwhelmed most men, but Nightwing deflected most, and the remainder scored only glancing contact.
Definitely a real fight.
But, Slade was getting the feel for the kid's movements now. He swept another kick to Nightwing's legs, made him jump. And used the retreat to buy time to re-draw his katana.
What the hell? The kid was grinning. And then escrima sticks appeared in his hands. Slade understood. Weapon to weapon meant Nightwing didn't have to worry about his strength as much. Not, Slade thought, that it would matter. His greater height and the length of the katana meant he had greater reach. The kid would be finished soon.
Dull metallic thuds echoed across the grassy field. The tourists, Slade saw from the corner of his eye, had resumed taking pictures. Nightwing actually seemed to be enjoying this. Slade couldn't blame him, as the kid blocked each attack with minimal movement.
"You always telegraph your moves like this?" Nightwing asked.
"Only when you give me an opening." And the kid had, when he blocked Slade's last strike. Not a big one, not one that most people could take advantage of -- but Slade wasn't most people. He rolled the blade around the escrima stick and thrust hard.
Nightwing winced as the katana sank deep into his side.
Slade watched the kid stagger back, off the blade, watched the color drain from his face. By the sudden stench that carried over the scent of rain-wet grass, Slade knew he'd severed part of his opponent's intestine. The kid wouldn't be standing for long, though it would be an ugly death. Slade had enough respect for his opponent finish it quickly.
All around, the crowd let out a collective gasp. Slade stepped closer to his opponent, hating the audience. None of them understood what had just happened here. None of them could've -- would've -- done anything remotely similar. Nightwing deserved better than gawking from people like them. "It's okay, kid. You did pretty good."
"Better than you think." Nightwing's voice sounded stronger than it should have.
"It'll be over quick." Slade raised the sword, brought it down without hesitation. The blade dug into Nightwing's suddenly raised escrima stick. What the hell?
He had no time to process what was happening. With a twist of his wrist, Nightwing pulled the sword from Slade's hands. Then he was on his feet. In the air. Kicking hard. The boot hit Slade's chest with the force of a cannon.
His armor absorbed much of the impact, but still Slade heard ribs cracking, and he staggered backward, unable to find purchase on the grass, finally landing on his back. Nightwing didn't give him the chance to recover, slammed a fist down into Slade's gut. Even though he'd tensed his muscles as the blow landed, Slade felt nausea rising. He clenched his jaw to hold back the bile.
Nightwing grabbed the front of his armor, pulled him up to a half-sitting position and slipped the arrow-case off his shoulder.
Slade still had fight in him, but he heard police sirens in the distance. They'd be here in two minutes, perhaps less. Nightwing, apparently, could now fly away, but Slade would be stuck with a ground escape. Better not to risk an injury that might make that impossible.
"Good job, kid. Hope there's not a next time."
"Me, too." Nightwing quickly retrieved the vial from Slade's belt and the case from his shoulder. "But it's more your decision than mine, isn't it?"
Slade nodded an acknowledgment, and shouldn't have been surprised when Nightwing lowered him to the ground slowly rather than letting him drop. The young man just didn't have callousness in him. When the next time came, and it would regardless of what they wanted, Slade would use that against him. Then Nightwing was gone.