Author's Note: Wow, I got two reviews the first day I had this up. Guess I wasn't the only one who thought there was an unfortunate lack of Tim/Slade Fiction. Those who desire more, your wish is my command.


"Again" Slade says. No emotion is apparent in his tone.

"I've already run through the drill five times" Dick replies.

"And you haven't done it correctly once" Slade regards the young man from his chair. His throne when he's not fooling himself. The gears in the room turn in a steady rhythmic cacophony. He stands, activates the mechanisms used for the routine, and demonstrates perfectly.

"That's what I've been doing" Nightwing shouts at him angrily. He's so far from correct that he can't even discern the difference.

Slade looks for the youth who led the Teen Titans against him in countless battles. That kid is gone; he has been replaced with this. That such potential was wasted on the likes of Batman burns Slade. No doubt the young man was still a work of art, the swing of the kick, the line of the punch were still breathtaking works of beauty, but once these features were set off most stunningly by the potential that Slade had seen. An artist could have taken these lines and built a masterpiece. Batman had settled for less.

"You're dismissed" Slade said. He watched Nightwing stalk out, his smoldering temper that Slade had once found amusing now grates on his nerves. He knows that Dick has smuggled a means of communicating with the Bat into this, his sanctuary. He permits this, for now, and he has no doubt that at this moment, the kid was going to hide in his room and report.

Slade has other work to do. He maintains a vast network of connections, news and data, filtered through programs of his own design to bring all the events worthy of his note to his attention. Even with the filtering software, sorting through the raw data was a time consuming chore, but a necessary one. He had carefully crafted his reputation around his uncanny ability to always know what was really going on. This daily task was a necessary step to maintaining this façade. Running through the key words several pieces of information caught his eye immediately. Alvin Draper had been transferred from the more luxurious Shady Meadows Psychiatric Facility to the sterner and more heavily fortified Spitzer Institute of Psychiatric Care. Further probes into the matter show that seven employees at Shady Meadows had recently been treated in the hospital. Four were treated and released; three were admitted for more severe injuries. Real facts about the situation were elusive; someone had gone to an effort to make sure of that. Batman probably has no reason to realize that Slade already knew Alvin Draper was an alias created for Tim Drake, but then again, he was not brushing this scandal under the rug solely for Slade's sake, the Wayne family reputation had to be seen after. The same doctor attending Tim Drake, alias: Alvin Draper, had also transferred. Dr. Leslie Thompkins. Her background does not suggest she was the correct doctor for this job. Batman really likes to be the one playing all the cards.

He adjusts the training controls that Dick was just practicing on. Maximum setting. After the effort finally clears his head, he makes his way to Dick's room.

He doesn't knock, it's his home, and he doesn't have to. He opens the door and steps in; the expression on Dick's face says volumes.

Slade can see that he has something to say, so he waits for it. He has all the time in the world.

"Forensics came back on Harley Quinzel" There is spitting anger in his voice. Slade can already see that this conversation was going to reference the untimely death of the Joker's girlfriend, and Tim's role in it.

He only waits for Dick to finish saying what he started. Obviously the young man can't make up his mind about how to phrase this.

"I assume this is about the teeth marks?" Slade finally says. He keeps his voice low, only the lightest hint of the cocky purr he uses when speaking to Dick. He remembers the scene, the animal frenzy in the broken bird as he stabbed and slashed and of course, bit. In his mind he stops the memory and replays it, no, it wasn't a frenzy, there was control, the kid struggled with his failing strength, unfamiliar with the tool in his hand, or even of his surroundings, but even then the kid had a goal, and he pursued it.

"How could you let him!!" And Dick's fist is flying at Slade. He easily sidesteps and Nightwing goes crashing past him. A man controlled by his anger is easily defeated, and so Dick is.

When Slade has a subdued Nightwing pinned, he whispers in his ear,"I let him because he needed it, you may never know, you may never be the one who screamed and cried and begged for two weeks that your comrades would find you before it was too late; that your family would find you, and thus you do not know what he needed at that time, but I did, you really should thank me"

That silences the anger. Nightwing clearly doesn't like to think about what occurred in those two weeks. When Slade is confident that Nightwing had given up the fight he lets him go.

"You're dismissed, Richard, consider our contract absolved"

Slade leaves the room before the dumbstruck hero can retort.