"Go to Chicago" Abby had told him, before she drove off to her death. Tim stares at Slade across the rooftop. Was this what she had meant? His life has always been confusing; he should be used to it by now.
He holds the line launcher to his chest, if he says no, can he still keep it? He wants to run just so he can fire it. But why should he say no? Because Batman would disapprove, that thought is hardly censuring now.
As if he needs another father figure. Why is everyone always after him? Will it be the same this time, will it be mind altering and mood altering drugs, cameras to record his every movement, locked doors. Tim needs more then just a change in scenery. The line launcher is heavy and real in his hands, a grounding rod. He could point it, fire it, he could leap. He could fly.
"No needles, no drugs, and no cameras in my room" He finally says. It wasn't an epic speech, somehow he feels this situation needs an epic speech, but he can't quite grasp the words. His words lack gravity.
"Deal" Slade says in that invasive voice of his. Tim wonders if he practices that voice when he's alone. He'll ask later, maybe. Slade turns and walks away; he apparently isn't worried about Tim attacking him from behind. Or he's just that confident in his own ability. Probably the later, Tim decides. "This way" Slade says as he launches his line.
Tim has a second to react, running and firing his own, falling into the older man's shadow. It's déjà vu. Maybe Slade should wear a cape.
The journey takes them across rooftops. Farther then he had yet ventured, into a north town warehouse district. There is an abandoned office complex.
They enter by rooftop, there is a lock on the door, and Slade opens it with a punch code. Tim is reasonably certain the code was 7-2-5-9-2. He watched, he'll remember. This lifestyle stopped being a game.
Slade leads him through seemingly endless empty hallways; deserted buildings make Tim feel uneasy. He keeps waiting for ghosts that probably only exist in his mind. When they finally stop, Tim feels like saying 'Jackpot' when they enter the room full of thick cables and glowing LCD screens. He doesn't. He doesn't say much at all. If it were Dick , or Barbara, or even Bruce, he might crack a joke. Not now, not Slade.
Slade shows him the bathroom, Tim silently thanks the dude for not pointing out how bad Tim must reek. It's been awhile since his last real shower. He checks the bathroom for cameras, that's just habit by now. The water is extra hot, Tim is pretty sure that a hot shower is one of man kinds greatest advances.
When he feels like he is approaching human again, he gets dressed in the clothes Slade provided. If the man hid any bugs, he did it very well, Tim checked everything, twice. Cargo khakis, polo, black boots. Non descript. Everything fits, but he has to cinch the belt to keep the trousers up.
When he steps back into the main rooms he smells the food. Did Slade cook this? He pictures Slade wearing a apron, whipping something up in the kitchen, maybe Slade is secretly a Julia Child fan. Suddenly he remembers a glimpse of something he had tried very hard to forget: Joker wearing a 'kiss the cook' apron, before he… before he reached for the clamps. The smile that was starting to form melts from Tim's face.
The food is good, really good. Good in the way that a hot meal always is after a week of stolen scraps and junk food. Meat and vegetables, potatoes, the seasoning is bland, Tim couldn't care less. He hopes he didn't look to desperate while scarfing it down.
"where are we going?" Tim asks from the passenger seat of the plane.
"Southeast Asia" Slade replies. Curt, to the point, but also non specific, Tim can appreciate that. It's better then lying.
He struggles to stay awake, but eventually he dozes. He knows he's still clutching the line launcher like his teddy bear, and some part of him is even aware enough to be embarrassed.
The change in cabin pressure alerts him to awaken. He rubs the sleep from his eyes. He can see glittering ocean as the jet approaches the island. Philippines maybe?
When Tim glances over he's shocked. Slade had removed the mask. And the armor. The mask is more shocking. He had read the files, he knew what Slade Wilson had looked like. Still, it was a shock. "Your Mask" Tim points out.
The man smirks at him. Dick had told him that the guy was prone to smirk, when had Dick said that? White hair, grey eye, white eye patch, white goatee. The hair color is deceiving, the guy is no older then Bruce.
"Won't be needing it here, your name, for the record is George Dunlap, Jr."
An alias for Tim, huh.? George Dunlap Jr. (ma belly dun lap ov'r ma belt) "And your name?" he asks.
"My name is Slade, of course" The white haired man replies. His voice lacks the smooth polish he used with the mask on. Just like Bruce with his Batman voice. Interesting.
Slade had also changed into the same cargo khakis, and polo as Tim. If they stood side by side, it actually looked like a uniform. When they exited the jet he realized it was the same uniform that all the baggage handlers wore. It was second nature for Tim to slide into the group as though he belonged there. He's perfected a smile for situations like this, it's wide and crinkles his eyes, and makes him look friendly and trustable. He's practiced this smile a hundred times in front of mirrors.
They don't go through customs. Tim is not surprised. They leave through a gate that probably shouldn't exist behind the runways.
"That was Manila International Airport, wasn't it?" Tim asks. Slade raised one eyebrow. He hadn't expected Tim to figure out where they were. Maybe he meant to hijack the other Boy Wonder, the one who wasn't trained by Batman.
"Yes that was" Slade replied. A bit of the purr was coming back, Batman does that too, sometimes when you remind him he's Batman, even when he's not wearing a the suit, he lets a bit of the Bat voice creep in. Tim really has to stop comparing this guy to Batman.
They drive several hours to the coast. Tim wants to make small talk, to pass the time, he runs through several opening lines in his head 'so you kill people here often?' didn't sound reverent enough. Maybe he could start by asking about his new role in Slade's plans 'I hope the fact that you've taken me to a country known for child prostitutes does not in any way reflect upon the apprenticeship you're offering' Naw, also totally inappropriate. Instead he just sits there. Slade doesn't say anything, Tim follows his lead.
They drive to a boat, a small sailing vessel, looks barely sea worthy. Maybe Slade sees some apprehension in Tim's face because he finally says "Come on, it won't sink"
Tim reluctantly climbs on from the makeshift pier the locals had rigged out of shipping pallets. He had sailed with Wayne a few times; he roughly knew how to do it, probably. Luckily Slade knew what he was doing; he delivered commands in a clipped direct manner. Tim obeys.
They finally land on a small island. There is, apparently, only one permanent structure on the island.
The residence is, well it's pretty damn impressive. It's big and lonely. Like Wayne manor. Tim could make a comment about how it needs an Alfred, but then the butler shows up. Wintergreen, he's told. The dude doesn't say much, but what he says is in a British accent. Maybe Tim fell down a rabbit hole and this is the other side. Pretty sure the last year hasn't been a Mad Hatter construct.
Tim resists checking the grandfather clock for a secret cave. Doesn't seem to be a need. Slade apparently did not hide his work space underground. Familiar screens and cables take up the majority of the main office in the house. Tim can hear the ocean crashing beyond the windows. It's an odd parallel. Soon it's easy to remember he's not at Wayne manner at all. The smell of the ocean, the sound, the breeze through open windows, the tropical flora outside the door. Maybe that was the point, he wonders.
It's still hard to pretend he doesn't feel awkward. He's spent almost the last eight hours with this man. They've barely had a conversation in all that time. Silence is another thing that's awkward for Tim. Its better then other things (maniacal laughter for example, especially when he is the one laughing, and laughing and laughing, til he's gasping for breath and still he can't stop)
He resists the urge to crack jokes, to make sassy comments. Actually, he's rarely in the mood for jokes anymore anyway. Something else the Joker took from him.
Slade tells him to report to the infirmary in 30 minutes. The butler, Wintergreen shows him to his new room. "Your room, Mr. Drake" is what he says. He doesn't call him 'Master Tim' which is good, Tim never actually told Alfred how creepy he thought that title was.
The door to the room doesn't have a proper lock, just a bolt that slides from the inside. Apparently they trust him enough to feel the lock won't be needed. If that wasn't cherry pie enough, it's only on the second floor, and the windows open. Like open open, for real. No scratch resistant polycarbonate panes set into steel frames. He could…. He could escape. He could run away, he could hide on the island, he could leave. He was allowed to leave. In theory.
Also, his room was totally sweet. It had a desk, and a work area, and a computer, and all kinds of equipment for the computer. He didn't have to turn it on to know it would be top of the line. And books, and other equipment, microscopes, a chemistry set.
There were cool things there too, things that had nothing to do with international intrigues and more to do with being a teenager. A stereo worth more then his dad's car, and a TV with a Gamebox and a Playcube.
The décor was well chosen, shades of blue and green, with light pine bedroom furniture. Nothing dark and gothic like his room at Wayne's. The bed was big and soft, without being overly soft. The bathroom was attached. It was stocked with thick white towels and high end soaps and hair care products.
Everything was just totally sweet!!! And there were no cameras. Or if there were, they were so well hidden that Tim could not find them. Not that he would stop looking. Ever.
It seemed like he had only just checked out his rocking new digs when the butler came for him. "Mr. Drake, if you would follow me to the infirmary"
The hallways were lined with wide tall windows, white curtains swayed as the breeze flowed through them. It was like a travel brochure. This was his new home. It's hard to regret his choices now. He wonders if it was like this when Dick was his apprentice. He wonders why Dick left.
The infirmary ended up being a miniature well stocked hospital. Even Batman did not keep such high end imaging equipment, an MRI, seriously? Slade was there, mask back on. It was odd looking at the cold black and orange face. Tim tried to mask his own emotions as he entered the room. He sat on the exam table; he's familiar enough with these settings to know what's expected of him. He wonders if he should take his shirt off yet, after a moment of consideration he goes ahead. Somehow it seems more tolerable to do it as though he chose to, to not be asked.
He can't meet the man's eye like this. Even with his mask on, Slade is too human to be tolerated well when Tim is feeling helpless. He hates examination rooms. He tries not to think about ways to restrain someone to this table. He tries to keep his mind off the many implements stored in this room and how they could be used, on him, on his skin. He tries not to think about the scars now exposed on his torso. He breathes deep, he exhales. He' ok, he's coping, this is about coping, when he can open his eyes again he sees Slade standing there, watching him. Just watching.
"I've seen the films the Joker made" Tim keeps his eyes downcast; he knows there is a flush rising in his face anyway. He is ashamed of what happened, he should have been stronger, he should have been smarter. He knows that it was his fault. Barbara can tell him otherwise all she wants, it was Tim's fault. He let his guard down. He paid for it.
"I need to make a full evaluation of the physical toll that took on you" Tim hears the words that aren't said. 'I need to make sure the goods I picked up at Batman's yard sale aren't too damaged to be of use'.
He directs Tim to the MRI. He still can't get over that, Batman did not have this kind of medical equipment at the cave.
It was hard to lie still. To pretend he wasn't freaking out. He schools his face, he tries to think un-funny things. Serious like a heart attack he thinks. The MRI is tiny, and claustrophobic and coffin like. He can't help but realize that year ago; this would be a walk in the park. He draws his mind back to a year ago. When everything was still a game to be played. When he figured the worst that could happen is Bats would kick him out of the cool kids club and then he'd go back to being a regular kid again, but with like fat scholarships and stuff.
He's found his calm again by the time the MRI finally shuts down. Slade is still doing the stoic silence thing, if he saw any part of Tim's internal struggle he doesn't comment on it. With the mask on he's impossible to read. Actually, with the mask off, he would be difficult to read.
"There is something implanted in your neck, I am going to remove it" Slade says as he shuts down the machine. "I can show you the images, I do not know what it is, I know I promised no needles, so you have the option to decline anesthesia"
Tim looks at the computer screen. Is it a tracking device? No, Batman would already be here if that was the case. It almost appears to have a smiley face on it. The Joker.
If the Joker left something in Tim, he wants it gone. Now. "Is conscious surgery an option?" He asks. He really doesn't want needles full of drugs in him.
"Can you remain calm while I cut you?"
Tim knows the answer. The MRI was not invasive at all. He almost freaked out. No, he can not remain calm. Yes he will freak out. Yes he too broken to actually be any good to anybody.
"Ok" is all he says. It's not explicit invitation, it's all Slade needs. Tim looks at the screen once more. It was all the distraction Slade needed. The needle was home before Tim would even react. As he slumps unsteadily, drugs already kicking in, he looks at Slade through blurry eyes "you're not Batman" he slurs and then he's gone.
……………………..
Two chapters in two days.
If you have any questions about, well, anything let me know. If I'm over explaining things, let me know that too. Sometimes I feel like I am compelled to put too much detail. Like you guys didn't really need to know that the pier the boat was tied too was made out of cargo palates, but I couldn't help myself.
I really want to write this as the Slade from the cartoons, because he's an evil badass, but I am too contaminated by Slade from the comics, who is often more sympathetic.
Also, this is unrelated, but I started reading Secret Six recently, from DC, and I heart Deadshot for ever. I actually have a half started Deadshot fic on my computer.
