A/N: Apologies for the inexcusably long hiatus, but writer's block is a bitch. I hope I am going in the right direction. Thank you so much for continuing support! Enjoy.
Back arched and arm held out like a dapper gentleman, Slade waited for her response. Her brow remained glued in a baffled, quizzical expression.
"Raven," he called after a few awkward moments. "I'm beginning to lose my patience."
Guess everything is back to normal...she thought bitterly.
"Er..." was all the sound she could muster.
Rolling his eye again, he gave up the charade and began to stalk forward, a menacing glimmer in his darkening pupil.
She had not thought this far out, that much was clear. The last few moments of her and him felt like a dream. Cold reality now drenched that temporary bliss. With seconds dwindling and strength waning just as quickly, she at last picked option one: Flight.
With a dazzling blast of obsidian power, her avatar wings stretched magnificently, glittering like galaxies. Body enveloped by familiar, safe shadow, she began to ascend. Every nerve focused on escape, she floated above him.
Rusty, it was difficult to react as quickly as she would have liked. Nevertheless, in her bird's eye, she saw him standing patiently below her, completely unfazed. She made a break for the door, intent on finding her friends as soon as possible.
In a twinkle she was at the opening, feeling confident.
At last he acted.
Standing astutely with an unimpressed air about him, he poked a button on panel's interface. Almost bored to tears, he watched as she was caught in an unseen field, electricity pulsing over the black-winged silhouette. A desperate screech erupted from it, and then Raven fell out of the air.
Pouncing, he managed to catch her before her skull clashed with the unforgiving ground.
He had not wanted to do things the difficult way, just for the child's sake of course, but she had made it impossible to do anything but.
"Foolish girl," he quipped as he held onto her limp body, hands and eyes searching for injuries.
He pressed a finger to her wrist, checking her heartbeat. Unhitching one half of his mask, he pressed a partially covered ear to her chest and then stomach.
Thankfully, it seemed that her powers had protected her from the brunt of it, an almost annoyed thump beat against her womb. Clipping his helm back on, he appraised the rest of her person. Only a few bumps and bruises could be seen.
Her breathing was normal, but it was obvious that she was knocked unconscious from the blast. This was fortunate, now he wouldn't have to drag her kicking and screaming.
Just like down in the caves, he carried her down the deserted hallways of the tower. It was odd being here and not destroying everything in sight. Resisting the temptation to demolish the robin's nest or place thousands of bugs in every pocket of space he could find...
...or plant a bomb...or create havoc in their defense systems...or leave a goose-chase clue just to madden them...
He lost his train of thought as he walked, and was just about to do one or all of these things when he remembered he was carrying his pregnant...
Dead in his tracks, he had not the faintest idea what to call her.
Wife seemed absurd. Prisoner? Perhaps that was too harsh, or maybe not wicked enough. Slave had a nice ring to it. Apprentice was clearly unlucky. Gleefully pondering these options he knew he had to pick a devastating one.
Then the moment she woke up he would unleash it on her. He picked his pace up again.
Pet? he brainstormed.
Too subtle.
Nighttime had indeed come, and if Slade knew Robin's habits correctly, he knew that the boy would not stop searching until daybreak. His old sidekick routine made him a predictable adversary. Slade himself had watched the Titans leave, had even seen them fly away into sunset.
Pretty bird? he tried again.
Already used up.
Raven was incorrect, he hadn't gone to the safe room first. But he had used the vents. No nails could stop him. In fact, he would have broken out day one if he had thought it would suit his purposes. Instead, he let the days pass, let the children grow overconfident, believe they held his fate in their tiny hands.
Mrs. Slade Wilson?
He barked out a laugh at that one. She had no idea who he was. It was confuse and humiliate her.
It had been simple to guess where she hid, and even easier to break in from the ceiling. Waiting had also the unexpected benefit of toying with the girl's emotions yet again.
Revealing himself had been a last moment call, but it seemed to have paid off in spades-she was falling back into his trap. Lips tugging down, he wondered if it had been too easy.
Something grumbled in his mind that countered his steely gambit. Hadn't he enjoyed her touch? Not in a distorted sense for once, but truly, genuinely?
Without wanting to, the memory of her soft fingers on his exposed face magnified. It took up his entire psyche and spread to his body, causing a coating of excited nerves.
Then, dragged behind the chariot of his soul, his reminiscing flew to the small broom closet that Robin had locked him up in. A prickle of anger soured his mood, but he remembered nonetheless.
****** A few weeks ago******
Toes against the wall, he heaved himself into a crunch. Just like prison, he had nothing better to do than this. A trickle of sweat beaded on his brow as he neared one-hundred.
The camera swayed back and forth in the corner, and Slade was sure that Robin was tuning in to his workout. He almost had the audacity to give a little wave, but he pretended as though he didn't notice. Overconfidence may hamper his escape.
It was dim, but he saw fine. After all, he spent a majority of his time in a cavern. With a final exhale, he dropped to the floor, chest expanding.
This conditioning was pointless, he hadn't lost muscle mass in years. But it was the only thing that was able to quiet his racing mind.
Something had changed, it wasn't the usual whispers anymore.
Instead there was a flood of memories, of emotion that coursed through him incessantly. It began only hours after being hauled into solitary confinement. Playing possum, he had laid still for days, making him seem weak and frail in the Titan's eyes, fooling them.
During that time all he could do was think.
And what did he think about?
Schemes and battle plans?
No.
Sadistic fantasies?
Wrong again.
Infuriated, he pressed himself off the ground just to flip over into a push-up pose.
With each shove, the image of Raven's face dwindled.
But he could still feel her.
At first he worried that she had set a link between their minds, that she could sense him in the same way, and that he was bearing her reactions.
But after the first month, he knew that couldn't be true.
If it had been, she would have experienced his earthquake of worry, the pounding of anxiety in his brain. Things that even he had never felt before.
She would have known that it was all directed toward her. Even as he tried desperately to justify it.
It's only about the plan...he had to keep reminding himself. Once I get the child I'll dispose of her.
This would set off another emotion: Fear.
Picturing her dead-eye gaze made his throat clench uncharacteristically. He had to find a way.
It had been his intent to somehow corrupt or bully her into submission, then she would stay, but he had never expected that now he actually wanted her to desire him, his company, willingly remain by his side.
Fury began to pool in his mouth, began to engulf him. He spat angry spittle, his nostrils flared like a bull. It was centered on his frustration, he had allowed himself to form an attachment to a sworn enemy. Yet even more exasperating was that the Titans ruined everything. He almost had her!
She had been broken! He had done it himself! Her hope had dried up, he had made sure no one could find them, could steal her away!
It was a idealistic fantasy, but a powerful one. He had made plans!
At first she would mourn over her new role of motherhood, she would cry and pout, like all the other times.
But he knew that eventually she would see their child, their son, and succumb. No teammates, friends, escape, but she had something new down with her in the caves-something better.
Their child was special and was destined for greatness, this he was sure of.
Oh, she would have fussed over him! She would have been there to witness his first steps, his first word, his first everything! She would have taught him of her people and guided him as he explored his darker nature.
It didn't matter if she never spoke a word to Slade again, if only he could see a fondness in her eyes for something he created.
Perhaps their son would grow up to challenge the Titans, perhaps not. Slade could not deny that although his ultimate scheme may never come into play, there was a redemptive blueprint in the making. In one way or another, his slate would be wiped clean of mistakes and failures.
Jumping to his feet powerfully, gracefully, he threw himself down on the cot, his fingers digging into his scalp.
How many times had he pictured her, with him? How many times had he recollected about the way she annoyed him with her whining? Or when she made a clever retort right back at him?
How many times had he been surprised by her bravery? Idiotic as it may be.
Or enjoyed her few genuine laughs?
Perhaps he was beginning to buy into his own ploy. Maybe they did belong together.
An alarm buzzed faintly above him, along with the familiar voices of the Titans.
On edge, he listened intently, quieting his breath.
"...you guys go, I'll be fine," the intoxicating chime trickled down to his cellar.
Relief tore him open. It took everything he had not to begin his crawl into the vents. He could take her now! Feet wiggling, he almost pounced onto the wall, but he clenched the bed frame and anchored himself.
Not yet...
Sighing as the passion faded along with the noise, he plopped onto his back and tried to numb his brain to Raven.
****** Return to present******
A terrifying thought smashed its way past his psychotic defenses.
I missed her. It's not just disappointment.
Gnawing his teeth together, he put his brain on lockdown and tried to execute the stray thoughts.
But he couldn't pull the trigger.
Get back to the plan, the monster in his head roared.
Yet the power of the beast had decisively lessened. He stopped still again, just a passage away from the front door.
Looking down, he considered this strange girl again.
She's compromised you, his neurosis accused. Kill her. Find a different host. Random and unknown.
Obediently, shifting her into one arm, he placed a hand on her elegant throat, but he did not squeeze like the creature wanted.
A part of him had grown in spite of his diligent trimming, and it fought against the maniacal urge.
Find another way, it whispered.
He removed his gloved hand, curling his fingers into a vibrating fist and tucking it back under her legs. Disobeying never came easy.
The puppet-master was without a marionette, he was cutting her strings loose. What could he do now but fade into obscurity? She would never accept him. Not after his actions.
He was never a hero, and now he was worse than a villain, but could a gargoyle still love? Even after all its offenses? Panic escalated in him, the reality that the idea of he and she was impossible zeroed in.
For the first time in memory, he was frozen, caught between two wants: That of his nature and that of his hope.
A flicker of optimism tickled.
I can change! I can! it pleaded. She just needs to believe in me.
An army of cynicism strangled it quickly.
Only a lobotomy could make that happen.
The quandary was set.
Steal her away again and only further divide her from himself.
Leave her and spend the rest of his life in further misery.
Wounded and pierced through the heart, he could not take his eye off the girl. A strange and despicable romance, a cornucopia of abhorrence and pain, but love still managed to bud and bloom.
What to do, what to do?
Darkness began to float away, and her long-lashed eyes fluttered like butterfly wings.
Body aching, but otherwise unharmed, she sat up, realizing she was not in the tower anymore. Instead, she was on top of a skyscraper, wind whipping through her twilight hair. The pale light of the moon twinkled on her arms. A memory tried to climb the recesses of her mind.
Groaning, she wobbled her way to her swollen ankles, wrapping her arms around her as she looked around.
A figure stood looking over the edge, black, gloved hands behind its faintly shimmering back.
Mildly shocked and curious, she sauntered over to him.
"Slade?" she called out cautiously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Immediately he turned to her, and she tried to muffle her sharp intake of breath. Unnoticed before, he held his demonizing mask in his left hand.
Now in the glitter of the stars, he was a ghost. Pale in the cover of shadows, practically the personification of Death in the open air, with twisting locks of purest black. It was as if he no longer had an eye color, it was only white with a faint cobalt circle-he almost seemed blinded.
Shaking off her stubborn bemusement, she motioned to their surroundings.
"What is all this?" she wondered suspiciously, her voice tossed in the breeze.
Without a single syllable, he took three long strides and was inches before her in the blink of an eye. Instantly her insides somersaulted.
She did not even protest when he took her hands away and held them tightly in his.
"Before I explain," he contested, and she noticed how much richer his tone was without the ghastly disguise. "I must...how do you younglings put it? 'Get something off my chest?'"
He seemed to be a different man again. She wondered if this was his true personality trying to break free.
Eyeing her reaction, she only nodded.
He then gently steered her to the rim of the building. The recollection of this place suddenly sparked, and she tried to pull back.
"This was..." she sputtered tugging at his cemented arms. "This was...!"
"Yes," he continued, not slowing his pace. "Where the prophecy was fulfilled."
Helpless against his strength, her wide face scrunched into a glower.
"Why did you bring me here?" she demanded.
With Victorian decorum, he placed her upon the edge and sat beside her, an arm around her waist.
"This place has history for you and I," he explained mysteriously. "It is sufficient for this."
She was about to ask what the hell he meant, but he interrupted, sensing her incoming bluster.
"I present you with a choice, Raven," he tried to keep his face smooth and emotionless. "One that will not just affect you and him, but me as well."
Not liking the sound of this, she bit her lip but waited patiently for more. It was obviously difficult for him to speak, she saw the way his throat would tighten and release, as if he was trying very hard not to betray his emotions.
A distress signal sounded in her head.
"At your word, I will set you free."
If his steely hand had not been holding her, she would have fallen to her death from shock.
"Wha...?" she began, hyperventilation most certainly on its way.
With his other hand, he held a finger up, not finished.
"You also may chose to come back with me."
Save the howls of wind, a provocative silence reigned. If anything, it surprised him that she did not run away from him at the offset.
He decided to press an advantage, there was no holding back now.
"You may be wondering why any of this affects me," he stated, peering subtly down at her.
Rolling her eyes at his narcissism, she spoke up.
"Well of course it does," she snipped, and he felt the corners of his mouth pull up in spite of him. "If I stay, you carry out your schemes for world domination or whatever. If not..."
This part of it had stumped her.
He was hoping she would come to this conclusion.
Hating herself, she had to ask it. Catching him staring at her, she drilled her pupils into his.
"How does me leaving affect you?"
Not one to lose a battle, he did not shy away from her gaze. In fact, he forgot how much he enjoyed their stare downs. There was always a challenge to her.
"If you left, I would have no purpose to live."