Deathstroke went very, very still. "I helped save your life once. 
Don't make me regret it."

Garth nodded once, acknowledging; remembering. Three years ago 
he and Golden Eagle had been attacked and left for dead by the 
Wildebeests. Charley had died of his wounds on the spot, while 
Garth had fallen into the ocean--probably the only thing that had 
spared him--and been found later. Deathstroke and Gar's foster 
father Steve Dayton had raced his bleeding and unconscious body 
to STAR Labs. Garth was told, later, that it was Slade himself who 
had barreled through the building doors and guards, carrying him 
inside, demanding help.

Slade's life had been irrevocably entwined with the Titans since 
nearly the founding of the second team, when his son Grant had 
died in the course of attempting to destroy the Titans. Slade had 
picked up the H.I.V.E. contract on their lives and subsequently 
partnered with Tara Markov to finish the job. Terra's infiltration 
and betrayal had left a permanent scar on the Titans. Tara, too, had 
died, and after that Deathstroke had called off the vendetta. When 
his second son Joseph actually *joined* the team as the costumed 
hero Jericho, Deathstroke's hands-off policy on the Titans seemed 
assured. He'd helped them against the Wildebeests, all the way to 
the end, when they'd discovered that the possessed Jericho was the 
Wildebeests' leader and Slade had been forced to kill his own son. 
After that he'd retreated back into the mercenary life, seemingly for 
good. Still, he'd been unable to escape the ties that bound him to 
the Titans. Not long ago he's approached them for help against a 
revitalized H.I.V.E.; and *again,* his own family had been 
involved. His ex-wife Adeline, the H.I.V.E. mistress, had been 
killed in that fight. Now Slade's daughter Rose--his single 
surviving child--babysat for Roy's daughter Lian. 

They had never been allies, except under the most dire 
circumstances. But the history between him and the Titans was too 
deep to truly consider him an enemy. At least, not on a personal 
level. Deathstroke was still an assassin, a murderer, and none of 
them were inclined to let him go about his work if they could stop 
him.

That was an enormous "if." The man was a physically powerful 
meta, and more to the point, extremely dangerous in both hand-to-
hand and ranged combat. Garth's Atlantean strength wouldn't be 
enough to oppose Deathstroke's far greater skill. Slade could dodge 
energy blasts and thrown objects with ease. He had, in the past, 
taken on the entire Titans team and won. 

But with Dick temporarily out of action, it fell to Garth to stand 
between Deathstroke and his intended victim. Whoever that might 
be.



"Leave the city."

"Can't. Have a contract."

And the contract was law. But then again, Deathstroke was a 
mercenary who worked for the highest bidders. Garth recalled that 
Dick had told him, laughing, about how Batman had actually 
bought off Mirror Master from Luthor's Injustice Gang; it was at 
least worth making the offer. "I'll double it."

Slade stared at him, single visible blue eye narrowing through his 
mask, and then threw back his head and laughed, long and loud. 
When he spoke again, his voice sounded amused and almost 
regretful. "That's cute, kid, that's real cute. Wish I could. But my 
rep actually means something to me. Nice try, though."

Garth spread his hands. "What would dissuade you?"

"Same as your boyfriend said. You'd have to kill me. And I don't 
think you'll do that." Deathstroke's gaze went cold. "But I will."

Diplomacy ended when the death threats began. Dick, Garth 
thought with growing despair, would have some brilliant solution. 



[fight scene: punch, kick, dodge, parry, rinse, repeat]



Garth reached out desperately, his hand catching on the cuff of 
Deathstroke's boot briefly before the man moved away.

"Sorry it had to come to that." Slade's voice seemed to fade as 
Garth slipped toward unconsciousness. "Tell Grayson I hope he 
heals up soon. No hard feelings."

Then black.

***

He woke to the sharp stink of ammonia. A young, concerned voice 
said, "Don't move yet, I don't think anything's broken, but we 
should--"

Garth opened his eyes, wincing against the pain in his head. "T--" 
he started, but the words caught on the dryness in his throat.

"It's me, Robin," Tim said quickly, but Garth shook his head 
impatiently and coughed. Immediately a canteen appeared in his 
vision. "Here, I figured you'd need this."

He took a mouthful of warm water, just enough to allow him to 
speak. "*Tagged* him."

"You--" Tim started to say, puzzled, and then his eyes widened. 
"Holy crap! You get that, Oracle?"

He tilted his head listening while Garth drank, and after a moment 
laughed out loud. "She says she's so relieved you're okay, she 
could kiss you. I'll, uh, let her relay that one when you see her." He 
listened again. "Oracle's checking all our tracking frequencies."

Garth fixed the boy with a serious gaze. "Don't go after him."

Robin snorted. "Me? No, thanks, I like living. If we need him 
physically tracked, Batgirl will handle it if Nightwing is still out of 
action." He spoke with complete acceptance of his limitations. 
"Oracle figures Deathstroke'll go to ground until he gets another 
shot at his target. BHPD is on full alert, and meanwhile, we can go 
at it another way and try to figure out who he's after."