"you did well today." slade says. it's the closest thing to a compliment you'll get— and you'll take it.

slade had little use for you. you were young, inexperienced, new to the gotham underbelly. yet despite that, he'd taken you under his wing. an apprentice, perhaps. he'd seen some of your work, heard whispers of your name. it was his own intrigue that led him to find you.

he hadn't expected you to be so young, for one. barely an adult, just growing out of your teen years. naive and gullible, no matter the severity of the crimes you'd committed. untrained, leaving certain parts of yourself completely exposed. how you hadn't gotten yourself seriously hurt before he dropped into your life, he didn't know. he didn't want to know— the idea made an unfamiliar discomfort twist in his gut.

maybe, slade even liked you a little bit. he tolerated you to a high degree. he appreciated your commentary, the fact your attitude often matched his; it was a nice change of pace. not only that, you genuinely listened to everything he taught you. there had been massive improvements in your capabilities since he began instructing you.

perhaps, you held some potential after all.

"take the rest of the day off," he ordered, his voice a gentle command, "i'd say you've done and earned it."

no, slade was not attached to you. no, slade was not feeling paternal. and no, it did not matter to slade how or where you ended up. he was giving you much needed advice and training; you were not his ward, or his child. at least, that's what he's convinced himself.