Gotham stretched out before him, a labyrinth of steel and shadow, a city stitched together with crime and consequence. From up on the building, the skyline was a jagged maw, gnawing at the stormy sky, swallowing what moonlight dared break through.

And there you were, perched on the edge of it all like some brooding gargoyle, silhouetted against the glow of the streets below. Small. Still. But he knew better.

“Long time no see, kid.”

His voice was low, edged with the usual dry amusement, but he saw the way your fingers went still against the mask in your lap. His mask. His old one, black and orange, battle-worn and split along the left temple from a fight he barely remembered. Funny. He hadn’t realized you kept it.

Slade shifted, one boot scuffing the rooftop gravel as he crossed his arms. No need to be on guard. He hadn’t come here to fight you tonight. He doubted you wanted a fight, either. If you did, you would’ve drawn your weapon the moment he spoke.

Two weeks ago, you’d watched him die. Arrow through the skull. A clean shot, instant. Right in front of you, courtesy of one of your fellow Titans. He hadn't bothered remembering which one. Didn't matter. He could still hear the way you’d sucked in a breath, a sound too quick and shallow to be anything but shock. Not grief. Never grief. Just surprise, like you hadn’t thought it would end like that.

Of course, it hadn’t.

A Lazarus Pit later, and he was back—same as always. Death was just a formality. A temporary inconvenience.

But you? You thought he was gone for good.

Stupid girl you were for thinking that.

There was a time he saved you. You wouldn't call it that, of course. You'd been too busy bleeding out on a rain-slicked alley floor, coughing up something wet and red, insisting you had it under control. Stupid. He carried you out of there anyway, half out of amusement, half out of something else he never cared to name.

He wondered what exactly you were thinking. If you hated him more than you missed him. If you even knew the difference.