Slade Wilson stood on the Gotham docks, the salt air mixing with industrial pollution in a cocktail that reminded him why he hated this city. Too dense. Too many variables. Too many bats. But his daughter was here, which meant he needed to be here too.
The shipping container he'd arrived in had been logged as machine parts from Singapore. No customs inspection, thanks to generous contributions to the right officials. He stepped onto Gotham soil for the first time in three years, his enhanced senses immediately cataloging changes since his last visit.
More cameras. Different patrol patterns. The subtle tang of accelerant and gunpowder that indicated ongoing gang violence. Interesting.
Slade checked his secure phone. Six months since his last communication with Rose. Six months of allowing her to believe she had independence, to establish herself without his shadow. Long enough to develop habits. Weaknesses. Attachments.
Time for her trials to truly begin.
"Welcome back, Mr. Wilson," his local contact murmured, appearing from behind a stack of containers. "Car's waiting."
Slade didn't bother responding. The man was a tool, nothing more. Useful today, potentially disposable tomorrow.
As the car pulled away from the docks, Slade reviewed the intel he'd gathered on Rose's activities. Employment with Cobblepot. Participation in underground fighting rings. A growing reputation for efficient violence.
Promising beginnings, but not enough. Rose needed to be more than a talented enforcer. She needed to be ruthless. Singular. Detached from human connections that would inevitably become vulnerabilities.
Just like he'd become after losing her mother.
"Take me to Bristol Township," Slade instructed the driver. "I have surveillance to conduct before I reveal myself."
The driver nodded, adjusting their route without question. Slade settled back, his single eye fixed on Gotham's skyline. Somewhere in that urban sprawl, his daughter was about to face her first real test.
__________________________
Matt Gordon woke to sunlight warming his skin and a heartbeat not his own pulsing close beside him. Rose Wilson lay curled against him, her silver hair spilling across his chest, her breathing steady in sleep.
He took a moment to simply experience the sensation. Physical closeness wasn't something he'd allowed himself often, not in this life. Too many complications. Too many secrets to maintain.
Rose stirred, her breathing pattern shifting as consciousness returned. "You're thinking too loud," she mumbled, stretching against him. "It's annoying."
Matt smiled. "Good morning to you too."
"Is it morning?" She rolled over, checking the window. "Shit. It's almost noon."
"Seriously?" Matt sat up, suddenly alert. His internal clock rarely failed him.
Rose laughed, the sound surprisingly light coming from someone he'd primarily associated with combat efficiency. "Relax, Counselor. The world won't end because you slept in once."
Before Matt could respond, his phone vibrated aggressively on the nightstand. He reached for it, recognizing Barbara's custom notification pattern.
"That's the fifth time in the past hour," Rose observed, propping herself up on one elbow. "Someone's worried about you."
Matt sighed, answering the call. "Hey Babs."
"Where are you?" Barbara's voice carried equal parts relief and irritation. "Dad's been trying to reach you all morning."
"My phone was on silent," Matt replied, the half-truth coming easily. "What's up?"
"Family dinner tonight, remember? Dad invited Bruce and Dick. Alfred's cooking. Kind of a big deal."
Matt cursed under his breath. He had forgotten completely. "Right. Sorry. I'll be home in time."
"Where are you anyway?" The suspicion in Barbara's tone was unmistakable.
"Just out with a friend. Lost track of time."
Rose snickered beside him, clearly amused by his predicament.
"Is that... is someone with you?" Barbara's voice sharpened.
"I'll see you at home, Babs," Matt said firmly, ending the call before she could interrogate him further.
Rose burst into full laughter the moment the call ended. "little brother in trouble," she teased, sliding out of bed and stretching. Matt tracked the sound of her movement, appreciating the fluidity of her muscles beneath skin.
"I should probably go," he said without conviction.
"Why?" Rose challenged. "Dinner's not until tonight. You've got hours."
Matt hesitated. The responsible choice was clear. Go home. Prepare for the family dinner. Maintain the careful balance of his dual existence.
"Unless you're scared," Rose added, her tone playfully provocative.
The echo of another voice, another lifetime, struck Matt with sudden clarity. Elektra had used those exact words once, challenging him to break into Roscoe Sweeney's mansion. The parallel was almost too perfect to be coincidence.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked, decision already made.
Rose's heartbeat quickened with excitement. "How about we see how good you really are? Test those enhanced senses somewhere interesting."
"Define interesting."
"Ever been inside the Falcone mansion in Bristol Township?"
Matt raised an eyebrow. "Breaking and entering? That's your idea of a fun date?"
"Scared?" she repeated, the challenge unmistakable.
Matt shook his head, smiling despite himself. "Let's go."
They dressed quickly, Matt borrowing a plain black t-shirt from Rose since his button-down from yesterday would look conspicuously formal. The domesticity of the moment struck him as oddly significant. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this... normal.
They left the apartment building via the rooftop, a mutual decision that required no discussion. Rose led the way across Gotham's skyline with the confidence of someone who had mapped every possible route. Matt followed easily, his enhanced senses creating a perfect three-dimensional map around him.
"You move well for a blind guy," Rose sarcastically called over her shoulder as they leapt across a narrow alley.
"You're not so bad yourself," he replied, matching her pace effortlessly.
They traveled north toward Bristol Township, eventually descending to street level to catch a bus for the final stretch. The casual infiltration of Gotham's wealthiest suburb required nothing more complicated than blending in with a landscaping crew servicing the estate next to Falcone's property.
"Security's extensive but predictable," Rose murmured as they assessed the mansion from the neighboring property. "Motion sensors, cameras, armed guards. Nothing special."
Matt extended his senses, mapping the electrical currents of the security system and the heartbeats of the guards. "Four patrol patterns. Camera blind spot on the east wall where the old oak overhangs the property."
Rose turned to him, surprise evident in her heartbeat. "You can sense all that?"
"I told you. Everything compensates."
They breached the property through the blind spot Matt had identified, scaling the wall with practiced ease. The guards were easily avoided, their patrol patterns as predictable as Rose had suggested.
The mansion itself presented more of a challenge, but an unlocked second-floor window provided access to what appeared to be a rarely used guest bedroom.
"We're in," Rose whispered unnecessarily as they slipped into the darkened room. "Not bad, Counselor."
Matt moved silently across the carpet, orienting himself within the sprawling mansion. "Falcone's not home. Three staff downstairs, one security guard monitoring cameras from the study."
"How do you know Falcone's not here?"
"No cologne. The master bedroom has male clothing but no one's been in there today. Also, his car's gone."
Rose shook her head in amazement. "Show off."
They explored the mansion with the casual confidence of people who belonged there, careful to leave no trace of their presence. Matt found himself enjoying the illicit thrill despite his better judgment. It reminded him of moments with Elektra, that intoxicating blend of danger and connection that had always pulled him toward edges he'd otherwise avoid.
"Family office," Rose announced as they entered a wood-paneled room lined with bookshelves and centered around an imposing desk. "Let's see what secrets the Falcones are keeping."
Matt hung back, suddenly uncomfortable. "This isn't why we came."
"Then why did we come?" Rose challenged, already rifling through desk drawers.
It was a fair question. What was he doing here, breaking into a crime lord's home with an assassin's daughter? Playing at being something he wasn't?
Or perhaps something he was trying very hard not to be?
"Found something," Rose said, pulling out a leather-bound ledger. "Looks like shipping manifests. Coded, but breakable."
"Put it back," Matt said firmly. "This isn't about industrial espionage."
Rose tilted her head, studying him. "Then what is it about, Matt?"
He couldn't answer, not truthfully. Couldn't explain that he was chasing ghosts from another life, testing boundaries that had once been clearly defined but now seemed increasingly blurred.
Before he could formulate a response, his phone vibrated again. Barbara, no doubt with more questions about his whereabouts. Matt ignored it.
"Let's get out of here," he suggested instead. "We've proven we can get in. That's enough."
Rose replaced the ledger, surprising him with her compliance. "For now," she agreed. "But we're coming back another time. With better preparation."
They exited the mansion the same way they'd entered, leaving no trace of their intrusion. The return journey to Gotham proper was filled with adrenaline-fueled laughter and casual touches that carried more significance than either acknowledged.
By late afternoon, they had made their way back to Rose's apartment building, climbing to the rooftop rather than entering through the main door. The sun was beginning its descent, painting Gotham's skyline in hues of amber and gold.
"I should head home soon," Matt said reluctantly, aware of the family dinner awaiting him.
Rose moved closer, her hand finding his. "Or you could stay. Tell them you're sick."
The temptation was stronger than Matt wanted to admit. "Rain check?"
"I'll hold you to that." She leaned in, kissing him with the same intensity she brought to everything else.
Matt responded in kind, losing himself momentarily in the connection. When they finally broke apart, he was about to suggest delaying his departure a little longer when every instinct suddenly screamed danger.
A new presence on the rooftop. Someone who had approached without making a sound, without disturbing the air currents enough for even Matt's enhanced senses to detect until they chose to be noticed.
"Touching," a male voice said, cold and precise. "I didn't realize your assignment included seducing teenagers, Rose."
Rose's entire demeanor transformed in an instant. Her heart rate spiked, muscles tensing in a familiar fight-or-flight response. But there was something else beneath the physical reaction. Fear, yes, but also something deeper. A child's reflex to seek parental approval, twisted by years of conditional love.
"Father," she said, voice carefully neutral. "You're back."
"I've been watching," Slade continued, circling them slowly. "Your performance with Cobblepot has been adequate. Your decision to intervene during Black Mask's attack showed initiative. But this..." He gestured between Rose and Matt. "This is disappointing."
Matt remained perfectly still, assessing the mercenary through his enhanced senses. Heart rate barely elevated despite potential confrontation. Breathing controlled. Musculature suggesting enhanced strength similar to Rose's but more developed. And weapons. So many weapons concealed beneath civilian clothing.
"This isn't what it lo-," Rose began, only to be cut off by her father's dismissive laugh.
"It's exactly what it looks like. My daughter getting soft. Developing attachments. Forgetting everything I taught her."
Matt decided to end his passive observation. "I should introduce myself. I'm Matt."
"I don't care what your name is, boy.." Slade's voice carried no emotion.
Matt refused to show reaction. "You sure?"
Ignoring him, Slade turned back to Rose. "Rose, you're a fool. The boy's weaknesses are obvious. His movements suggest training, but nothing you couldn't handle. Yet you bring him to your home. To your bed."
Matt felt Rose's shame and anger flare in equal measure. Her body shifted subtly, moving to position herself between Matt and her father. A protective gesture that spoke volumes.
"My personal life isn't relevant to our work," she said, voice tight with controlled emotion.
"Incorrect. Everything is relevant," Slade corrected. "Every choice. Every attachment. Every weakness." He paused, studying them both. "This was supposed to be a simple check-in. Now I see it needs to be something more."
The subtle shift in Slade's stance was all the warning Matt needed. The mercenary had made a decision, one that transformed this confrontation from verbal to potentially lethal.
"Your trials begin now, Rose," Slade announced. "Test one is simple. Kill the boy. Right here. Prove that you understand what it means to be my daughter."
Matt felt Rose's horror like a physical blow. "What? No!"
"Then I'll do it myself," Slade replied calmly. "And there will be consequences for your failure. Not just for you, but for him, his family, everyone he cares about."
The threat hung in the air between them, as tangible as the weapons Slade carried. Matt tensed, preparing for whatever came next. He'd faced skilled opponents before, both in this life and his previous one.
This would be no different.
Rose's heartbeat told a story that couldn't simply be explained with fear. There was clearly an internal decision being made, yes, but also genuine pain. Whatever her feelings for Matt might be, they were real enough to create a true crisis of loyalty.
"You don't have to do this," Matt said quietly, addressing Rose though his attention remained fixed on Slade. "Whatever he's asking, whatever he's threatening, there's another way."
"There is no other way," Slade countered. "There never has been. Rose knows that. Don't you, daughter?"
Matt sensed the shift in Rose's posture before she moved. The subtle weight transfer that preceded action. The fractional increase in heart rate that signaled decision.
What he couldn't determine was which path she'd chosen.