"Why do you think he chose me?" Dick asked Wintergreen. Wintergreen stopped stitching the deep gash on Dick's arm and looked up.
"You'd have to ask him yourself." He inserted the needle back into Dick's skin and pulled the thread through. He tied the end off and put the needle on the side table. "There, all done."
"Thanks," he replied.
"He's complicated, as I'm sure you know," Wintergreen said and frowned, "But he is one of the most sought after assassins in the world. Whether you like it or not, his knowledge and skill set are invaluable."
Dick nodded and stood up from the examination table. He winced as he tried to straighten his arm and walked to the door.
"Sure," he said and left the med bay.
As he walked through the haunt, he realized he had been with Slade for almost a year. In that span, Bruce Wayne had declared Richard Grayson missing and he was now presumed dead.
Batman had his new Robin now and the Titans had its new leader. To make traveling easier, Slade had gifted him a new name, social security number and passport. Richard Wilson.
How fitting, his whole life now revolved around Slade anyways.
He walked into the living room and saw Slade sitting on the couch working on his laptop. The television was broadcasting BBC News but the sound was muted.
It seemed so ridiculous, Deathstroke the Terminator, master assassin and evil genius sitting on a couch being human. How did this become a normal part of his life, he wondered.
Oh yeah, Dick thought, because Slade's always three steps ahead of everyone. He doesn't let anyone control him, not even when he accepts contracts. In that way, Dick wanted to be like him. Who wouldn't? He's experienced the side of the criminal. He's found an understanding to it more so than when he was Robin. As much as he hates it, he can't deny that Slade has taught him a lot.
He thought back to what Wintergreen had said and sat on the unoccupied space on the couch. Slade didn't acknowledge him but continued typing. Dick picked up the remote and turned the volume up just above the sound of a whisper.
Slade eyed him then and without stopping his work said, "It'll be a year that you've been here next Tuesday."
He watched the news and a comfortable silence fell between them.