Work Text:
Nate walks through the balmy Los Angeles air, wiping over his forehead at the preparation there. He huffs and puffs as he makes his way, determined, to the florist stand on the corner. Susan is waiting there for him already, an amused smile on her face and his usual arrangement in her hands.
“You’re late,” she says, laughter in her voice.
Nate stops in front of her and offers a breathless but charming smile.
“Got held up at work, didn’t want to keep her waiting though.” He takes his wallet out to get the money for Susan.
She waves him off and hands him the flowers.
“It’s on me. I appreciate a husband who dotes on his wife.”
He grins and takes them.
“I’d call you my girl, but…”
He trails off with a laugh and she joins him. He gives her another smile and walks off. Once he’s far enough away, he cradles the flowers against his chest and works his gold band off his finger. He puts it in his shirt pocket and readjusts his grip on the flowers.
He stops at an intersection, waiting for the light to change so he can cross the street when he feels a twinge in his chest. He looks down to see red blossoming across his pocket. Dark spots show up in his vision and he feels himself falling back.
The flowers bounce when they hit the ground, petals falling loose from the stems and into the growing pool of Nate's blood. His body is on the ground, eyes open, staring at nothing.
Slade lifts his eye from the scope and breaks the rifle down and into its case. He stands and looks over at Dick. He’s white as a sheet. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, and if Slade was superficial, perhaps Dick has just seen the creation of one. He clears his throat.
“Up, we’re going.”
Dick looks up, mouth still slack.
“You-”
Slade’s eye narrows.
“What did you think the gun was for Robin?”
Dick shakes his head, still horrified.
“He-”
“-was on his way to meet a sixteen year old girl.”
Dick blinks and looks back at the scene below. The cops are there now, surrounding Nate's body, their blue and red flashing lights casting shadows on his face.
“The cops,” he murmurs.
He’s not referring to the ones below them. Slade shakes his head and kneels so he can grip Dick’s chin.
“They wouldn’t have done anything. Some people need to die. Understood?”
Dick shakes his head. “Except you’re not doing it because you think he should be dead, you’re doing it because someone paid you for this.”
Slade resists the urge to slap the brat.
“Yes, her mother.”