Chapter Text
“I didn’t take you for a contract poacher,” says the man out loud to the seemingly empty night.
A moment or two later, a woman steps out of the shadows. “I’m not. I just enjoy the view.”
“The view, huh?” says the man with a leer.
A sly smirk appears on her face. “The view,” she agrees.
“And will I get anything in exchange for being subject to your entertainment?”
“I suppose we can arrange something,” she tells him coyly.
He throws his head back and laughs. “Ever so formal, sweetheart.”
“You enjoy it.”
He doesn’t deny her words.
They do in fact come to an agreement. Though that may depend on what an agreement was defined as.
It’s rough, as usual. They don’t care for gentleness.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” she tells him as she’s pulling her clothes back on.
He blinks and takes it in stride. “Glad to hear that we’re still on the same page.”
It’s not the first time that they’ve met up. And it might not be the last either. At least not until one of them breaks off whatever this arrangement they have with each other.
And it ends without any hard feelings a few weeks later. It’s amicable enough for people in their field when they part ways.
A month later when the cravings start, she tells herself that it means nothing when she looks at a test result. It means nothing when she chooses to keep the child. (Because this time, it's her choice.)
She doesn’t tell him. Yet.
Months later, when she’s cradling her newborn in her arms, she marvels at how delicate the piece of him that he's unknowingly left her.
Her daughter stirs and blinks up at her. Blue eyes that remind her of him.
The nurse on duty asks if she’s thought of a name. She’s about to answer in the negative until a name comes to mind.
“Medea,” she says. “Her name is Medea Wilson.”
The nurse blinks in surprise. “Madea? From the show?”
“No,” she corrects. “Medea, like the myths.”
Medea, for the cunning sorceress who helped the hero. She didn’t care for the way that people associated the name with tragedy or murder. She saw the story as someone who was dangerous when crossed, a lesson that the foolish hero learned the hard way.
Her daughter’s name should reflect her parentage, the daughter of Lady Shiva and Deathstroke, and of her hopes that she would grow to be a fierce individual herself.
She wonders at first whether she would be able to take care of her Medea.
For a while, things are alright.
She is careful, not letting any sliver of information slip out to the world. Especially to Cain. There's the off chance that he would ensure that she would be the only other person to have her ability. Medea is still young, she has no idea whether her gift has been passed on or not.
But then there's that encounter. Someone had dared to encroach on her safe house. They hadn't gotten close to Medea, but it was still too close for comfort. The intruder was promptly taken care of and she realizes a few things.
One, she is not the mothering type. But could he even step up to the plate?
She'd give him a chance, at the very least.
Medea won't be left with someone who can't provide for her.
There are other options if he can't.
Two, she has no plans to give up her lifestyle. Even for her Medea.
That encounter reminds her that the fight lives in her blood, never fully sated.
The adrenaline is addicting.
Three, she wants a successor. Which doesn't necessarily mean from her blood, but that would be preferred. Though she finds it slightly hard to imagine, not when her preferred successor is a mere baby.
But she wants the ultimate fight. To be remembered for her glory. To have the next one reborn from her defeat.
Sandra is in the past, Shiva is the present.
Her mind is made up.
She'll give Wilson a chance. He deserves to know that he has a daughter at the very least.
So she sends a message to Wilson, he reaches out, and they arrange a time and place to meet.
They meet in a relatively neutral place, as neutral as they can get in this profession.
Shiva has the two of them disguised as a normal mother-daughter couple. Medea is a quiet child, sitting still. Letting her style her hair into pigtails without putting up a fuss. She’s just about finished when she spots Wilson in the faraway distance.
He nods at her in greeting when they make eye contact and starts heading in her direction.
As he gets closer, she sees him freeze slightly when he sees Medea on her lap. But he continues on.
“Hello,” he says, sitting down at the empty chair left for him. “And who is this?” he says, gesturing to Medea.
“Medea.” My daughter. Yours, if you choose.
“I see. I...May I hold her?” he asks. When Medea is passed into his arms, he marvels at the child. “Medea Wu?” he hedges carefully.
“Wilson, if you’d like,” she offers.
He hums in agreement. “Medea, a fierce name for a little girl.”
“I’m sure she’ll grow into it.”
“I think she will.” Medea tugs at his shirt, curious as to the new person in front of her. “Hello, Medea,” he says softly. His heart melts when she smiles up at him. After he looks at Shiva. “But why?”
She raises an eyebrow in question.
“Why now? You could have gone for years without me knowing. So why did you choose to tell me?”
Shiva pauses, musing over her thoughts. “You deserved to know of her existence. And my lifestyle does not suit her.”
He gives her a skeptical look. “If you are referring to our jobs, then mine is just the same.”
“But you don’t have Cain to deal with.”
A frown flickers on his face. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Everything.”
“You’re going to have to elaborate.”
So she does, she keeps it vague, keeping only to the details. Of a deal made and fulfilled with the birth of her eldest. She does not want to see the pity on Wilson’s face, she loathes feeling weak.
He does not show her any pity outwardly, nor does he press for more than he needs to know. For that she is grateful.
They move to other topics, of Medea and what things he would need to know for caring about her. In the middle of the chat, they are approached by a photographer, one that had been snapping photographs of all the guests as a souvenir.
“Would you like a photo of your family?” they offer.
Wilson and her share an amused smile and nod.
They find themselves directed in specific positions. Medea is on her lap while he is beside her.
“Excellent, and if you look down at your daughter, sir,” directs the photographer to Wilson. “And perfect. Stay there.”
A flash of light and two polaroids are printed out.
“Here you are, enjoy!” says the woman, leaving them alone and moving on to the next group of tourists.
Inspecting the photos, they find a smile appearing on their faces. Medea looks adorable in the photo, and with how the photographer had directed them to pose, they wryly think that they can see how they could be mistaken for a family.
Slade thinks this day has not gone the way he planned. But in a good way. He thought of many possible scenarios but never did this cross his mind as a possible one.
As he glances over at the photo, he comes to a realization. He never doubted for a second that the child wouldn’t be his.
And that’s a first for him. It’s not like people have never tried to pass someone off as his child or some long-lost relative.
What did that say about him?
And about her?
When he saw Medea from far away, he wondered about her presence. And who she was to him. His heart started beating quicker at the possible answers. His daughter?
Deathstroke is a ruthless mercenary. Slade Wilson is...someone that Deathstroke would call a soft-hearted, sentimental old fool. And they just might be right.
Once he got closer and held her in his arms, his mind was made up. This was his daughter, there was no doubt about it. He would protect her even if Shiva didn’t ask him for it.
Medea shares many similarities to her mother, with Shiva’s colouring and her hair colour. Hints of himself are harder to find, but if he looks hard enough, he thinks he can see hints that the infant shared with Grant and Joey at this age. But it’s her eyes that confirmed it for him. Any doubts of his paternity were thrown out the window the moment she looked at him. They are the same shade of blue as his.
As they say their goodbyes, Slade tells her, “Sandra, you can visit her. I won’t mind. I understand you have your reasons, but I want you to know that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, smoothing out Medea’s hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Goodbye, my little witch.” Turning back to him, she nods in goodbye. “Thank you.”
When Slade returns from his trip with an unexpected tagalong, Billy gapes at him. “Wha–who is that?”
“My daughter, Medea. She is staying with me. Her mother and I have agreed on this.”
“And you’re serious about this?” asks Billy. At his friend’s confusion, he elaborates. “This isn’t a brief obsession; because this is a small child that we’re talking about. You can’t just give her away or punt her off to someone when you grow tired of her.”
“I would never,” he says, aghast at the idea of giving his child to a stranger.
A sigh escapes Billy. “Look, Slade. You’re my friend, but I have to tell you that your parenting skills are lacking.”
“I–'' It's on the tip of his tongue to protest and prove him wrong. Then he realizes that there is a grain of truth, so he nods in acceptance. “I know,” he says, sounding defeated.
“And you have a baby now. She’s not like Grant or Joey, who you can leave to Adeline. I can’t be her full-time babysitter–not if you plan to spend your days, as usual, jumping from contract to contract.”
“I...”
“She’s your daughter, and if you want to be her father, you’re going to have to be active in her life. Not someone who appears and disappears when they want to. You’re going to have to make a choice about your lifestyle.”
Slade nods, deep in thought. “You...you make good points.” Billy had a point, he barely had the experience with his two elder boys. He thinks his chances of being a less than abysmal parent die a little with Medea.
Billy stays silent, waiting for his response.
After a quiet moment, Slade speaks. “I...I don’t know if I will be much better being present, but for her, I will try. For Grant and Joey too. They don’t deserve to have a father that disappears for months without a word.”
“If you’re willing to put in the effort, it’s already a step in the right decision.”
Slade gives him a weak smile. “I hope so.” Then his expression changes to one of determination. “I’m going to need a paternity test.”
A look of surprise flitters on Billy’s face. “What? I thought you said she was yours.”
“She is. But I don’t want anyone taking her away, I rather have the proof right there so they won’t take her away.”
“I see. I’ll help you with that.”
“Thank you.”
And just like that Medea Wilson officially joins his family.
Somewhere hidden, her mother smiles before disappearing into the shadows.
She made the right choice to introduce him to her.
Take care, my little witch.