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Jason has had the roughest couple of months he can remember since the months after he died. From him finding out Roy had died, the outlaws disbanding, and his falling out with Artemis. Jason just needs a fucking break from the constant misery. Running around as a solo act feels oddly natural after so long of working in a team. He’s relieved.
Maybe, if someone who truly knew him was watching, they could tell his methods are just a little more extreme, his punches a little harder than necessary, and his shots aimed to maim more than incapacitate.
But no one that truly knows him is around, you’re alone , he remembers.
The trail of breadcrumbs he’s been following the past few weeks leads to Gotham. Big fucking surprise! His hometown, simultaneously his favorite and most hated place on earth. Jason treads carefully once on Bruce’s turf. The last thing he needs right now is a visit from his annoying costumed family. Carefully leaving none dead, just severely injured, but nothing a trip to the ICU won’t fix.
And finally, after 6 grueling days of camping out at his semi-abandoned safe house in Crime Alley, while actively trying to avoid his family's nightly patrols, he has a meet up location. Some drug peddling pieces of shit who have been targeting and recruiting highschool students across the state of New York, are meeting tonight in the building across from the Iceberg Lounge.
A fitting locale for men of their caliber, he muses.
Jason remembers the 3 kids he found slumped over each other by a garbage can in that alleyway in Brooklyn. They had to be what…? 15 at the oldest? Overdosed on dirty coke laced with 8 times the lethal amount of fentanyl. He couldn't forget their faces even if he tried.
Jason finds his targets exactly where he expected them, crammed into a hotel room leaning over a poker table scattered with chips, drinks, and bills. They don't get a chance to retaliate or fight back. He shoots each of them square in between the eyes before they can even stand from their chairs. They don’t deserve an open casket.
It’s a brisk February night in Gotham as he steps out onto the street, spotting his motorcycle right where he left it 10 minutes prior. Jason knows the GCPD have no doubt received calls about an active shooting in Park Row by now. And knowing the incompetent cops who respond to active shooter calls in this city, he estimates he has a good 20 minutes before any patrol cars arrive. But Jason knows better, he knows for a fact Oracle is linked into the GCPD radio and he also knows that Park Row is Tim’s territory. So, on a good day that gives him 5 minutes before his “little brother” pops his cowled head up from behind one of these buildings.
Jason brusquely sticks his keys in the ignition and turns, revving the engine slightly before swerving out onto the street. Tim may be the least insufferable member of his ‘family’ but Jason knows the kid, and there’s no way Bruce isn’t finding out within the next 10 minutes that Jason's taken out 4 of the most important lieutenants in the Maroni crime family.
He’s completely thrown ‘the unspoken truce’ he and Bruce had going on out the window now. It was straightforward, he would say, absolutely no killing while in Gotham. That’s it.
If he had just kept that little rule in mind, he would be allowed to operate unbothered in the city and he wouldn’t be prosecuted for any crimes committed while outside of Gotham. Well not completely unbothered, he can’t count how many times Nightwing or Red Robin, or even sometimes both, had just coincidentally dropped in on Jason with excuses that they were following the same lead. Yeah, talk about bullshit.
Bruce will burst a blood vessel when Tim tells him what happened. If they catch him tonight, he’s in for a beating and probably a couple weeks in Arkham. At least until someone breaks out again. But Jason can’t bring himself to care at the moment. It felt good to kill those assholes. They ruined those kids' lives for money, it’s what they deserved. And Jason is known to be in the business of doing things that feel good .
He has no direction for the first handful of minutes he’s on his bike, all the safe houses in Gotham have been compromised since he and Dick did that undercover gig 7 months ago. The cold city smog bellows against his face as he navigates through the backstreets of his old stomping grounds. He stops a mugging in progress and stops two assholes from bothering the girls on a corner. After an hour on the bike driving around and wasting gas, his adrenaline high still hasn’t worn off.
He goes to the only place his mind can think of, the penthouse suite at the top of the Royal Hotel.
The drive over is a blur, New Gotham has never been a place Jason liked to be, it's like he didn’t belong on that side of town. Maybe it’s some fucked up sense of nostalgia that makes him miss the rough streets of crime alley where he grew up. Or maybe some twisted self image issue that makes him feel anxious and unworthy of being in the wealthier district of Gotham that he used to dream of living in. Who knows?
All Jason knows is that he’s not ready to face any of his inner demons yet, so yeah, nostalgia it is, he decides.
As he arrives in front of the hotel, some valet boy attempts to approach him, but one pointed look from Jason has him stumbling backwards and apologizing profusely. Jason chuckles under his breath, “They don’t call this place the diamond district for nothing, huh.” He mutters looking towards the top of the tower. It’s sparkling lights glitter against the dark background of the night sky.
Yeah , he thinks. This is exactly where a dame like her belongs. Jason’s chest tightens uncomfortably.
The next thing he knows, he’s on the elevator up to the 40th floor. The anxiety in his chest grows as the numbers at the top of the cabin get higher, the feeling expanding so much so that it threatens to overwhelm him. It almost does, but before he can lose his nerve, the elevator doors part like the Red Sea, revealing a sight he thought he’d never see in person again. Jason moves on autopilot the first few moments, towards the door like he had done so many times before.
He doesn’t know how long he stands there, seconds? Minutes? Hours? Every thought that possibly could terrorize him runs through his head a mile a minute.
What if she hates me after everything? What if she rejects me, tells me she doesn’t want me anymore… or worse, what if some new asshole answers the door? God, I’ll fucking kill him.
He runs himself ragged in his own mind, until he angers himself enough that his knuckles rap against the door in three sharp, loud knocks.
He immediately regrets it. God who fucking knocks like that? She’s gonna think it’s the gcpd out here god damn-
“Jason?”
And there she is, the object of his fantasies for the last 3 years. Even when he thought he was in love with someone else, and even when he threw himself so deeply into work he scarcely had time to think, she was always there, in the back of his mind. Making him go crazy, never being able to forget her, knowing she’s probably just fine and happy without him.
“___” His voice comes out a whisper, quieter than he meant.
Her hair is draped upwards in a disheveled bun, her reading glasses on, but the ___ pools of her eyes burning behind them. Her eyebrows arched upwards in mild surprise.
Jason can’t help himself, his eyes rake themselves down her body, drinking her form in like a man dehydrated. The curve of her breasts just barely visible under the black satin robe she wears, the belt wrapping around her waist, outlining the jutting curves of her hips, the lace trim cutting off right above the ___ skin of her mid-thigh. Now that’s a tall glass of water for lack of more eloquent words.
But she deserves more eloquence, she deserves Shakespearean level poetry and flowers champagne and a goddamn ring and- God why does he always become such a fucking idiot around her?
“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have come-” are the first words out of his mouth. Instinctively, they rush out all at once, threatening to stumble over each other. Jason's about to apologize again, this time pronouncing every word correctly, but before he can take a breath there’s a pair of soft lips pressed against his.
That's when he loses all sense of self control. His hands are all over her, reaching, grabbing, and caressing every inch he can’t and simultaneously not touching enough, all at once. He can’t get enough, no matter how much he has her it will never be enough. Somewhere far behind them he hears a door slam shut, but he doesn’t even register it. All he can feel is her, her against him, touching him, kissing him, wanting him. And he lets himself get drunk on the feeling. They crash into each other as if they had never been apart in the first place, every second making up for months apart. Jason can’t, won’t , remember why they ever separated, every painful memory fading into dull pink scars.
“I missed you.” She says between kisses. “So much."
Why the fuck did I ever leave?
She feels exactly as he remembered, but somehow sweeter, and warmer. Her legs wrap around him like a vice, as if to hold him there forever, never to let him go. With his name slipping past her lips like a mantra he loses himself inside her, inside the deep recesses of her warmth, her heart, her soul. And when she comes around him he promises, “I’ll never leave again, I’m sorry, I l-” and then he’s gone, losing himself inside her.
They lie together, hours after. Talking, laughing, kissing. She fills him in on her family drama and Jason shares his in return. The warm feeling of holding her against his chest is the closest thing he’s ever had to feeling ‘at home’. It’s suffocating, he thinks. His chest is full, so full he feels like he can barely breathe. The pressure of her head pressed against him is the only thing keeping his lungs functioning. He can’t let her go, lest he cease to be without her.
Eventually she falls asleep. The soft even puffs of her breaths on his skin the only indication of her slumber. Jason feels surrounded. Everything in here reminds him of her, of them, of a few years ago. Before Roy died, before he fucked up with Artemis and hurt her, before he hurt both girls, and in the process himself too.
Jason misses what they used to be.
I ruined what we used to be.
I ruined all of it, like I always do.
Jason's chest constricts. Sleeping isn’t an option for him. He’s scared his dreams will be worse than the thoughts he deals with in his reality.
It’s okay, I’ll just ruin this, like I always do.
He stands, the coldness of the night air causes goosebumps to run up and down his skin. He clumsily looks for his clothes on the floor.
“Jason.”
He’s pretty sure he lost his shirt in the living room.
“ Jason.”
Ah, here’s his underwear, the most important article of clothing.
He hears her before he feels her, a rustling behind him before her hand grips his wrist, turning him towards the bed again.
He slips into his typical charismatic ruse. “Ready for a round three already? Sorry doll, I’m gonna need at least another-“
“Shut up.” She interrupts, her voice cold.
The facade crumbles, and he does as she commands.
“You’re not running away, not again, Jason.” Jason can’t look at her.
“I won’t let you this time.” The grip around his wrist tightens, her eyes hard steel. She doesn’t wait for a response and pulls him onto the bed. Her naked form sits inches away from him. She moves towards him and Jason has to fight himself not to flinch away from her touch. Her hands reach for Jason's face, cradling him, forcing him to look at her.
“Why are you so afraid of love?” Her deafening whisper reverberates around the room.
Jason feels empty and he can’t bring himself to answer. Every instinct in Jason's body tells him to run . His heart suddenly pounds in his ears, his nerves prickling with anxiety, his muscles tense, ready to make a momentary escape. All his time training with Ducra and the Al Caste, the League of Assassins, and even Bruce had taught him to be in sync with his body. His body was a fine instrument that he knows how to play, ever since he came back from the dead he was a master.
But in this moment, he feels like the young, dumb boy he once was. Forcing himself to hold back on the criminal scum he wished so badly to beat bloody, his body in conflict with his mind. ‘Cognitive dissonance’ Bruce had called it, when the body and mind aren’t on the same wavelength. He forces himself to relax, and as much as the nor-epinephrine pumping through his veins was fighting him, in this moment, he wants nothing more than to be here. In her arms.
Her eyes are brilliant, a beacon shining through the darkness of the room, guiding him to her like a moth to flame. Her gaze is soft, looking at him her lashes just barely lowered unto her cheeks. And the way she looks at him, like he’s something delicate, something fragile.
His heart can’t fucking take it.
“You think it’s not possible for someone like you,” Her voice sounds raw, broken.
The hands holding him in place slide gently down his face, caressing his jaw and lingering only momentarily before continuing on their journey.
“But Jason… you are the love of my life.” She continues.
Jason can’t bear to take his eyes off her. He can’t bear to leave her.
She breaks her gaze and traces his scars with her eyes, her hands soon following suit. The soft pads of her fingertips graze the skin of his bare chest, gliding across scars he couldn’t even remember earning. Now that his instincts aren't screaming at him to escape, he soaks in her image. The dips and curves of her body silhouetted against the Gotham skyline. Her hair cascading over her bare shoulders in long rivulets. The frame of her body looks much smaller than he had ever remembered.
Looking at her like this, he can see everything. Everything she had been through, all the people she had loved, and all the people she had lost. All of her memories, her pain, her anger, her sadness. And when she finally looked up at him again he knew.
He wanted all of it.
"There is a curse... that will be broken."