thinking about bruce wayne

You've just woken up, my brain still trying to kickstart itself, and he's already in your house talking business and work.

"Does your boss, my father, know that I do not care?" You ask in a tired voice before sipping the warm drink in your hands.

"He does." Jason nods once with his eyes still on his laptop.

You grumble in response before looking at Jason over the rim of your mug. You set it down with a sigh and lean your chin in your palm.

"What is it that you even do on that thing?"

"That's top secret."

You huff with a lazy roll of your eyes. "Of course it is," You mumble. "I'm not allowed in on the secret?" You ask then.

Jason raises a brow as he eyes you before going back to his laptop - like he's surprised you had the audacity to even ask, "Nope." He emphasises the word with a pop of his lips.

"And why not?"

"Because it's on a need to know basis. And you," he looks at you pointedly again, "do not need to know."

"If it pertains to your job, which right now - is me, doesn't that mean I should be on the 'need to know basis'?" You raise a brow.

Jason looks at like you he's actually considering your argument for a change. But then he smiles, smug and knowing.

"Not a chance. Good try, though."

You deadpan at him, obviously not amused with his humor, and then you let out a dramatic sigh and make a show of standing from the chair.

"Do you have any sort of personality or is it all sarcasm and doom and gloom?"

"Doom and gloom, me?" Jason has the nerve to look offended, a hint of a smirk showing through the play act, "I regularly save kittens from trees and puppies from alleys and help old women cross the street."

"Cute, I bet they love that." Your tone is as flat as your expression.

"They do." Jason shoots back, "Some even tip me."

"Wouldn't that make you a prostitute?" You're quick with it, it slips off your tongue before you can even think about it. But the smirk that pulls at your lips makes Jason bark out a laugh.

He leans across the table and the look he gives you almost sends a chill down your spine, a wolf like smirk in his face how. "And what if it does? Is that a problem for you, Princess?" His tone is low, dangerous and playful. Your smile falters as your pulse races.

"No, of course not,"you stand your ground, your hands on your hips, "but you should probably rethink your clientele. You could do so much better than little old ladies with a face like that."

Jason's expression slowly falls into something that almost looks bashful and from the way he doesn't quip back just as quickly, you know you've won this back and forth. With a satisfied smile you walk by him, an air of triumph surrounding you.

You keep the confidence in your steps as you walk out of the kitchen and towards your room. You can feel Jason's eyes on you as you walk away from him but you refuse to let him see just how much he'd affecting you, how the gleam in his eyes when he stares at you like you're the only important thing in his world sets your blood on fire.

Back in the kitchen Jason waits until he hears the click of your bedroom door closing before he slumps in his seat with a sigh. He has a feeling this job is going to kill him one way or another.

You spend the time in your room relaxing, letting your nerves (and emotions) calm down before getting ready for your day. You've been stuck in the house way too long - which calls for a shopping day. After getting ready you head downstairs to find Jason sitting on your couch with his computer on his lap.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" Jason looks around the room, scanning for threats -any surprise you might be trying to throw his way.

"I'm going shopping." You respond plainly.

There's a beat of silence before Jason scoffs a laugh at you.

"No you're not." He says with a shake of his head, ignoring the way you busy yourself with grabbing your last minute things.

You stop and blink at him.

"Um, yes I am." You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "There hasn't been a new threat in like a week, right?"

"Wrong." He crosses his arms over his chest. "There has been. Two days ago. You know this."

"Was it against my dad?"

"…. No. But it was implie-"

"So there's no new threat." You cut him off. "I'm going shopping, so-"

It's Jason's turn to cut you off.

"You're not. It's not safe. You're staying here. Where it is safe. Where I can keep you safe." Each sentence is enunciated with irritation and barely hidden concern lacing his voice.

You've seen him stern before, annoyed, but you've never seen him this adament and upset about something before.

You stare at Jason, a silent challenge. But he doesn't back down. You can tell he's just as stubborn as you are but he's probably dealt with bigger assholes than you'd like to imagine. Finally you bite at the inside of your cheek and let out the most dramatic huff of air that you can muster.

"Fine!" You throw your hands up in defeat. "I'll just stay locked in my room, forever, without doing anything fun ever again like some stupid princess!" Angry, frustrated tears sting at your eyes as you turn your back on Jason.

He's still standing there with his eyes narrowed, arms crossed. "Fine with me! At least you're finally listening."

"You're an asshole!" You shout back over your shoulder.

"I might be an asshole but you're still alive. A 'thank you' goes a long way, you know."

"Oh, go fuck yourself!"

This time there isn't a quiet click of your door closing. This time your door slams so violently that it rattles the frames on your walls.

Jason yells something at you, probably scolding you for acting out - like you're a child - but you can't hear him over your blood rushing in your ears.

"What a dick!" You pace your room. "I'm an adult! I can handle myself! This is so stupid, it's just shopping!"

You stew. For hours. Going back and forth between muttering to yourself and texting all of your friends about the "wannabe protective services asshole who's ruining my life". All the respond with is that they'd do anything he asked of them, "perverts" is what you called them before turning your phone off.

Sitting in front of your mirror you tell yourself that even if Jason insists he knows everything about you, he doesn't know everything about you. Like how even though he himself is stubborn, you can go toe to toe with him. You come up with a plan to use Jason's punctuality against him. He leaves at ten pm? Fine, you're leaving at ten fifteen pm. Even with the cameras now set up around your house, there aren't any in your room. And it really can't be that hard climbing out of your window.

Right?

Jason leaves that night at ten sharp without his usual reminder of "six am, princess", which means he's still as pissed off as you are. Whatever, you tell yourself, he can be mad all he wants. At least he isn't being held prisoner in his own home. But that ends tonight. Because in fifteen minutes you're going to be breaking out of your prison to go downtown to your favorite club.

You're dressed in your best club outfit, your Uber is already ordered, and you're sitting on your bed with sweating palms. You've never had to sneak out before, your mom and dad never told you no. You rationalize with yourself that you're not "sneaking out" because you're not a teenager. You're a god damn adult! You're simply leaving for the night.

So why is your stomach twisting into knots at the thought of being caught?

You listen for his clunker of a car to start and head down the street before even thinking about climbing out of your window. But when the low rumble of his engine is long gone you steel your nerves and slip out of your window. Your leg gets stuck at an awkward angle and hiss in pain as you shimmy the rest of the way down, trying your best to ignore the sting in your skin.

"Ah, shit shit shit-" Once you're finally on solid ground you look down and notice the cut on your calf. It's not bad, but it is bleeding.

"Ugh, of course." You scoff before digging in your purse. You grab out a napkin and wipe at the blood as best as you can before tossing the dirtied napkin in the bush next to your window. Satisfied enough with your work you shrug and sneak down the sidewalk, opposite of Jason's rental, towards your Uber - towards freedom.

The Glacier Lounge is already starting to fill when you show up, you can hear the thump of the music from outside. Your favorite bouncer, Marcus, greets you as you saunter up to the door, ignoring the crowded line.

"It's been a minute," His deep voice thrums, the sound familiar and inviting. "Where've you been, trouble?"

"House arrest." You pout before smiling.

"Stop playing with me." Marcus laughs before he's holding the door open for you.

You step into the club, a few patrons outside voice their annoyance which only makes your smile grow.

The club is packed for how early in the night it is. Bodies sway together under the dark neon lights, the music pulses through your veins. The air is warm, almost humid, but you revel in it. It hardly feels suffocating compared to the constant vigilance you've been subjected to over the last two weeks.

You spend the night dancing without a care in the world. Your phone has been turned off for hours and each time you itch to reach for it, you scratch the itch with another drink in your hand instead. Eventually you find yourself slumping against the bar, a warm flush to your sweat slick skin, a buzz beneath your skin.

Something feels off. Like something is missing. Despite the loud music and the clubbers yelling over the music, even the group of girls laughing at a table in the corner, it still feels… quiet.

Even in your haze you know exactly why it feels quiet. The realization hits that you miss Jason.

Fuck.

Even if his conversation skills are on par with a mime's, and the fact that he could be a huge asshole half the time, he was starting to grow on you.

With a pout, you pull your phone from your purse and turn it on. It powers on and you're immediately overloaded with notifications of texts, missed calls, and voicemails from Jason.

Oh. Right. You start to sober up when you remember that you went MIA without a trace. But the more you look at your screen, the more you see your inbox full of forty-seven unread messages - know they're from Jason? You bite at your bottom lip and stumble your way out of the club.

The cold night air bites harshly at your skin, you bump into someone walking towards the club, and you tap Jason's contact with a pout on your lips.

Maybe in the morning you'll blame it on the alcohol, or the way your life has been flipped upside down because some moron is threatening to blow up a bunch of stupid politicians. Either way, right now all you want is Jason.

"Where are you? It is three in the morning. I went by your place and you were gone. There was blood on your window." He sounds tired, like he's been worrying about you for fwr too long.

You'd completely forgotten about the cut and you subconsciously rub at your leg.

"I'm at- I'm at the Glacier Lounge…" you mumble into your phone.

"The-? Are you seri-?" Jason growls under his breath. He's pissed but he's trying to keep himself composed. "Stay. There. I'll be there in ten minutes."

And with that the call ends.

True to his word, Jason makes it to the club in ten minutes with a few seconds to spare. You pout again, this time at the clunker that sputters to a stop in front of you. You barely make it to the curb before Jason's rounding the car to open the door for you. You look over at him to say thank you but he's not even looking at you. There's a nasty guilty feeling deep in your stomach.

The car ride is sickeningly quiet. You can't handle it another second.

"Are you mad at me?" You whisper. Your warm forehead is pressed against the cold window and that helps to bring some much needed cognitive development back to you.

Jason's knuckles turn white around the wheel before he answers you.

"Yes."

Your bottom lip trembles briefly at the answer. You have a hard time thinking up an excuse but Jason starts speaking again before you even have a chance to explain yourself.

"What were you thinking? Just leaving like that? When there are threats out there! Are you insane or stupid?"

"I'm not-"

"Calling an Uber? Turning your phone off?"

"How did you know I called an Uber?" You question. Jason huffs with a shake of his head.

"I was able to hack into your phone, just to see the last few apps you used before shutting the whole thing off."

"Oh, so what? You're a hacker now? On top of being-"

"This isn't the time for fucking jokes! And I'm damn well whatever I need to be to keep your spoiled ass safe!" Jason finally snaps.

You're not used to being yelled at, to have so much anger directed at you.

"You can be mad all you want," you sniffle, "but there's no reason to call me names." You turn away from him in the car, angling your body as far away from him as possible.

He's quiet before he scoffs, "That's rich coming from you. Calling me an asshole earlier today? Telling me to go fuck myself?" He shakes his head.

Now it's your turn to have your words thrown back at you, and it doesn't feel good. You didn't even realize earlier how your words could have hurt him. Surely he's had worse thrown at him, right?

But you shake off that guilty feeling because you're not going down that easily.

"Sorry you got stuck with such a shitty job." You bite back. Your voice is laced with venom. "Hopefully for you, your next one isn't a stupid, spoiled pain in the ass for you."

The streetlights blur by you as Jason focuses on the road ahead of him. All you can hear is the rough hum of the engine and the road.

"Yeah," Jason scoffs a sardonic laugh, "Hopefully for me."

It's when Jason finally pulls onto your street that he asks, "How's your leg?"

"What do you care?" You ask in return.

Jason clenches his jaw, tight, to keep from snapping at you.

"I don't." It sounds halfhearted at best. "But if you need stitches your parents will want to know."

"So you're just covering your ass?" Your snippy reply has him gripping the steering wheel again.

"Yes." He lies through his teeth.

"It's fine. I don't need stitches."

"Good."

"Thankful you don't have to do paperwork? Fill out an incident report?" You keep digging the knife deeper into your own chest.

"That's all I care about." It sounds too forced when he says it.