holy clavicle!

The first thing Cass noticed was the distinct fresh-coffee-mixed-with-body-spray smell. Which suggested that someone had been there. Recently.

She'd picked this particular safehouse because it was supposed to be empty. Sequestered in the Bowery between a shuttered pawn shop and an all-night laundry service. Close enough to the usual patrol routes for when Oracle called, but far enough from the Cave that she could breathe without Bruce's concerned hovering or Dick's well-meaning check-ins.

After six months in Hong Kong—six months following Batman's carefully worded suggestion that she needed "more perspective" and "distance from Gotham's influence"—Cass had thought coming home would feel… easier. Instead, the city pressed against her like an old coat whose shoulders no longer fit her frame. It made her think that Bruce had been right to send her overseas. That maybe she didn't really belong here anymore…

Trying to shake the thought from her mind, Cass stepped further into the apartment. The sign of the 24-hour diner across the street cut through the windowpanes, casting the sparse furnishings in a soft, crimson glow. But through the red haze, Cass noticed the unmistakable signs of life. A dog-eared paperback left open on the threadbare couch. A chipped white mug on the kitchen counter with tendrils of steam rising from it. A dufflebag shoved in the far corner, fully unzipped and overflowing with clothes.

"Well, I'll be damned. Look what the Bat dragged in."

Cass spun toward the voice, eyes fixing on the familiar silhouette of Jason Todd as he emerged from the shadows. He was dressed in a maroon-colored t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants. His arms were folded over his chest, and he wore the sort of smirk Cass had come to associate with amusement and trouble. The white streak of his hair caught the red glow of the outdoor diner sign like a warning.

"Jason." Cass relaxed (albeit fractionally), though her stance remained alert. With his presence now out in the open, the scents that always clung to him—gun metal and old leather—were mixing with the overall staleness of their surroundings. "Didn't know you were using this place."

"Didn't know you were back in town." His eyes swept over her, taking in the rips in her uniform and the exhaustion she couldn't hide quite as well as she tried to. "Bruce finally let you come home from exile?"

Exile. The word hit harder than Cass expected. She felt her jaw tighten on its own accord. "Wasn't exile."

"Sure it wasn't." Jason's voice carried that familiar bite of someone who knew exactly what it felt like to be on the outskirts of Bruce Wayne's tightly constructed inner circle. "Hong Kong just happened to need Batgirl when things got complicated here, right?"

Cass felt something twist in her chest. It wasn't anger, but rather, a deep, dull ache that she couldn't name. The same twinge that had burned under her heart when she'd stepped onto Bruce's private jet. The one that continued simmering beneath the surface across the full width of the Pacific Ocean.

The silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the endless clanking of the radiator and the persistent drumbeat of rain against the windows. Before she finally croaked out a reply.

"Don't."

"Hit a nerve?" Jason's eyebrows rose and he shifted his weight, folding his arms more tightly across his chest. "What was it this time? Too much violence? Not enough control? Or did you just remind him too much of—"

"Stop." Cass's voice cut through his words like a knife. She could read the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched—Jason was clearly hurting too. Lashing out only because it was easier than admitting his own vulnerability. "You're angry at him. Not me."

Jason's smirk faltered, and in the neon light, Cass caught an unadulterated rawness flash across his expression. Until he forcibly clamped it down into something more self-contained. "Maybe. But that doesn't make me wrong."

She wanted to argue. Wanted to defend Bruce's decision. But the words stuck in her throat. Because Jason wasn't wrong. The "suggestion" to work with their Hong Kong contacts had come right after she'd gotten too close to a case involving child trafficking. Right after she'd effectively crippled a trafficker's legs by breaking them in three places, instead of simply incapacitating him. Right after Bruce had given her that look—the one that said he was wondering if she was becoming too much like what she used to be.

"Six months," she said quietly, more to herself than to Jason. "Still don't know if I'm supposed to be grateful or…"

"Pissed off?" Jason supplied, his voice losing some of its edge. "Yeah, I know that feeling."

His admission hung between them like a confession. Cass had no choice but to turn away from Jason's discerning gaze and move toward the kitchen. If only to have something to do with her hands. There was no real thirst for the lukewarm coffee left in the old-fashioned percolator.

"Why are you here?" Cass asked, pouring herself a cup and taking a sip. She grimaced at the bitter taste, frowning when she realized there was not a sugar cube in sight. "This your regular brooding spot, or are you avoiding the Cave too?"

Jason snorted, but there was less venom in it now. "Who says I'm brooding? Maybe I just like the ambiance." He gestured vaguely at the peeling wallpaper and the diner's neon light, casting everything in crime-scene red. "Very atmospheric for reading."

Despite everything, Cass felt her lips twitch. "What are you reading?"

"Jane Austen." The admission came out defensive, and with a proud jut of the chin. Like he was daring her to make fun of him.

She blinked, recalling Austen's work from her adolescent English lessons with Alfred. "… Really?"

"What? I have layers." Jason pushed off from the wall, stalking over to retrieve his hardback book from the couch. "Pride and Prejudice. Figured if I'm going to be stuck in a safehouse avoiding family drama, might as well get some culture."

The mental image of Jason Todd, brown leather jacket and all, reading about drawing room manners and social propriety was so incongruous that Cass felt a genuine smile tug at her mouth for the first time since she'd left Hong Kong. "How far are you?"

"Darcy just insulted Elizabeth at the dance." Jason flopped onto the couch, the action making him look younger than his mere twenty-four years. More boyish. "Guy's a real piece of work."

"He gets better if I remember right." Cass found herself drifting closer, drawn by the unexpected normalcy of literary discussion. Even if she wasn't much of a reader herself, it distinctly reminded her of home. "Think you'll like him by the end."

"Mmmm... Doubt it. Don't have much patience for rich bastards who think they're better than everyone else." Jason's voice was pointed, but his body language had relaxed, his long legs unfurled in a way that took up most of the available couch space.

"Move over," Cass muttered, nudging his boot with her knee.

"Make me." The challenge was practically second nature, but there was something almost playful about it. A brief impression of the younger, more impish Jason that Cass had heard stories about from Bruce and Dick. Before things had gotten so complicated.

Cass studied his sprawled form, noting how he was deliberately taking up as much space as possible. After six months of overtly formal training sessions and sparring etiquette lessons in Hong Kong, Jason's casual defiance felt… refreshing. Fraternal, even.

"Fine."

Before Jason could react, Cass set her coffee mug down and moved with the fluid grace of someone who'd been raised to read every bodily tell and micro-expression. She feinted left, then swept his legs off the couch in one smooth motion.

"Hey!" Jason rolled with the momentum, ending in a crouch with his hands raised. "I was comfortable."

"Was." Cass settled into a fighting stance, feeling some of the tension from earlier begin to uncoil. "Now you're not."

Jason smirked as he assessed her form. "Oh, you want to dance? Been a while since I sparred with someone who might actually be a challenge."

They moved carefully at first, testing each other's reflexes. Cass possessed a fluidity from training with some of the best fighters in Hong Kong and performing classical ballet routines in her free time. Jason, on the other hand, relied more on brutality than finesse. Even when sparring with other members of the Bat family.

Within minutes, she had him on the defensive, her strikes coming faster than he could counter.

"Okay, okay," Jason panted, barely dodging a kick that would have taken his legs out from under him. "I forgot how stupidly good you are at this."

Cass pushed the envelope, driving him back toward the couch. "You're getting slow, Todd."

"Am not." But his protest was breathless, and she could see him reassessing his approach. Instead of backing down, Jason shifted tactics, using his size and reach to try and close the distance between them.

He caught her next strike on his forearm, absorbing the impact with a low grunt. Then he immediately tried to grapple her into a hold.

But Cass was already moving, slipping out of his grip like a fish out of water. She twisted and landed a solid hit to his sternum that made him stumble backwards.

"Still slow," she said, not even breathing hard.

The muscle of Jason's jaw ticked. "Lucky shot."

This time he came at her with more aggression, throwing combinations that would have overwhelmed most opponents. Cass registered every punch before he threw it, allowing her body to move on instinct. She deflected, redirected, and countered with a precision that made Jason's techniques look almost clumsy by comparison.

"Interesting," she taunted lightly, ducking under a wild swing and then playfully tapping him on the shoulder as she passed. "Thought Red Hood was supposed to be dangerous."

"I am dangerous," Jason growled, spinning to face her again. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead, and there was a familiar stubborn set to his shoulders that Cass recognized from the few training sessions they'd shared at the Cave. The sort of tension that arose right before he stopped holding back and tried to beat the absolute crap out of Dick. "Just warming up."

He tried a different approach, mixing in some of the dirty tricks he'd learned on the streets—an elbow aimed at her temple, a knee toward her ribs, a heel to the lateral side of her knee. But every move was telegraphed to someone who could read body language as avidly as Jason read books. Cass flowed around his attacks, occasionally letting him think he had an opening before reversing his momentum and sending him stumbling backwards.

At the twenty-minute mark, Jason was breathing hard and nursing what was probably going to be a nasty bruise on his shoulder.

Cass had barely broken a sweat.

"You know what?" Jason said, bracing himself against the back of the couch after she'd swept his legs again. "I officially hate your stupid-perfect fighting skills."

"Not perfect," Cass replied, but she was smiling now, feeling more like herself than she had in months. "Just better than yours."

Jason's eye twitched. "Rematch."

"Same result."

"Best two out of three."

"Jason." She watched him push himself off the couch, noting the way he was starting to favor his left side. "Take a break. You're getting tired."

"What I'm getting is warmed up."

But his next attack was sloppier, driven more by frustration than strategy. Cass sidestepped easily, once again allowing Jason's own momentum to send him stumbling. This time, he tottered into the kitchen space, only narrowly missing a counter to the shoulder.

"That's four takedowns," Cass said, starting to feel a little sorry for him. "Maybe we should—"

"No." Jason wiped sweat from his forehead, his breathing labored as he focused on regaining his bearings. "I know I can get you. I just need to… think…"

His eyes narrowed. He took a moment to catch his breath and studied her more carefully. Cass felt a flicker of unease as she noted a shift in his expression. His frustration gave way to something more calculating in nature. As if he'd been fully prepared to fold his hand, only to remember that he had an ace stashed up his sleeve.

"… Think about what?" Cass asked cautiously.

Jason's grin was suddenly sharp and predatory. "Just... something Dick mentioned in the Cave a while back. Right before you left for Hong Kong, actually." He straightened up to his full height and began stretching his neck, his fatigue seeming to fade as whatever memory he'd dredged up took hold of his resolve. "He was talking to Tim about training methods, and he said something kinda interesting about you…"

Cass felt her stomach drop. Dick had a tendency to share observations about all of them when he thought it might be helpful for team dynamics. Most of the time, it was harmless—tips about fighting styles or preferred patrol routes. Allergies and favorite ice cream flavors. But sometimes…

"What did he say?" she asked, though she was already starting to back away, noting the transition in Jason's posture.

"Oh, y'know... something about the untouchable Batgirl having one tiny little weakness." Jason's voice had taken on a tone that could only mean trouble, equally playful and dangerous. The very sound of it set off Cass's internal alarm bells. "Something about you being absolutely, hopelessly…"

He lunged forward, but this time he wasn't aiming for a proper strike or grapple. Instead, his hands went straight for her sides.

"…ticklish."

The word hit Cass like a physical blow, and for a split second, she froze. But in that moment of horrified recognition, Jason's hands connected with her ribcage.

The effect was immediate and, arguably, devastating to her reputation. All of her unshakable control, her flawless reading of body language, her ability to predict and counter every single attack—it all crumbled the instant Jason's fingers made contact.

A startled laugh burst from Cass's lips, and she jerked back so violently, she nearly tripped over her own two feet.

"No!" The word came out in a panicked rush as Cass tried to twist away, but Jason was intent on striking while the iron was hot. His hands followed her movement, fingers dancing along her sides with the kind of precision he'd never quite managed in actual combat.

"Oh, this is so much better than sparring," Jason said, his voice full of vindictive glee. "Look at you—where's all that badass grace now?"

Cass tried to grab his wrists, but her coordination was gone. Every time his fingers found a particularly sensitive spot, her body would jerk involuntarily, disrupting any counter-attack she tried to mount. She'd spent years training her body to respond with deadly precision to any threat, but for some unfathomable reason she had yet to figure out, tickling wasn't a threat that Cass's nervous system knew how to handle.

"J-Jason, stop!" she gasped between helpless giggles, trying to back away, only to find herself pressed against the wall. "Thi-is-is isn't—isn't fair!"

"Fair?" Jason flashed a devilish grin as he trapped her against the wall, his fingers now targeting the spaces between her ribs with pinpoint precision. "You just spent twenty minutes making me look like an amateur, and you want to talk about fair?"

Cass tried to slide along the wall to escape, but Jason easily kept pace with her, his hands never leaving her torso. Years of fighting dirty on the streets had taught him to be opportunistic, and he was absolutely ruthless now that he'd found her weakness.

"You know what the best part is?" Jason said conversationally, as if he wasn't currently reducing the most feared hand-to-hand combatant in Gotham into a puddle of giggles. "Dick said you tried to play it off like it wasn't a big deal when he figured it out. Something about 'minor sensitivity' and 'not tactically relevant.'"

"Di-i-ick is—d-dead!" Cass managed to gasp out, her back arching as Jason's fingers found a spot just below her ribs that made her see stars.

"Oh, I don't think so. I think Dick is getting a very nice thank-you gift for this intel." Jason's voice was pure evil and satisfaction. "Maybe I'll tell him exactly how 'minor' this sensitivity actually is."

The threat made Cass redouble her efforts to escape, but it was useless. Every time she tried to grab his hands or push him away, he'd just switch to a different spot—her sides, her stomach, a surprisingly sensitive curve just above her hip bones that made her laugh so hard she couldn't breathe.

"This is chea-ea-ea-eatinggg!" Cass protested, her voice pitching higher than usual as she continued dissolving into helpless giggles.

"No, this is strategy," Jason corrected smugly. "You're just mad because someone found a way to overpower perfect little Cassie."

"I'm nnn-o-ot li-i-ittle!" The indignant protest slipped out before she could stop it, and Jason's grin somehow got even wider.

"Aww, look at that. Getting defensive while you're being tickled to death. That's adorable."

Cass made a sound of pure, frustrated outrage, but it was completely undermined by the fact that she was giggling too hard to be properly threatening. It didn't help that Jason was absolutely merciless, keeping up his assault while maintaining a steady stream of commentary that was designed to make her even more flustered.

"You know what I'm going to tell everyone when I get back to the Cave?" he said, his fingers now exploring the flat expanse of her stomach. "That the great Cassandra Cain, terror of Gotham's underworld, can be completely defeated by a little bit of—"

"Do-o-on't you da-a-a-are!" Cass yelled, her voice cracking on the last word.

"Don't I dare what?" Jason asked with mock innocence, but his eyes had that predatory gleam that meant he was about to make things so much worse. "Don't tell everyone that you're ticklish? Or don't do… this?"

Having been paying very close attention to Cass's reactions, his hands stretched out toward her sides, fingers pressing into the soft-padded muscle just above her hip bones.

Cass's entire world exploded into sensation.

"NO! Not there!" The words came out in a desperate rush before she completely lost the ability to form coherent sentences. Her knees buckled, and she would have slid down the wall if Jason hadn't been pinning her there with his attack.

"This is the spot, isn't it?" Jason's voice was absolutely delighted as he watched her dissolve into hysterical laughter. "Dick definitely didn't mention this part. Look at you—you can't even stand up!"

Cass was beyond words now, her laughter high and helpless as tears started building behind her eyes. She weakly batted at his hands, but her coordination was nonexistent by now. Every time his fingers dug into that particular spot, it sent shockwaves through her entire nervous system, until all she could think was flight instead of fight.

"Ja-a-asss-on, ple-e-ease!" she finally managed to gasp out between bouts of hysterical giggling. "I can't—I can't breathe!"

"That's what you get for making me look like an idiot for the last twenty minutes," Jason said, but there was something almost fond in his voice now, the vindictive edge softening. "Maybe next time you'll go easy on your poor, defenseless brother."

"Not—" Cass tried to protest, but Jason began squeezing at her inner obliques and she collapsed into helpless peals of laughter, her legs giving out completely.

"Not what? Not your brother? Not defenseless?" Jason's grin was downright impish as he followed her down the wall, keeping up his torturous assault. "You might be right on that last part. I'm feeling pretty powerful right now."

As if to prove his point, his fingers curved into claws, digging mercilessly into the soft spots where Cass's obliques met her core. The sensation was ridiculously overwhelming—every squeeze sent bolts of ticklish electricity through her entire torso, making her arch and writhe helplessly against the wall.

Cass shrieked, her voice cracking as she dissolved into completely incoherent laughter. She couldn't even form words anymore, just helpless gasps and squeaks between bouts of hysterical giggling. Her hands flailed weakly, trying to grab his wrists, but every time his fingers dug in again, her entire body would spasm, and she'd lose what little sense of bearings she had left.

"Oh, this is perfect," Jason chuckled, and the sound of his own laughter mixing with hers made the whole situation even more overwhelming. "I should record it for blackmail material."

"No!" The word came out as more of a squeak, and Jason's chuckle got deeper.

"No? But I think I've earned some compensation for the ass-kicking you just gave me." His fingers paused their assault just long enough for Cass to catch her breath. "So here's what's going to happen. First, you're going to admit that I won this fight."

"That's not—" Cass started to protest, but Jason's fingers immediately started lobster-clawing into the firmer muscle of her obliques again. She collapsed back into helpless laughter. "Nnnnhg!"

"Wrong answer!" Jason said cheerfully. "Let's try again. Say 'Jason won.'"

"Noooo!" Cass gasped out, though her defiance was somewhat undermined by the fact that she was still giggling uncontrollably.

"Oh, you're going to be stubborn about this?" Jason's voice took on that dangerous, playful tone again. "That's fine. I've got all night."

His fingers resumed their merciless assault on her obliques, alternating between quick, fluttering touches and deeper, claw-like digs that made her entire body convulse with laughter.

Cass was completely overwhelmed, tears trickling down her face as she dissolved into the kind of helpless, breathless giggling that made her stomach ache.

"Come on, Cass," Jason said, his own chuckles mixing with her laughter. "Just say it. Two little words: 'Jason won.' Maybe not fair, but I definitely won."

"I—I ca-a-an't—" Cass could barely get the words out between gasps. Her legs had given out a while ago, and she was only somewhat upright because Jason had her pinned against the wall. "Please!"

"Please what?" He paused again to let her catch her breath, his hands lingering threateningly at either side of her waist. "Please keep tickling you? Please never stop? Because I'm getting mixed signals here."

"Please stop!" she managed to gasp out, though she was still giggling helplessly. "I give u-u-u-up!"

"Ah, but that's not what I asked for." Jason's grinned wickedly. "I want to hear you say it properly. 'Jason won.'"

Cass looked at him through blurry eyes, seeing the glint in his eyes that meant he wasn't going to let this go. Part of her wanted to keep fighting on sheer principle, but another part—the part that was still gasping for breath and utterly exhausted—just wanted this torture to end.

"Fine!" she finally gasped out, causing her brother to pause in his assault. "Jason... Jason won. You won, okay? You beat me."

"With what method?" Jason prompted, his fingers resting all too lightly against her still-tingling muscles.

"With—with tickling…" The admission came out in a rush, and Cass felt her face burning with embarrassment.

Jason's grin was absolutely triumphant. "There we go! Was that so hard?" He finally, mercifully, pulled his hands away from her sides, sitting back on his heels with a satisfied expression.

Cass slumped against the wall, still catching her breath and wiping the tracks from her cheeks. Her entire torso felt tingly and oversensitive, and she kept letting out little residual giggles that made Jason's smile widen.

"Worst..." she said when she could finally speak properly, "... brother ever..."

"Hey, all's fair in love and war," Jason replied, but his voice had long-since lost that vindictive edge. Now he just looked entirely too pleased with himself, like a cat who'd finally caught a wild canary. "Besides, you needed to be taken down a peg or two. Those flawless sparring techniques were getting to your head."

"I don't have flawless techniques," Cass protested weakly, though she was still smiling despite herself. "You just proved that."

"Oh, your techniques are flawless," Jason said, settling down beside her against the wall. "Your weaknesses, on the other hand, are hilarious." He paused, studying her face with that calculating look again. "It's fun, though. I don't think I've ever seen you laugh that hard, like... ever."

The observation made Cass shift uncomfortably. "I laugh."

"No, you smile. Sometimes chuckle. But actual, helpless, can't-breathe laughing? Never seen you do that before." Jason's voice had gone softer, more thoughtful. "When's the last time you let yourself be that… unclenched?"

The question hit closer to home than Cass wanted to admit. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt safe enough to be completely vulnerable, to let her guard down so completely that she couldn't defend herself even if she wanted to. Even in Hong Kong, surrounded by allies, she'd always been ready to fight, always been aware of potential threats.

"I don't know," she admitted quietly.

Jason was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "For what it's worth, I think Bruce was an idiot for sending you away."

Cass looked at him in surprise. "But you don't even know why he—"

"Doesn't matter." Jason's cut-in. "You belong here. In Gotham. With the rest of us. Even if you do kick all our asses on a regular basis." He paused, then added with a smirk, "Well, usually."

Despite everything, a warmth spread through Cass's chest, smoothing out whatever it was that'd been burning behind her heart since her deployment to Hong Kong. "You really think so?"

"I know so." Jason leaned his shoulders back against the wall, looking more at ease than she'd seen him all night. "Besides, who else is going to keep us humble? Tim's too busy, Dick's too nice, Damian's too short, and Bruce… well, he's Bruce fucking Wayne."

"And you?"

"Me? I'm exceptional." Jason's smirk turned into a shameless grin. "Especially at finding creative ways to win fights against impossibly skilled opponents."

Cass groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Let it go, Jay."

"Oh, absolutely not. This is going in the family vault of embarrassing stories, right next to the time Tim got stuck in a ventilation shaft and when Dick accidentally called B 'Dad' during a Justice League meeting."

"You wouldn't."

"I would, and I will." Jason's eyes were full of evil glee, made more nefarious by the red glow of the diner light. "In fact, I'm thinking of making it my new party trick. 'Wanna see me defeat the world's most dangerous assassin with my bare hands?'"

"Jason!" Cass reached out to shove him, but he easily caught her wrists.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tutted with a warning waggle of his eyebrows. "We both know how this ends."

The threat made her freeze, resulting in Jason's low-pitched laughter filling the small safehouse. There was something warmer in it now, something that felt more like a steady assurance in a way that Bruce's concern and Dick's gentle check-ins hadn't quite managed.

Cass soaked the sound in and settled back against the wall with a small smile. "Maybe being back here isn't so hard after all."

"Even if it means dealing with me?" Jason grinned, gently nudging her in the ribs with his elbow.

Cass smiled wider and returned the gesture, an easygoing nature taking hold as she conceded. "Even if it means dealing with you."