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One moment the nurse had been edging toward the door, the next he was pinned hard enough against the wall to rattle the picture frame beside him, voices overlapping in a blur Jason couldn't separate from the pounding of blood in his ears. His attention never stayed on the man for long. It kept snapping back to Grace as she shepherded him onto the bed with surprising firmness, every ounce of her focus fixed on him despite the fact that she'd been the one to uncover the attack in the first place.
He let her.
Not because he thought he needed the examination.
Because she did.
Jason sat still while she checked his pupils, his mouth, his pulse, watching the concentration settle over her features with the same practiced precision she'd shown the night before while trying to stop the bleeding from his shoulder. Her fingers trembled, but not enough to affect her work. He could feel the fear in the way she searched him for something—anything—that would confirm she'd caught it in time. When nothing presented itself, he saw neither relief nor reassurance in her expression. Only the terrible certainty that Roman Sionis had reached inside the hospital itself.
When she reached for the cables and began disconnecting them with quick, efficient movements, Jason caught her wrist gently before she could move away again. His grip was careful, more an anchor than a restraint.
''We are leaving,'' Jason urged her. ''Dick, call B.''
''I taught her how to shoot,'' Jason replied easily. ''If she hadn't shot me, considering the circumstances, I would have been more worried and upset.''
His jaw tightened as he looked toward the window. ''Sionis came after her because of me. He found her because of me. He hurt her because he knew I'd come running." The words were difficult to say, but he knew they were true. It had been his fault. Everything that had happened to her was because he loved her. "I can't just pretend that doesn't matter."
For a moment, the room was quiet. Then Jason shifted carefully against the pillows and then looked to Maria with something more vulnerable in his expression. "She's lucky to have you." He hesitated. "And I'm... glad she's got you right now." A faint smile touched his mouth. "She'll probably hate being fussed over, but she needs it."
Jason stood at the edge of the deck for a moment, watching the last of the Spanish crew disappear into the longboats before turning back toward the noise behind him. His men had already transformed the deck into something barely recognizable. Barrels had been rolled into place, cups passed from hand to hand, and the first stolen bottles had been opened with considerably more enthusiasm than caution. Laughter carried over the water, mingling with the slap of waves against the hull. They had won. More importantly, they had won together.
His gaze found Roy almost immediately.
The first mate stood among the crew with that familiar grin plastered across his face, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he raised a bottle toward Jason. For a heartbeat, Jason simply watched him. There was something about seeing Roy like this—unburdened, laughing, alive—that made the victory feel more real than the gold below deck ever could. Jason finally descended the steps toward them, shaking his head as the crew erupted into another cheer.
"Alright, alright," he called, raising both hands. "Don't start carving my face into the mast just yet. We've only robbed one ship."
That earned another round of laughter. Jason accepted the bottle Roy held out to him, taking a long drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The liquor burned pleasantly down his throat, and for once he didn't care about tomorrow's repairs, the navy, or the bounty that would eventually follow the black flag.
Tonight, they had earned this.
He lifted his bottle toward the crew, his expression settling into something quietly proud.
"To our first prize," Jason said. "And to the next one being bigger."
The response was deafening.
Jason's grin widened as he looked back toward Roy, the warmth of the drink already settling into his chest. ''Lead them into song, Harper. Let's hear it!''
Jason let the last notes of the song wash over him, the raucous cheers of the crew following close behind. He raised his bottle with the others, laughing quietly as the deck erupted into another round of celebration. For once, he wasn't interested in being the captain who stood over everything, making sure every man stayed in line. They had earned this. They had fought together, won together, and come away with enough wealth to make the risk worthwhile. If they wanted to drink until sunrise and sing until their voices gave out, Jason wasn't about to stop them.
He caught Roy's eye through the crowd, holding his gaze for a moment as another cheer went up around them. There was something warm in Jason's chest that had nothing to do with the rum. Pride, perhaps. Or something he wasn't quite ready to put a name to. Roy looked happier than Jason had seen him in a long time, and Jason found himself reluctant to be the one to end the moment.
Instead, he lifted his bottle toward him.
"Keep them from drinking themselves overboard," Jason called, amusement clear in his voice. "I'm turning in."
He didn't wait for a response before slipping through the crowd and heading toward the stairs. He paused only once, glancing back over his shoulder at the crew. They were already laughing louder, another bottle being passed around as someone began pounding out another rhythm against a barrel.
Good.
They didn't need their captain watching them tonight.
Jason descended below deck and pushed open the door to his quarters, closing it behind him until the noise from above became distant and muffled. The sudden quiet felt almost strange after the chaos of the celebration. He crossed to the desk, grabbed another bottle from among the spoils they'd brought aboard, and dropped into the chair behind the chart table.
For several moments, he simply sat there, bottle resting against his thigh as he stared through the stern windows at the moonlit sea.
They had actually done it.
One ship. One victory. Their first prize.
Jason took a long drink, letting the burn settle warmly in his chest before leaning back in the chair. Outside, the crew continued to celebrate without him, their laughter carrying faintly through the hull.
Ducking into the shadow of an alley, Grace's thumb jammed down on the trigger of her personal alarm. A recent Christmas gift, from the notorious Red Hood. Her boyfriend. She didn't really expect it to work, not when her cell phone had been rendered obsolete and everything around her was wrong.
Grace had walked the familiar streets of Gotham, from the University towards her apartment on the other side of the city after a day of lectures on the Pathology of Infectious Diseases. A fairly interesting day, though the lecturer had been different to her usual one. A sub, she had presumed.
It was a billboard that had first drawn her attention. Electronic, and well worn in, though Grace could have sworn the building it adorned was bare and supported by scaffolding just that morning. Poison Ivy had grown her vines all around it last month in an eco-terror attack. Something to do with poisoning the bay by Finger River, Grace couldn't really condemn her actions. Anyway, construction never worked that fast this side of the river.
One change, then another. A change in street name. A building missing. A commercial for a company she had never seen. Was she going mad? Had she been fear gassed and her ultimate phobia was small inconsequential but unsettling changes? No, that was ridiculous. Grace pulled out her phone to call her mom only to find that it had no signal. She reset it and pocketed it to keep her wits about her.
Sirens wailed past, the streets were full of the bustle of the evening commuters, going shopping or heading home, nightshift workers heading out in the city that never slept. Grace couldn't help but feel a sense of wrongness in the air.
As though the universe was sending her the answers she was asking for, a copy of the Gotham Gazette tumbled on the street towards her feet. It's headline drawing her attention:
Pamela Isley wins Mayoral election by a landslide.
What? Wasn't that Ivy's real name?
Stooping to pick it up, Grace thought for sure this must be some joke. She glanced at the date and saw that it was today's paper- Wait. The day and month were correct but the year... It was some twenty years ahead.
A fake paper. Right? Only the electronic billboard in the heart of the city square, cycling through news stories, flashed with that same picture. The same headline.
The vigilante had told her that she could call on him whenever she needed to. Grace had taken that to mean emergencies. For anything else, she had his cell, not that hers was working... Did this qualify? She wasn't injured. No one else around her seemed to be concerned by this news. No. She just needed to get home.
The final straw came in the form of the light coming from her apartment windows, as she squinted up from the street below. The silhouettes moving around were not meant to be there. At all.
Ducking into the shadow of an alley, Grace's thumb jammed down on the trigger of her personal alarm, wondering if it would work at all, and more importantly, what she would do if it didn't.
Jason struggled to keep quiet, remembering, as he did, how quickly the world had changed for them both during that initial year. How all-consuming their love had grown, despite what the city and his choices had thrown at them.
How they had survived, despite all odds. And how they had a family now, kids to look after and love. How Jason had learned how to let himself live and cherish life with her, with them.
''Yeah, if I haven't said it before, I'll say it now; sorry. I know it kind of... got away from me back then.'' And Jason offered her an apologetic smile. ''Never wanted you to find out the way you did... that wasn't fair.''
The faint apology earned a quiet huff from Jason, more amused than anything else. He tilted his head down, catching Dick's gaze before brushing his thumb gently along his cheek. "Don't apologize," he murmured. "Yeah. They did." There was a hint of embarrassment in his own voice now, but it was softened by the small smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. "I wasn't actually complaining..."
He let the words settle before pulling Dick comfortably back against him, his chin resting lightly against his hair. For a few moments, neither of them moved beyond the slow rhythm of Jason's hand against his back. The intimacy of it still felt strange, almost too good to trust but in it, Jason allowed himself to feel the room to whisper between them; ''If I've gone too far, Dick... No matter what, I never want you to feel uncomfortable with me, or pressured, or—''
They landed somewhere deeper than Jason expected, leaving him staring at Dick for a moment as though he didn't quite know how to respond. Trust had always been something Jason understood as conditional, something earned and lost and constantly tested. But Dick said it so simply, without hesitation, that Jason found himself believing him. And with that outspoken trust came the realization that Jason had to trust Dick too; trust that Dick would tell him when to back off.
His hand rose to rest against Dick's cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath his eye, and Jason leaned in and pressed another soft kiss to Dick's lips, lingering for only a moment before pulling back enough to look at him. ''I mean it, Dick. Whatever you want and need-''
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Not from fear this time, but from something softer that he wasn't entirely sure how to name. He looked down at Dick tucked against him, the tension slowly leaving his shoulders as though he'd finally allowed himself to believe that Jason wasn't going anywhere. The admission that he didn't get this often struck deeper than it probably should have.
"Yeah," Jason murmured, his hand continuing its slow path along Dick's back. "Me neither."
There was something almost absurdly comforting about admitting it aloud. Neither of them seemed particularly good at asking for this kind of closeness, yet here they were, tangled together beneath the blankets with nowhere else they needed to be. Jason pressed another gentle kiss into Dick's hair, lingering there for a moment before settling his cheek against the top of his head.
His fingers moved lazily over Dick's back, steady and unhurried. "Then we'll just do this," Jason said simply. He let out a quiet breath, finally allowing the last of his earlier worry to disappear. He tightened his arms around Dick just slightly and his cheeks warmed with his next words. ''Although I will have to get cleaned up in a bit...''
The faint apology earned a quiet huff from Jason, more amused than anything else. He tilted his head down, catching Dick's gaze before brushing his thumb gently along his cheek. "Don't apologize," he murmured. "Yeah. They did." There was a hint of embarrassment in his own voice now, but it was softened by the small smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. "I wasn't actually complaining..."
He let the words settle before pulling Dick comfortably back against him, his chin resting lightly against his hair. For a few moments, neither of them moved beyond the slow rhythm of Jason's hand against his back. The intimacy of it still felt strange, almost too good to trust but in it, Jason allowed himself to feel the room to whisper between them; ''If I've gone too far, Dick... No matter what, I never want you to feel uncomfortable with me, or pressured, or—''
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Ducking into the shadow of an alley, Grace's thumb jammed down on the trigger of her personal alarm. A recent Christmas gift, from the notorious Red Hood. Her boyfriend. She didn't really expect it to work, not when her cell phone had been rendered obsolete and everything around her was wrong.
Grace had walked the familiar streets of Gotham, from the University towards her apartment on the other side of the city after a day of lectures on the Pathology of Infectious Diseases. A fairly interesting day, though the lecturer had been different to her usual one. A sub, she had presumed.
It was a billboard that had first drawn her attention. Electronic, and well worn in, though Grace could have sworn the building it adorned was bare and supported by scaffolding just that morning. Poison Ivy had grown her vines all around it last month in an eco-terror attack. Something to do with poisoning the bay by Finger River, Grace couldn't really condemn her actions. Anyway, construction never worked that fast this side of the river.
One change, then another. A change in street name. A building missing. A commercial for a company she had never seen. Was she going mad? Had she been fear gassed and her ultimate phobia was small inconsequential but unsettling changes? No, that was ridiculous. Grace pulled out her phone to call her mom only to find that it had no signal. She reset it and pocketed it to keep her wits about her.
Sirens wailed past, the streets were full of the bustle of the evening commuters, going shopping or heading home, nightshift workers heading out in the city that never slept. Grace couldn't help but feel a sense of wrongness in the air.
As though the universe was sending her the answers she was asking for, a copy of the Gotham Gazette tumbled on the street towards her feet. It's headline drawing her attention:
Pamela Isley wins Mayoral election by a landslide.
What? Wasn't that Ivy's real name?
Stooping to pick it up, Grace thought for sure this must be some joke. She glanced at the date and saw that it was today's paper- Wait. The day and month were correct but the year... It was some twenty years ahead.
A fake paper. Right? Only the electronic billboard in the heart of the city square, cycling through news stories, flashed with that same picture. The same headline.
The vigilante had told her that she could call on him whenever she needed to. Grace had taken that to mean emergencies. For anything else, she had his cell, not that hers was working... Did this qualify? She wasn't injured. No one else around her seemed to be concerned by this news. No. She just needed to get home.
The final straw came in the form of the light coming from her apartment windows, as she squinted up from the street below. The silhouettes moving around were not meant to be there. At all.
Ducking into the shadow of an alley, Grace's thumb jammed down on the trigger of her personal alarm, wondering if it would work at all, and more importantly, what she would do if it didn't.
Even when thrown into a different time, a different world, she still had the presence of mind to realize that she was still in his life now, twenty years down the line. ''I don't know,'' he admitted, not quite confirming her suspicion regarding their relationship. ''But I'll try to get you back home as soon as I can, okay?''
Jason took out his tablet to contact the Justice League for input on the matter. ''It was just any other day for me. No strange interactions, no metas in my vicinity. Has anything been out of the ordinary on your end?''
''This isn't exactly the place to lie down,'' Jason retorted, still keeping himself upright by sheer willpower and spite - and the wall he was leaning against.
"Stubborn SOB, shoulda just called me for help earlier." The annoyance masked Grayson's concern, and without hesitation he offers Jason his shoulder, propping the man up and taking the brunt of his weight.
"C'mon let's get you home, you're far too stubborn to die, Bud"
''I'm not dying,'' Jason protest, but the heat in his voice fell flat by the way his body leaned heavily on Dick's shoulders to keep himself upright. ''I'm just... not feeling that great—'' and as if his body had been waiting for him to say it, his stomach rolled dangerously.
Fuck.
Jason pushed himself off Dick, turning away from the other man and buckling over as he threw up towards the alley's wall.
Bruce, at a family dinner (asking solely in order to spend more time with his childern): Something big is going down in Gotham, this Friday. I need someone to be my back up in case something goes wrong.
Dick: no can do. The titans and I have training.
Jason: Nope. Lian has a dance recital.
Steph: I have to- wait. what?
Damian: who's 'lian'
Jason, shovelling food in his mouth: don't worry about it.
Dick: do you have... a child??
Jason: NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS.
Bruce, emotional and confused: Am I a...grandfather?
The table: (ERUPTS)
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Jason glanced sideways at Roy as they descended toward the hold, the question earning a faint huff of amusement. "My share?" He shook his head, running a hand along the rough timber as they passed below deck. "I'd settle for enough coin to repair the damn ship before she falls apart underneath us." There was a pause before his mouth twisted into a grin. "Though I wouldn't say no to a decent coat. Something that doesn't smell like wet rope."
The hold was darker than the deck above, lit only by lanterns swinging from hooks along the beams. Jason crouched beside the first crate and pried the lid loose with the hilt of his knife. His expression changed almost immediately. Gold coins glimmered beneath folded cloth, packed tightly enough that the lantern light caught on them with every movement of the ship. He stared for a moment before letting out a low whistle.
"Well," he murmured, reaching inside and lifting one of the coins between his fingers. "That'll buy more than repairs.'' Jason looked back at Roy, the gold hue shining in his eyes as his face brightened with excitement. "We're not selling all of it," he said. "Some of this stays with us. We invest in the ship, the crew, and enough supplies to make sure our next prize is bigger than this one. Let the men haul this over and make sure the Spanish crew gets escorted off the ship. And then I think we're due for a party, don't you agree?''
Jason stood at the edge of the deck for a moment, watching the last of the Spanish crew disappear into the longboats before turning back toward the noise behind him. His men had already transformed the deck into something barely recognizable. Barrels had been rolled into place, cups passed from hand to hand, and the first stolen bottles had been opened with considerably more enthusiasm than caution. Laughter carried over the water, mingling with the slap of waves against the hull. They had won. More importantly, they had won together.
His gaze found Roy almost immediately.
The first mate stood among the crew with that familiar grin plastered across his face, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he raised a bottle toward Jason. For a heartbeat, Jason simply watched him. There was something about seeing Roy like this—unburdened, laughing, alive—that made the victory feel more real than the gold below deck ever could. Jason finally descended the steps toward them, shaking his head as the crew erupted into another cheer.
"Alright, alright," he called, raising both hands. "Don't start carving my face into the mast just yet. We've only robbed one ship."
That earned another round of laughter. Jason accepted the bottle Roy held out to him, taking a long drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The liquor burned pleasantly down his throat, and for once he didn't care about tomorrow's repairs, the navy, or the bounty that would eventually follow the black flag.
Tonight, they had earned this.
He lifted his bottle toward the crew, his expression settling into something quietly proud.
"To our first prize," Jason said. "And to the next one being bigger."
The response was deafening.
Jason's grin widened as he looked back toward Roy, the warmth of the drink already settling into his chest. ''Lead them into song, Harper. Let's hear it!''
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