scribbling

It was obvious you weren’t aware of the etiquette of the city and had not yet acclimated to the Gotham attitudes and conduct. You were too trusting, too vulnerable, too open. Your guilty conscience alone from something you had absolutely no control over propelled you to return the favor of his rescuing you. It was almost unheard of for anyone to even mention such a thing to a vigilante.

Then what was intended to be a short stop at your home a few days later turned into a full blown conversation he easily and willingly lost control over. On the day of the fundraiser he found himself doubting the initial desire to reveal his true identity. Maybe it was insecurity. You already liked him as Red Hood, but maybe that’s where it stopped. If you found out, he suspected his unmasking would only drive you away. He supposed he shouldn’t reveal himself as the son of your employer, not with the way you avoided looking at him and his family. Maybe you disliked the Waynes more than you let on. So he walked by you without a word and whenever he had the chance, every so often he watched you from across the garden.

After a few hours passed he saw you ascend the steps back into the Manor and made to follow you inside. With the evening meal finished and the guests starting to mingle, the auction would start and would serve as an adequate distraction for his disappearance. He found you on one of the second floor balconies and dropped down from the tiled roof as Red Hood.

You didn’t notice his presence, of course you wouldn’t, and he remarked casually, “It’s boring, right?”

You startled and spun to face him. A wide smile broke out on your face though you tried but failed to contain it.

“You really came,” you said.

He moved to the end of the railing farthest from the view of the party, out of sight from possible onlookers. “I said I would,” he commented as he leaned against the stone wall and crossed his arms.

You noticed his surreptitious behavior and moved to close the glass doors to prevent any uninvited guests from joining. “How’d you even get here dressed like that?” you asked, noting he was in his vigilante attire rather than that of his alias. “I thought you were attending as a guest.”

“I never said that. You assumed I would.”

“That’s because… you didn’t deny it!” you remarked childishly.

“I just said you’ll have to find out.”

You groaned in feigned annoyance. “That’s not fair. I feel tricked.”

He let out a short, breathy chuckle. As much as he wanted to reveal his identity to you, it was ultimately best not to for various reasons. While he wasn’t sure how you would feel about finding out you’ve been meeting the son of your employer, he was absolutely certain Bruce would not take it lightly. Then he said, unabashedly, “I did consider it―going up to you as my real self―but then I wouldn’t be able to be with you like this, and I’d much rather be here with you than down there with them.”

This sent your heart racing. Your breath trembled as you stared back at him and you found you quickly forgave his reservations about his identity. He had made it clear he wanted to spend time with you and that was enough, no matter how curious you were about his identity. After a moment of regaining your composure you shyly agreed, “I also would rather be here with you.”

“Not surprising.” He declared, “I’m delightful company.”

A light laugh escaped your lips and when you stood closer to him at the railing, just a few feet away, you asked, “So I guess you really must be quite the big shot, huh? You attend high society gatherings like these and I assume it would be a problem if you were found together with a maid. That’s why you have to come to me like this.”

“Oh, there would be riots everywhere. But being caught with Red Hood would break millions of hearts, too, so I can’t really catch a break either way.” You giggled at his exaggerated answer. Then he straightened and answered seriously, “Jokes aside, I really don’t think it would be a big deal. The paparazzi are fickle people. I’m just taking precautions.”

“You didn’t deny being a high-class socialite,” you commented.

“Hey, my lips are sealed,” he said, raising his hands up and his palms facing out in a defensive gesture. “You can assume whatever you want but you’re not getting anything out of me, princess.”

You made a “hmph” sound and turned away to busy your restless fingers with drawing mindless shapes on the smooth stone of the balustrade. You decided to give up trying to pry his identity out of him for now.

Then he continued, “But speaking of sealed lips, I believe you owe me a name.” He drawled the last words as he pushed off the wall he was leaning on. He stepped closer to you and dipped his head to your eye level in a determined but playful way of forcing your attention on him.

You pressed your lips together as you avoided his gaze. Not being able to see his face was still unnerving. “It’s [Y/N]. My name is [Y/N],” you said to him quietly.

He tested the name out as if seeking your approval in its pronunciation. You nodded after he successfully repeated it and he straightened and leaned back in satisfaction. Then he said, “Alright. Now isn’t it time for you to head back inside? It’s getting cold.”

Your eyes swept over the event taking place below but you suddenly noticed the chill of the winter air. The sun had set long ago but the temperature dropped drastically in the time you’d been talking with him. You had been so absorbed with your companion and too self-conscious with yourself to feel the cold nipping at your skin. You brought your hands up to your arms to warm the skin there.

“There’s still some time before I need to go back. I want to talk to you a little longer,” you confessed to him.

He stared back at you for a short moment. “Then you can wear this until then,” he said as he shrugged off his leather jacket and slipped it around you. You froze in place as he stood close to reach around your shoulders, and you couldn’t help but notice how huge he really was without the garment partially covering his figure. With his jacket on he obviously looked well-built, but now that he was without it he was more muscular and robust in appearance. You were embarrassed to notice such details about him and you quickly ducked your head to hide part of your face beneath the jacket collar. It was still warm with his body heat.

“Thank you,” you said to the ground. Then you braved a glance at him and asked, “What about you? Aren’t you cold?”

He gave a short laugh. “I’ve been through worse cold than this. This is nothing.”

You briefly pondered his words but decided not to dwell on the small piece of information. The rest of your time with him was spent observing the guests below while you occasionally complimented the dresses, accessories, shoes; which he then returned with comments on the lack of practicality of those very things. Then he taught you the pronunciation of the names of the luxury fashion companies after you asked him about the brands the guests were wearing. When the conclusion of the auction came you were forced to part ways and return his jacket while he, in turn, mentioned having to return to his security work. You weren’t sure if he was serious or not but he left quickly and you unhappily wondered when you would see him again, if at all.

You returned to the party to begin cleaning up with the other maids, once again surrounded by the fine clothes and clinking of glass and silver. Ellen, the part time maid, commented on the smile on your face as you worked and you gave a lame excuse of how a handsome guest smiled at you. She playfully teased you about it for the rest of the night while you continued your charade good-naturedly.

Sometime during the event, half of the Waynes had mysteriously disappeared and the only ones left were the master of the house himself, the daughter, and the youngest son. The daughter, Miss Cassandra, was conversing with an eccentric-looking individual named Harper Row while Master Damian was currently being teased by a person named Duke Thomas. Though you tried to ignore them, it was difficult to do so when random bursts of noise would occasionally arise from their direction followed by the ruckus of a more physical altercation, of which you were too preoccupied to investigate. You sometimes caught sight of the daughter signing something to her companions from across the vicinity whenever they were separated. Undoubtedly sign language was a convenient tool for them to use.

When it came time for the guests to leave, you tried to keep out of the way―helping only to retrieve their coats and outer garments from the cloak room in the grand foyer. Then the valet would pull up around the rotunda in the latest Benz, Maserati, and so forth, to return the vehicle to its owner. The last guests to leave were of the charity organization who swiftly cleared away their equipment and decorations. By the time the end of your shift rolled along, the only task that needed to be done were the dishes piled up in the kitchen sinks.

Alfred assured you that it was fine to leave the mess there and insisted that your shift was over. He kindly praised your work and wished you good night along with the other maids. You worried that Alfred would have to do all that work by himself but Lena informed you that over the weekends, on their days off, the Wayne children often took over the chores and did their share of work as in any normal household. According to her, the dishes would be cleared by Monday.

An overwhelming amount of leftover food was still left untouched and stored in the fridge while the ones that didn’t fit inside were offered to you and the other girls by Alfred. You were sure other people with more pride would have refused such a donation, seen more as a handout than a gift, but you had no qualms in accepting help when given. You happily took a day’s worth of food back home with you. When you returned to your apartment that night, your body practically melted into your mattress the moment you climbed into bed. And with that your first Wayne event, an undeniably memorable one, came to an end.

The next day you slept in and spent a blissful amount of time in bed. It wasn’t until your body demanded a meal that you dragged yourself to the kitchen and took out the leftovers from the event the night before. You ate only a small portion of the expensive food (you were sure your body was unused to such a fine meal), and when you finished your breakfast you went about your chores for the day. You did laundry and attempted to make a budget plan for the rest of the month. Despite not needing to pay for rent, you still needed to pay for utilities, water, gas, and the network services you used. Then you set aside some money for your contribution to the gas bill for the car rides and set aside a separate amount for groceries.

It was only a few hours later when you heard a knock at your bedroom window. It was still light out with the sun barely making its descent over the horizon. Your heartbeat quickened when you went to open it. You pushed open the curtain and found Red Hood standing on the fire escape. You immediately opened the glass window, already smiling widely.

“I didn’t think I’d see you so soon,” you said.

His head tilted to the side. “Why’s that?”

“I thought you’d have other...hero-like things to do,” you said with a shrug.

“Well I have some free time and you said I can visit. Are you taking it back already?”

“No, of course not!” Your hand flew up to your mouth at your raised voice, even though you weren’t too loud. A short, robotic chuckle came from him. You tried again, and in a hushed tone said, “You’re always welcome here.” Then in a rushed and flustered manner, you asked, “Would you like to come inside?”

Despite the quickly budding friendship that was forming with the vigilante, he still politely asked, “May I?”

“Of course,” you answered timidly. Your invitation was so bold but the realization that this was his first visit inside your apartment dawned on you. You stepped back to give him space as he stepped over the window ledge. “Sorry for the mess,” you said. You had the decency to be embarrassed about the disorganization of your room, with most of your belongings still boxed and bagged in heaps on the floor, but you hoped your visitor wouldn’t mind it. The bedroom lacked the capacity for two people to move around comfortably so you shuffled into your living room where, despite the limited space, it was still much more spacious. The unit was meant for one person, after all.

He followed you in and commented, “This place isn’t bad. Sturdy, clean. I guess it’s to be expected from a building owned by Wayne Enterprises.”

You agreed with him. “Yeah, it’s well-kept and in good condition. It’s only a little small… I don’t think the tenants were meant to have guests.” You chuckled to yourself and gestured for him to sit on the couch that was placed against a wall.

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said as he took a seat. He noticed more moving boxes stacked against the walls. “Still not unpacked, I see.”

“I needed to buy some furniture first,” you explained. Then you gestured around the room. “I just bought this entertainment center online a couple of days ago. There was some kind of sale going on. Oh, and I just got the couch earlier this week at a flea market. But I didn’t really plan where everything would go yet so when everything was delivered I kinda just had them placed wherever.”

“Okay, ‘cause I questioned your interior decorating skills a bit when I saw the room,” he said teasingly.

Your mouth formed a pout but you fixed a glare at him. “Oh? You have an eye for interior design then?” you questioned with crossed arms.

He laughed and shook his head. “Nope, not at all. I don’t really care what your place looks like anyway. But hey, since I’m here, I can help you move things around if you want. I’m sure it will be easier with the two of us.”

“What? No! I can’t ask you to do that.” The idea of troubling the vigilante with something as silly as rearranging your apartment horrified you.

He stood up and insisted, “Think of it as me helping out a citizen in need.”

“I’m not exactly in need…” you said, words trailing off. This was not the typical request someone would ask of Gotham’s vigilantes but despite vocally refusing him, you liked the idea of spending time with him even if he considered the task part of the job.

“Well I judge the situation otherwise, so let’s get to work,” he quipped while crossing his own arms. His words didn’t leave room for argument so you found yourself going along with him. It was strange, but fun, to arrange your apartment with him and it was undoubtedly helpful to have things easily moved from one place to another. He listened to everything you asked and you couldn’t help the flutter in your chest whenever he complied. You did however end up butting heads a few times with him regarding the placement of furniture and with the assembly of the entertainment center. It took some time but in the end you found common ground as to where to best place things. The entertainment center too was eventually completed. The piece was smaller than you imagined but you were glad for it since it made the room less cramped.

When you were finished with the task you found yourself sitting back to back with him on the floor, cross-legged, and sharing the leftover food from the Wayne fundraiser. It was your idea to eat like this. You wanted to give him food as thanks and somehow you ended up sitting behind him and facing away to keep his identity hidden. He had humored you and followed your lead, sitting cross-legged and leaning his back against yours. The broadness of his back against your own made you feel small. Despite not even facing him, the closeness of his body had you stiff with nerves.

He said one thing before taking off his helmet, “I can’t let you hear my voice, so I won’t be speaking for a while, okay?”

You answered, “That’s okay.” He went quiet and the next thing you heard was the sound of air moving quickly, or escaping, like pressure being released. Then there was a metallic sound and the low thump of something heavy being placed on the apartment floor. He shifted against your back and just as he said, he remained silent.

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Luckily however, your job held many distractions for you and kept you busy. Alfred Pennyworth announced that a fundraiser for Gotham’s homeless shelters would be held at the Manor at the end of the week. This main event would include an art exhibition followed by an auction of those very pieces.

The art exhibition consisted of a collection of pieces donated by various modern artists, with its proceeds going directly to fund the homeless shelters. Apparently all of it would be an outdoor event, taking place within the expansive back garden, since the Waynes continued to minimize entry into their home.

It was a wonder how high the risk would be to have so much valuable art gathered in one place; after all, the Wayne Manor in all its castle-like extravagance was much like a museum itself. The Gothic architecture of the Manor was stunning to look at but also daunting in appearance with gargoyles perched atop in all directions of the stone walls. Walking through the Manor was like walking through exhibition after exhibition, with each room containing its own lavish decor of age-old elegance. There were rooms with its ceilings and walls artfully decorated with murals and paintings of angels and demons, gods and goddesses, and mythical characters. More of these fantastical images were on display in the high ceiling gallery hall as intricately carved marble statues. A number of these marble figures lined the gallery room as part of the Wayne family’s prized art collection. Most pieces were priceless originals, but quite a few were near exact replicas of world renown art pieces that were housed in the most secure museums and vaults.

Even the grand library abundant in its collection seemed untouchable as if meant only to be viewed from afar. You didn’t dare pluck a book from its shelf whenever you tidied the room, merely only dusting the tops of the books and spines with the lightest of touches. With almost everything in the Manor being an antique or worth a king’s ransom, it was obvious why most of the rooms would be off-limits to outsiders.

Even with the sudden announcement of the upcoming party, you continued to be distracted by short recollections and small details of a certain rainy night. The chill in the air, the dampness of your skin, the calloused hand in yours. Lena, one of the older maids, had lightly scolded you for standing and daydreaming instead of unpacking the linen tablecloths from the boxes. The only piece of information that piqued your interest enough to deter you from your daydreams left you distracted in a different way. The Wayne family would be in attendance at the fundraiser, and you would finally get to meet them. With the help of the other housekeepers you were now able to place a name to a face.

Having to meet your employer at the upcoming fundraiser weeks after you started your employment at the Manor made you believe they were snobbish and pompous elitists who didn’t bother meeting their employees. You had wanted to meet them before, but now you were simply curious. Apparently they often went away on trips that lasted weeks to months, whether together or by themselves. You understood if Bruce Wayne, head of a multi-million dollar company did so, but the youngest children were still in school so the idea baffled you. Rumor had it however that the children were apparent geniuses that didn’t even need to go to school but would attend whimsically and at their leisure. To travel the world so extensively, to come home only at night long after the housekeeping had left, then to keep out of sight for most of the day; what kind of people were they? To be rich, intelligent, and have the looks to top it all off, it was difficult to accept they were real at all.

It was noon when you were lost in thought, head filled with distractions once again and mindlessly polishing silverware in the kitchen. A couple of the other maids were helping with the task and were just as silent in their work. It was then that the chatter of unfamiliar voices traveled through the halls. The other maids didn’t dare speak so loudly so you were certain it wasn’t them.

“It seems the children are back,” Lena said, pausing in her work.

“Let’s go see!” Nour suggested, knowing you had yet to see a single member of the Wayne family. She ushered you out of the kitchens and led you down a long corridor decorated with carved wood furnishings and antiquated tapestries. You soon found the source of the voices and moved to hide behind a wall that opened to the side of the grand foyer. A group of girls and boys crossed the marble floor to ascend the winding double staircase.

“Cass and I are wearing matching Louboutin shoes,” a blond girl said, her voice echoing slightly in the vast room.

“You girls and your shoes,” one of the boys said.

“You don’t get to say anything, and don’t you dare wear your sneakers again. We bought you new shoes for a reason.”

“I can’t wear the Balenciaga shoes?”

“Wear the Valentino dress shoes.”

“You’d think the Gucci suit would be enough.”

Nour whispered to you as you watched the beautiful family, “The blond is Miss Stephanie. She’s not a Wayne but she’s here so often she might as well be. The girl next to her is Miss Cassandra. The taller guy is Master Dick, and the shorter one beside him is Master Timothy.”

You nodded as you watched them walk through the open corridor on the second floor. Then you asked, “That’s not all of them, though, right?”

“Hm, Master Damian and Master Jason are missing. They’re not here.” She then moved to one of the windows, pushing the drapes aside to peek out at the courtyard. “Oh, here they come now!” She beckoned you to join her at the window and you complied with her silent request.

“Master Damian is the youngest and Master Jason is following behind him.” The two boys were making their way to the front door without speaking a word to each other. Then the youngest suddenly flicked his eyes up at the window you stood at and you jerked back in surprise. Nour quickly closed the drapes and laughed sheepishly. “The youngest one is very sharp, they all are, but I assure you they are all very nice, too.”

“But why are they here all of a sudden?” you asked, confused at their coincidental appearance.

“They’re getting ready for the fundraiser in their own way,” Citlali answered from behind you. “It’s not common for them to be all together if it’s not for some big event.”

“Oh, I wonder what they’ll wear!” Nour said excitedly, seizing Citlali’s hands and ready to gush over clothing brands.

“I can’t wait to see,” Citlali said with equal enthusiasm. “They always dress like models, though I’m sure they have to with all the press and cameras constantly following them.”

“Are you girls finished gossiping? We need to unpack the chafing dishes and platters next,” Lena said as she emerged from the kitchen. “I know they’re all very pretty, but we will have time to gawk at them at the party. There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

You and the girls apologized and scurried back into the kitchen to continue the work. Your mind lingered on one of the sons, bothered by the fact you didn’t quite get a good look at him through the window, but you pushed the distraction out of your head. You didn’t need another one.

Oddly enough, that same night held another surprise for you: an unexpected visitor. You were in your bedroom, looking over your bills when you heard a soft rapping at your window. You were hesitant to investigate, now more wary of potential threats ever since that rainy night. You went to your bedroom window and pushed back the curtains, and though you were unsure what to expect, you almost screamed at the masked vigilante waiting patiently at the fire escape. He held his hand up in a short wave and you quickly returned to your senses to open the window for him.

He spoke first and in a very casual manner asked, “How have you been? Thought I’d check up on you.” He was crouched just outside your window and looking at you with a tilt of his head. It was almost off-putting how the kind words didn’t match the distorted voice that said them.

“Me? You’re the one who got hurt!” you said with concern, though you were careful to keep your voice down in fear of your neighbors hearing you. “How’s your hand? Is it alright?”

“It’s fine. Calm down.” Somehow his voice held an amused tone to it.

“Can I see?” you asked.

“Sure,” he said, slipping off his right glove. He raised it toward you and you took his hand in yours to examine the raised skin cutting across his palm. “See, it’s healing nicely, right?”

“Looks like it’ll scar,” you said and looked at him apologetically.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ve got a lot of scars.”

“I wish it hadn’t happened at all,” you muttered with a furrow of your brow.

“Well,” he said, taking back his hand, “I’d rather it happen to me than you any day. So let’s end it with that.”

You deflated with a sigh though the guilt stayed. Then you wondered if your hero went around visiting all the people he’s saved, but you were much too shy to ask.

“Anyway did you just move in? What’s with all the boxes?” He nodded his head toward the inside of your bedroom where piles of moving boxes could be seen past your shoulder.

“Oh,” you glanced behind you at the obvious mess. “Yeah, I started working the same day I moved in so I haven’t really had the time to organize things. There’s always so much work to do, I practically collapse when I get home. But these days haven’t been so bad since I’ve gotten used to the work now.”

“Well that explains why I’ve never seen you before,” he said, though it was more to himself than to you.

You paused and asked, “What do you mean? Why would you see me?”

“I, uh, patrol this area often so I know almost everyone’s faces. This area should be safer than most, especially with all the buildings owned by Wayne Enterprises here. It needs to be guarded more carefully.” You considered his words thoughtfully. He then asked, “Are the Waynes working you too hard?”

“Oh no, it’s not that. The work is fair, it just needs some getting used to that’s all. And recently I haven’t had much time to myself since it’s been getting busy…” you trailed off and wondered why you were sharing so much with someone you’ve only met twice.

“Busy how?” he questioned. He noticed your hesitation as you contemplated your next words. “Is it about the upcoming fundraiser?”

You looked at him with surprise. “How’d you know about that?”

“Bruce Wayne is the most famous person in the city, it’s impossible to escape him,” he explained. “The fundraiser is no secret. Most everyone knows about it.”

You nodded at the logic. “The fundraiser is my first big event since I started working at the Manor. It’s nerve-wracking.” Among other things, you thought to yourself, with one of the sources of your anxiety right in front of you.

“I’ll be there, you know,” he said. “At the fundraiser.”

“What? Like, in disguise? As a guest?” you asked curiously.

“Maybe,” he said vaguely. “You’ll just have to see. Anyway I’ve got work to do. I’ll visit again,” then he paused before continuing politely, “unless you don’t want me to. Can I come by again?”

Heat crept across your face. “Yes. I’d like that very much.” Then a thought crossed your mind and you called out to him as he took a step back, “Wait, will I really get to see you?” If he really was going to attend as a guest, it meant he was possibly some big shot name in Gotham. You were suddenly nervous to be working in front of him.

“That’ll just ruin the surprise. Call me Red Hood, by the way.” You already knew his vigilante name; you didn’t have to search long for it after meeting him. But you hoped he would introduce himself with a different name. “And you? Tell me yours.” He leaned in closer and you backed up slightly as your face grew warmer.

“I…” you began but changed your mind quickly, “I’ll tell you next time.”

There was a short pause but then the grating sound of his laugh emitted from his helmet. “Fair enough. I’ll hold you to that, princess.” Then he stood and jumped off the fire escape landing. When you could no longer follow his figure in the darkness you shut the window and pulled the curtains closed. Once again you were back in a dream-like state, feeling both elated and hopeful after meeting him again.

The next days continued to be more hectic than you could’ve possibly imagined. Once the skies cleared large tents and canopies were set up in the back garden, lights were hung, and flower arrangements were laid out all under Alfred’s instructions. Alfred performed most of the work, making calls and ordering from businesses in which he was a regular customer. Food, table rentals, and valet services were ordered yet somehow Alfred found time to assist with the daily mundane chores.

The day of the event arrived quickly and you didn’t know what you were more nervous about, finally seeing the famous Wayne family up close or seeing the Red Hood again. However you found you didn’t have time to be anxious with both your mind and body busy preparing for the day. Your day started at two in the afternoon instead of seven in the morning, since you were needed after the event to help with cleanup. You had laid out the drinks and hors d'oeuvres for the staff of the charity foundation who arrived early then assisted them as they set up their own equipment and set up the easels for the art pieces. You were already tired by the time the actual event started and you began directing the attendees through the Manor. The guests steadily filtered into the grand foyer and made their way down the long hallway and out again to the back garden.

The Waynes decided to show their faces after the first few guests arrived. The men donned clothing that was a mixture of business and formal wear while the daughter wore a modest dress of no lesser quality. As they walked through the long corridor to the back garden you couldn’t help but stare while your heart pounded in your chest. You easily recognized Bruce Wayne as he walked at the front, leading his family as they trailed behind him. Your eyes then found the second eldest son who was muttering something to the eldest, a frown marring his face. This one was Jason. Your eyes lingered on him but when you thought he might look your way you averted your eyes downward as heat spread to your cheeks. You were standing at the end of the corridor to assist the guests as they maneuvered their way through the Manor and now that this beautiful family was walking towards you, the need to run away kicked in, but instead you kept your gaze low as they approached. You didn’t dare look up as they strode past you and you could only breathe easily once they were out of sight, lost amidst the gardens.

Once most of the guests arrived, you set champagne glasses on a serving tray and made your way through the masses to offer guests refreshments while also taking their empty glasses. You continued like this until most of the guests finished their evening meals, which was rather quickly. They ate small portions and consumed their food in a swift manner so as to not ruin their fancy clothes. You couldn’t blame them; you would be careful too if you were eating in such expensive attire.

It was easy to feel out of place amongst the glitz and glam of the event. The Lamborghinis, Jaguars, Rolls Royce, and other luxury cars were parked just outside the rotunda in the vast courtyard. Models and business tycoons alike were all sporting brand name designer clothes: Chanel, Gucci, Saint Laurent, Versace. Nour had pointed out a fanny pack worth a thousand dollars that made you almost gag on the spot upon hearing it. It was an amount that could cover months of groceries, or even a considerable portion of the loans you needed to pay off. 

You continued to think about the expenses even as you took a break to rest and retreated back into the Manor. You made your way to one of the balconies on the second floor where you could admire the party from above. You leaned against the railing, the stone balustrade cool to the touch, and stayed there for several minutes. The party seemed far away now, the music and chatter only distant noises as you closed your tired eyes for a moment.

“It’s boring, right?”

The familiar discordant voice made you flinch and your eyes snapped open to try to find its owner. You didn’t expect to hear it in the silence. You didn’t know how you forgot Red Hood would be attending when you had been so anxious about it all week long.

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You enjoyed the company of the five other girls employed in the Wayne Manor. They were helpful and hardworking. Each of them had worked there much longer than you though their ages varied. The one closest in age to you was Ellen. She had a son to support so she only worked part-time, with varying days that Mr. Pennyworth had kindly obliged to work with. However, her presence was required during special events, whether held at the Manor or any of the Wayne properties. This was something you had yet to experience but you were assured would happen quite frequently. Aside from Ellen, the others and yourself worked Monday to Friday from seven in the morning to three in the afternoon. It was a normal eight hour a day job. So far, the only unique clause in your signing to work for the Waynes was that you were to work exclusively for the Waynes, meaning you were prohibited to be concurrently employed elsewhere while under contract as a housekeeper in Wayne Manor. With the crime rate of Gotham as high as it was, you didn’t really blame them for adding such a clause to the contract. Fear of theft or even the threat of privacy violation were something even the richest family of Gotham would take measures to defend against, even from their own employees.

There were chores that had to be performed daily in the Manor that were as curious as the family that lived in it. It included washing dirty dishes that piled up overnight by the supposedly nocturnal family, scrubbing away at even more mysterious stains from carpets and rugs that appeared out of nowhere, and returning misplaced furniture back to their designated places. Other than the rectifying of these curious messes, there were plenty of other mundane tasks to do within the Manor such as sweeping, dusting, polishing, and so forth.

One day after working at the Wayne household and spending a day vacuuming the carpets, it was raining as you and the rest of the housekeepers made your way back to Gotham City. Today however you decided you needed to stop by the nearby market.

The five of you shared a car every day to cross the bridge to and from the Wayne Manor which was situated across the bay in Gotham’s suburbs. There was an apartment building in the city owned by Wayne Enterprises that was offered to the housekeepers. Two whole floors were reserved for Wayne Enterprise employees, though more specifically, for the Wayne Manor housekeepers and was rent-free only to them.

“Can you drop me off here?” you asked as the car approached the market just a couple blocks from the apartment building. “You guys can go on ahead. I just need to buy a few things.”

“Want me to go with you?” Citlali, one of the housekeepers, asked.

You shook your head and insisted, “No, I’m alright.”

“Don’t stay out too late,” Nour said as you opened the car door. Nour was one of the younger housekeepers who had one of the prettiest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen.

“I just need a few things,” you declared with a laugh. “It will be really quick. I’ll see you back at the apartment. Thanks.” With that, you shut the car door and hurriedly dashed through the rain and into the store.

It took only a few minutes to buy what you needed and you’re soon out in the rain under the safety of your umbrella. The sky was blanketed in gray and the clouds were heavy, making it look as dark as night. The downpour of the rain was calming but the chill made you pull your coat tighter around you as you watched the path for puddles. It was at the crosswalk when you heard the splash of another set of steps behind you. You hadn’t heard the pair of feet before and you wonder if the sound might have only been the echo of your own. You hadn’t passed many people when you left the market and you peaked beneath your umbrella only to see no one else on the streets. It was disconcerting to be alone on the street but if you screamed loud enough, surely the occupants of the apartment complexes around you would hear, even over the downpour.

You were torn between confirming the stalker behind you and simply running to the safety of your home. But letting a potential thief know where you lived was not the brightest thing to do, so you turned the corner at the intersection just before your apartment. You barely had a plan at this point, and your heart quickened at the realization that you were in a much more dire situation than you thought. You hadn’t even confirmed whether you were being followed but as you were contemplating how to do so, you were pushed into a wide driveway between two apartment buildings. Your umbrella was knocked from your hands and you dropped your grocery bag as you stumbled into a large puddle. Something pressed against your back.

“Scream and I’ll put a bullet through your heart.”

You nodded and blinked the rainwater from your eyes as you stared ahead, wide-eyed and trembling.

“Give me your purse. I just want your valuables.”

“It’s very rude not to help a lady with her bags,” a distorted voice called distantly. The echo bounced from the building walls but it sounded muddled as it mixed with the patter of the rain, making it hard to pinpoint where the voice was coming from.

“Who the fu―oh shit!”

You tried to figure out what was happening but you were too slow to see the quick exchange between the masked vigilante and your assailant who was now on his knees in front of the vigilante. There was a clatter as a gun skidded a few feet in your direction. You stared at one of the masked heroes you’ve only read and heard about in the news.

“Ma’am, you should get out of here and head on home.” The voice was robotic with a low tone and pitch. It took you a moment to process the situation as you stared at the red helmet, the dull gleam of the metal barely catching any light in the gloomy weather. Then you scrambled to gather your grocery bag and grabbed the handle of your umbrella, shaking out the water before raising it over your head. You almost dashed across the street but you only took one step before stopping and looking back. It seemed wrong to leave, to run away, especially without thanking your savior when you weren’t sure you would ever see him again. The vigilante noticed your presence and looked back at you curiously. The assailant took this as an opening and got to his feet and charged forward, raising his arm high and bringing it down in a swift movement at the unassuming vigilante. There was a knife in his hand.

Your savior turned just in time to stop the movement mid-swing by grabbing the blade and thus cutting his hand. He grunted in pain but managed to kick his opponent back hard enough to make him fall to the ground. Then with one hard and perfectly aimed kick to the head, the vigilante knocked out the assailant.

The vigilante shook his injured right hand side to side as if to shake away the pain. “Don’t you know women hate persistent guys who don’t know when to stop? Take a hint, man.”

You rushed back to your savior and approached with worry. “You’re hurt! I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault. Thank you so much for saving me.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, yanking his hand away when you reached out to take it.

“Please, let me see,” you insisted with an outstretched hand. You looked up at him anxiously, peering from beneath your umbrella. That’s when you noticed the rain slipping down his helmet and down the exposed skin of his neck just above his bodysuit. You lifted the umbrella higher and tilted it in his direction so he was under it. As if spurred by your actions, he revealed his gloved hand to you and you examined the cut where the blade sliced open his palm. It wasn’t too deep. This was something you could help patch up, but you were distressed by the blood steadily oozing from the wound.

“I just bought some first aid supplies from the market,” you said, holding up the bag of groceries. “I can clean this up for you.”

He retracted his hand. “Look, lady, I appreciate the thought but this seems like much more trouble than it’s worth.”

“It’s not!” you remarked. “This happened because of me. It’s my fault you got hurt. Let’s just go over there. It will be really quick, okay?” You were pointing at a bench outside a nearby store where it was protected from the rain by the store’s awning.

A deep sigh left him. “Okay.” He begrudgingly let you lead him a few paces to the covered seating area and sat down at your insistence, with you tugging on his arm the whole way. You quickly retracted your umbrella and placed your belongings on the bench as you sat beside him. He helped you peel the glove off his hand with the blood-soaked material almost glued to his skin.

You pushed down your nervousness as you leaned closer to him. The atmosphere was quite ambient, with the drumming of the rain on the awning overhead and the heavy downpour surrounding you. It felt comfortable, like you were in a safe and protected bubble. Except you were sharing the moment with a masked stranger. You never would have thought you’d be this close to one of Gotham City’s vigilantes. Before moving here you tried to do some research on them, but only found controversies and a surprisingly large online fanbase. You ultimately decided they were heroes and should be trusted guardians of Gotham, but never did you imagine you’d interact with one.

“So you just happened to be buying this stuff on your way home?” the vigilante asked conversationally.

“Yeah,” you answered. Then hesitantly you elaborated, “I recently started work that I’m not used to yet, so I’ve accumulated a few cuts and scrapes.”

He was silent for a moment as he took note of the roughness of your hands while you dabbed at his cut with some gauze pads. “And what is it that you do, may I ask?”

You hesitated again. “I’m a housekeeper.”

“...A maid?” Then he caught a glimpse of your uniform beneath your coat. “You work at Wayne Manor?”

“How did you know? There’s not even an insignia or emblem on the uniform,” you said while glancing down at your attire. You looked at him and examined the hardened expression set on the helmet.

“Oh, uh, it’s a distinctive uniform. It’s easy to identify,” he said, though you doubted it. The housekeeper uniform was a dress that stopped a few inches below the knees, gray in color and made of stiff material that did nothing to compliment the figure. The short sleeves were cuffed and had a cutaway collar and buttons going about halfway down the torso. A very plain ensemble.

You applied the antiseptic spray onto the cut and he made a hissing sound that sounded amusingly odd when mixed with the voice changer. When you soaked the cut enough in the solution you pressed gauze pads into his hand and quickly wrapped his hand with an adhesive bandage wrap.

“There, all done. Learned that from Google,” you said as you dropped the materials back into your bag. “Oh, and I think you need to keep it elevated…or something.”

“Heh, not bad for a temporary fix. Now we’re even.” He held up his hand to admire the handiwork.

You watched him carefully and said, “I’m really sorry again.”

“Hey, no worries. Why did you stop, anyway? Weren’t you scared?” he questioned. “Or did you stop because you were scared?”

“No, I wasn’t scared...I was relieved that you showed up and saved me,” you answered slowly, unsure how to express yourself, “but I didn’t leave because I didn’t like leaving you there with…my problem.”

“Your problem? It wasn’t your fault that this happened, so stop thinking that way. And secondly, this is my job so next time a hero or whatever tells you to get away, please listen to them.” He got to his feet then glanced back at you. “Now where do you live? Shall I walk you back home?”

“It’s okay. I live right across the street, just right there.” You pointed at an apartment complex a few buildings down and across the street, diagonally from where you were taking refuge.

“How embarrassing. I wanted to look cool but that just blew up in my face.”

You laughed a little. “Well, you were very cool when you saved me from that guy earlier,” you said.

A robotic hum sounded from his helmet. “That does make me feel a little bit better.”

You gathered your things and faced him, intending to leave. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Thank you again.”

“Likewise. Now hurry inside. I’ll watch you until you go in.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and stared down at you.

You agreed with a shy nod. “Okay.” You scurried across the street with a thrumming heart and kept the umbrella low to hide your face. You didn’t look back even as you reached the building or when you passed through the doors. You made your way up and stopped to take a moment once inside your apartment, which was a corner unit of humble size. Your living room window coincidentally faced the street you had just been on, so you went to it and looked outside.

He was still across the street but closer now to the building and in the middle of the downpour. He was looking up at your window. You stiffened at this and slowly raised your hand to wave to him before quickly side-stepping out of sight to hide behind the wall.

It took you a long moment to gather the courage to peek out the window again and when you did he was gone, along with the unconscious criminal’s body.

.

.

He hadn’t been the politest over the phone. He had been curt, a little aggressive, and much too particular about his preferences. Right away you knew he was trouble. But you resolved to do your best and stay professional. You had to compile his profile quickly and it was then that you found out that your newest client is a local celebrity. Hearing the name Jason Todd over the phone didn’t ring any bells at the time, but upon further research on your client you knew he’d be a challenge.

He had said he needed a date in less than a week and to his relief, you were able to meet him the next day with a potential match. Upon seeing your client in person you realized why his demands were so high. Not only is he the son of a billionaire, he’s also ridiculously good-looking and oddly intimidating. It must’ve been hard to find a suitable partner all by himself.

He had introduced himself, even though you knew very well who he was. He didn’t have as much attitude as he did over the phone, and he didn’t act as haughty as you expected him to be. With a practiced script and a customer service smile plastered on your lips, you invited him to sit at a nearby café while you reviewed the file of his potential partner with him.

He took the information with satisfaction and thanked you for your time. Unfortunately he didn’t last long with the match you found him, and you got another call from him a few weeks later. He needed another partner for an upcoming gala. And thus, the cycle continued to repeat itself, with your patience wearing thin and professionalism quickly dissipating with a few months. Before you met Jason Todd Wayne you’ve had a near perfect reputation, with an almost one hundred percent success rate with your clients. But he was ruining your reputation and it upset you tremendously.

“Jason, did you seriously ditch her last night?”

“It’s not what you think!”

“What do you...” you pause to take a deep breath and calm yourself.  You continue, “You literally ditched her at a party you brought her to.”

“Yeah, but for a good reason!”

“And what reason would that be?”

“Uhhh...I can’t say. But it really was a good reason!”

You give a skeptical look. “Did you even call her afterwards? Did you even think to apologize for leaving her alone?”

“...No. I got a little sidetracked, but I’ll do it right now!”

“She doesn’t want to see you again. I doubt she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Well that’s her loss.”

“Is it really, though,” you mutter to yourself.

“She seemed more than happy with me last night.” Then he adds, “Before I left her anyway.”

“What a coincidence—she said the same thing to me. I painstakingly searched through hundreds of files for her, and this is what you do? After you messed up all those other dates, it’s been near impossible digging up more matches for you.”

“I know, I know. I’m an asshole. But I also know you’ll find me another date in time for Bruce Wayne’s next big gala.”

“Can you at least try to be nice,” you say while shaking your head and rummaging through your files. “Nicer, I mean. I’m trying to find a potential lifelong partner for you here.”

“No guarantees, cupid.”

You eye him as you press your lips into a thin line. “I found a realtor who lives less than an hour away. Her profile is similar to your past matches and she seemed like she’d be able to put up with you. Realtors tend to have a lot of patience. Very admirable.”

“That’s pretty cold of you to say.”

“At this point, the one I feel sorry for is her.”

“Brrr...chilly.”

“From all the complaints I’ve been getting, you’re not exactly the easiest to be around.”

“You’re holding up just fine.”

“It’s part of my job.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that we’ve hung out longer than I’ve dated any of the partners you’ve set me up with. Technically you could say,” he says slowly, suggestively, “I’ve been on more dates with you than any of those matches of yours.”

“Like any of that is my fault. You get dumped after one date almost every time and I’ve got to set up a new match for you in time for your next big party.”

“Why don’t you just be my date from now on?”

“Not gonna happen. I don’t get involved with my clients.”

“A little uptight, aren’t you?”

“If you’re just going to pester me about how I do my job, then this meeting is over. I’ll see you in a week after this next one dumps you.”

“That’s ice cold.”

“We’ll see what happens in a week.” You plaster a professional smile on your face as you bid him goodbye but once you turn around you bite your lip anxiously. You didn’t want to admit his nonchalant invitation to be his date made your chest squeeze. Just the slightest interest toward you has you feeling a little too giddy even when you keep reminding yourself how much of a jerk he is. The more he flirts with you, the harder it is to stay professional. You feel awful and guilty about it, but you don’t get many chances to feel this way.  

Being a professional matchmaker left you on the sidelines as you constantly watch couples meet and fall in love. Finding love for yourself just seemed to be out of reach for you when you’re busy finding love for other people. And pursuing romance with Jason Todd is entirely out of the question. It became impossible the moment he became your client. So, you vow to keep him at a distance.

Just as you had predicted, a week passes and Jason Todd Wayne contacts you again for another meeting to discuss another partner.

You glance at the time and see that he’s twenty minutes late. You roll your eyes at this. It’s nothing new. His lack of punctuality is part of the reason his dates got so fed up with him. Bored, you scan your surroundings and see an ice cream shop next to the café. Seeing no harm in getting yourself a treat, you buy a scoop of your favorite flavor. You choose the cone over the cup to savor your treat. The purchase takes only a few minutes and you’re soon back at your meeting spot, with still no sign of Jason, of course. It’s a few more minutes later when you hear your name being called.

Pausing mid-bite, you turn to see Jason and don’t bother with a greeting. “See? What’d I tell you? It’s been a week.”

He chooses to ignore your jab and says, “Is that ice cream? You bought ice cream without me?” You’re caught off guard for a moment and you open your mouth to answer but he continues childishly, “Let me have some.” His hand is suddenly around your hand that’s holding the ice cream cone, and he’s guiding it to his mouth.

You’re fumbling over your words as he takes a bite and you finally say, “Go get your own!” You snatch your hand out of his grasp and gesture to the ice cream shop. He licks the ice cream from his lips as he looks over to the shop. That’s when you see the side of his face where a greenish-yellow bruise adorns the outer corner of his eye, just below his eyebrow.  

“What the hell? That was not there last week” you say, lifting a hand as if to touch his face. Then you realize what you’re doing and drop your hand again. “That looks bad. Did you ice it?”

“I did. But you should’ve seen it last night, it was so much worse,” he says good-humoredly but then clamps his mouth shut as if he had just revealed a secret.

“I don’t even want to know,” you remark with a shake of your head. You had heard about Jason’s mysterious bruises and wounds, but you never saw them on the visible parts of his body. Your clients on the other hand had often complained about him showing up with mysterious injuries, suspecting him of getting into brawls, fooling around with other lovers, and God knows what. You understand now why they chose to break up with him. Showing up with serious injuries and refusing to offer an explanation as to how he got them (or making some outlandish lie) would make anyone in his company uncomfortable. It’s disconcerting. But the longer you stare at his bruised face, the more you pity him. “Let’s just get you some ice cream.”

“For my face?” His fingers lightly brush over his bruise.

“I was thinking for your mouth or your stomach.”

He laughs and makes his way into the ice cream store. “What flavor should I get?” he asks as you follow him inside.

“Just get your favorite flavor,” you suggest curtly.

“But that’s boring. Predictable.”

You roll your eyes. “Then try a new flavor.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

You act annoyed to keep up a withdrawn attitude toward him. But if you didn’t know better, he seems like he’s biding his time on purpose and you can’t help but wonder why. “Please just choose something, Jason.”

He’s not fazed by your snippy attitude and asks, “You don’t want to share with me?” He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he examines the choices beneath the glass.

“You can share with your next date partner,” you suggest as you continue consuming your treat. He narrows his eyes at you and you hide your smile behind your ice cream.

“You’re no fun,” he mumbles.

It takes an agonizingly long time with a lot of back and forth between you before he could successfully pick a flavor. Then, in an unexpected turn of events, you both end up walking around while finishing your cold treats. You discuss the next profile with him as you both stroll leisurely through a shopping center. During this time, you find Jason isn’t all that bad. The complaints about him have been mostly regarding his carelessness after all, rather than his attitude. But you hate that you find him so charming. As if his good looks didn’t make you curse him enough already.  

The next time you see Jason is after a few weeks and you’ve agreed to meet at a local bookstore. You’re not surprised to find that once again, Jason is late and nowhere to be seen. While skimming the shelves, a book catches your eye and you flip through it curiously.  

“That book isn’t very interesting.”  

You turn to the familiar voice and shut the book. “Then what do you recommend?” you ask lightly, remembering that reading is listed as one of his hobbies.

“Well, you can’t go wrong with the classics.”

“Classics? As in?” you prod with a raised brow.

“Well there’s Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters,” he says. “What kind of stories do you like? Or do you like poetry? Plays?”

You hadn’t expected him to ask so much about your interests. But you remind yourself to stay professional, so you steer the conversation to the purpose of the meeting. “We can discuss books next time. I have another client’s profile for you.”

“Still as uptight as ever. Thought you eased up a little since we last met.”

“It was...a unique occasion. I won’t let it happen again,” you say while turning away in case your face gives anything away.

“So I have to get knocked around a little for you to be nice to me?”

“I am nice to you,” you say indignantly. “I’m just trying to do my job and find suitable partners for you.”

“Alright, cupid. Then who do you have for me today?” he asks with annoyance, holding out his hand for the file. He acts almost... sulky.

You hand him a folder and he flips through it quickly. You explain, “They live almost two hours away but—”  

“Too far,” he states as he closes the folder and gives it back to you. His dismissive attitude stuns you and you look back at him with a bewildered expression. Jason had never declined the potential partners you’ve presented to him before. Then he says, “Can’t you just be my date from now on, cupid?”

You blink and take a moment to gather yourself. “I told you, I don’t get involved with my clients.”

"What do I have to do to get a date with you? Am I supposed to fire you? Even for me, that’s kind of a douche-y thing to do.”

Your breath still at this. The thought of being fired distresses you, but at the same time, Jason’s intention behind his words has your heart racing.

“Are you serious?” you ask.

“Yeah. You gotta admit we have fun together, right? And don’t say it’s because it’s your job.” He is interrupted when his phone suddenly goes off and he takes out the device as if he had just gotten an important notification. You cross your arms while waiting for his attention to return to the conversation. As he scrolls through his phone, you wonder fleetingly if he’s simply just tired of all his failed partners you’ve matched him with. “Listen, I gotta run,” he says while stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “But how about we meet again tomorrow? Are you free?” Realizing he’s ready to speed off, you stop him with a pointed finger.

“Hold it right there! You can’t just ditch our meeting today!”

“But—but it’s an emergency!” he insists.

“Then come back after!” you reply. “If you really need to talk to me then meet me in front of the library at eight tonight. That’s where I’m meeting my last client today and I should be done by then. Will you be able to come?”

“Uh, I guess I could do that.” He looks unsure as he glances at the time.

“Try, Jason. I have meetings with other clients tomorrow so unless you can wait a few more days, that’s the best I can do.”

“Okay, okay. Tonight in front of the library, got it.”

You don’t manage to get another word in as he takes his leave. This must be the infamous disappearance act where he just ups and leaves, ditching his partners. Despite being annoyed with his flaky attitude, you’re more bothered by the conversation that just transpired. Did he really want to fire you?  

Regardless of whether he fires you or you resign as his matchmaker, you aren’t even sure it would work out with Jason if you agree to a date him. You didn’t exactly approve of his attitude after all, and who’s to say the relationship would last? You wouldn’t even be able to go back to being matchmaker and client if you ended up breaking it off, and then you would have no reason to contact him again. The thought leaves you feeling strangely forlorn, so you push the thoughts away and continue your day.

Later that night you bid your last client goodbye and you loiter around the supposed meeting spot. As expected, Jason is nowhere to be seen, and you lazily sit on the cement planters in front of the library to wait for him. After thirty minutes, you toy with the idea of calling him. But you conclude that he’s just being his usual self.  

While waiting, you pass the time on your phone. You visit Jason’s Instagram profile, telling yourself the action is strictly professional and for the sake of research. You notice a post from yesterday. It’s a picture of a playbill for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He must’ve gone to see the play locally. You scroll down a bit to read the accompanying caption he wrote:  

“Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

“Cupid, huh,” you mutter under your breath. The post has half a million likes and hundreds of comments, most of which are heart emojis. Did Gotham even have that many people in it? You don’t dwell on it too long and proceed to add the activity to his dating profile.

It’s another thirty minutes later when a noise behind you draws your attention and makes you flinch. It sounded like a thud, like something had fallen.  

“Why are you still here?” a voice asks, and you turn to face the infamous vigilante in the red helmet. “It’s late. You should be home.”

Red Hood is addressing you and it stuns you. But you’re distracted by the way he slowly staggers forward while leaning on the side of the building for support. This guy is not in the best shape.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone,” you say unsurely as you stand. Not many people have had the opportunity to converse with Gotham’s vigilantes. Not as common an occurrence as one would think. “Am I not supposed to be here? Um, should I go?” You can’t help but dwell on his wording, the way he had phrased his words. A sudden thought creeps into the back of your mind that you didn’t want to surface, that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Heh. I’ve always thought that seriousness of yours is pretty cute.” Then he loses balance and falls forward.  

“Are you okay?!” you exclaim. Instinctively, you move forward to catch him and the next thing you know, you’re holding up half his body weight. As you help lower him to a more comfortable position on the floor you slowly register his words, and when you do, your breath stills. You had tried to push it down, keeping it at the back of your mind, but the implication is impossible to ignore. The timing is too perfect to simply be a coincidence. You nervously scan Red Hood’s appearance as you sit next to him. “Jason?” you try, not sure what answer you are hoping to hear.

He hums in response then he vaguely says, “You know me pretty well, cupid. Looks like you don’t need your eyes to see me at all.”

His words throw you off but then you’re reminded of Jason’s most recent post on his social media. If you hadn’t seen it, you probably wouldn’t have understood what he just said to you. “Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind,” you say softly and slowly, trying to recall the quote. “And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

“Didn’t know you were a fan of Shakespeare. Or have you been stalking me?”

“I have to keep up to date with my clients’ interests, okay?” you say to defend yourself. “I needed to update your profile.”

“Oh. Right, right.” A short chuckle escapes him but he groans right after and he clutches his side in pain. He leans his head back against the wall behind him.

“Are you okay?” you ask in panic, completely forgetting he came to you barely standing. Your hands hover just over his wounded body, wanting to help but unsure how to. You don’t care that you’re losing your cool in front of him. Professionalism be damned. It’s impossible to control the turmoil of emotions flowing through you, especially the guilt. All this time, you had criticized his awful habits and nonchalant behavior. Now everything about him is suddenly clicking into place.  

“You should be going to the hospital or something with these injuries,” you say while eyeing the blood seeping from his side. You notice cuts all over his body and even the helmet is cracked. “Why did you come here when you’re this hurt?”

“Well I said I’d come, so here I am.” His tone is light-hearted despite the heaves of his chest as he struggles to intake air.

“You’re already super late anyway, idiot,” you snap back, though you can feel tears pricking your eyes. “You shouldn’t have bothered. I was about to leave.”

“Kinda relieved you didn’t.”

“What was so important that it couldn’t wait until our next meeting?” you demand. You figure the sooner you get the reason out of him, the sooner you can get him some help.

“Come on, don’t be mad. It makes it harder to say if you’re mad at me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and say in a controlled tone, “I’m not mad.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” he says before taking a deep breath. “I just didn’t want you to find me another date. I needed to tell you...God, this is going to sound so sappy but to hell with it. I don’t want any more matches, or profiles, or whatever. I’m in love with you. I don’t want to see anyone else. Look, I know you’re wary of me but give me a chance. Even Cupid was able to fall in love, right?”

For a moment you’re speechless but you organize your thoughts and say, “I consider Cupid’s love story more tragic than romantic. He really shouldn’t be a source of inspiration... or object of affection.”

“You’re totally missing the point of my speech.”

“You’re the one who likened me to Cupid,” you reply, trying to keep your emotions under control.

“Oh, so we’re just going to ignore my heartfelt confession, then.” He moves to sit up straighter and groans while doing so. You reach out to help support him but he grabs your hand instead. “I’m serious about you, really. Give me a chance. I promise I’ll be more honest. I’ll try harder to be on time. I’ll keep our dates. I’ll be better, I promise.”

“Okay, okay!” you hastily answer out of nervousness. “But how am I supposed to date you if you’re dying right in front of me?!”

“This is nothing. I just need to make a call, and everything will be fine. Easy-peasy.” He groans again as he leans back. He continues to grip your hand, clutching it to his chest. “But more importantly, now that we’re officially dating, can I publicly announce it?”

“You should be making this call of yours the priority right now,” you say while desperately trying to ignore the heat creeping across your face.

He sighs dramatically. “Can’t you let me savor this moment a little while longer?”

“Well excuse me for worrying! If you weren’t bleeding out, I would let you savor this moment however long you wanted.”

“I can’t help it if I want to celebrate. I’ve finally caught Cupid, after all.”

You study his expressionless helmet. "What would you have done if I still said no?” you ask curiously.

“Remember how I said I didn’t want to be an ass and fire you? Well I would probably try to get you to quit instead. Then ask you out.”

An incredulous expression crosses your face and you ask, “Get me to quit? How?”

“Oh, probably a little bullying here and there. Just me being more of a jerk than I already am,” he says while using one hand to slide his helmet off. You’re glad to see his familiar face after staring at his mask for so long.

“Wow, that is just as bad,” you remark, your voice laced with humor. “That’s an equally terrible thing to do.”  

“Doesn’t matter now, cupid. I don’t have to do any of that stuff anymore.” He grips your hand again and tugs you closer, making you lean over him slightly as a result.

“Yeah, because you made me a promise,” you quip, attempting to maintain your composure despite how close you are to him.

"Indeed, I did,” he says in agreement, his voice dropping lower and making your legs weak. He tilts his head and his lips ghost just over yours. “So now I can be cupid’s match.”

Your lips stretch into a smile. “Then, as of now, I officially resign as your matchmaker.”

.

.

“Ja—no, I mean, Red Hood,” he hears you stutter. Ah, you must be so confused and he doesn’t blame you. He’s been pulling you every which way, almost forcing you to adapt to his pace. But that is exactly why he hopes to change it, to take this relationship with you slowly, despite the unusual circumstances. He doesn’t want to one-sidedly pull you along anymore, and he hopes today would set a steady pace for the rest of your relationship. 

“Sorry I’m late. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” Always waiting, he thinks guiltily. In a sulky gesture, he takes a step toward you and holds his hand out, seeking to touch you. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips when you take his hand with a bashful smile of your own

“It’s okay. I’m still being watched and I don’t want them to catch you.” His smile turns into a wide grin at your words and he weaves your fingers together with his. “But is it okay for you to be here?” 

He blinks. He had been so absorbed in the moment that he had completely forgotten he was out in the open. “Oh. That reminds me,” he mumbles while gently tugging you into a nearby alley. “The cops will probably figure out the cameras are set on loop soon. This way.” He delves further into the shadows to find a more comfortable place to talk. 

“Where are we going?” 

Jason can sense the uneasiness in your voice. He answers simply, “Away from the surveillance cameras and windows.” The night vision feature built into his helmet allows him to navigate through the dark alleyways quickly. After getting far enough from the street he says, “Okay. This should be fine.” 

“Jason?” he hears you whisper next to him. He turns to face you and he realizes it must’ve been difficult for you to move in the dark. Your inability to see must have contributed to your uneasiness. He sees the hesitation in your face as you struggle to find the words the say, so he speaks first. 

“I really wanted to see you,” he confesses, squeezing your hand lightly as a show of sincerity and maybe an apology as well. “I missed you so much and I wanted to see you sooner but...” What could he say? You both knew the reason why he had to stay away. But he wanted to prove you meant more to him than he led on. You’ve already doubted him the moment he revealed himself to you. It was honestly a miracle that he got this far. 

Your voice cuts his train of thought. “I wanted to see you, too.” 

“Really?” He looks at your face in surprise. Everything seems so one-sided on his part. Your words are unexpected but hearing them causes euphoria to wash over him.  

A smile graces your lips. “Yeah.” 

“I thought I was the only one,” he says, more to himself than to you. He shakes his head lightly to refocus himself on the purpose of the visit. “I think it’s about time we have our first date. What do you think?” Just because he’s a crime boss doesn’t excuse the fact he hasn’t taken you out on a proper date. 

“A date? Right now?” you ask incredulously. 

“Yeah, why not? Let’s have a dinner date,” Jason says lightly though he’s inwardly bounding with excitement. He doesn’t have any expectations but he’s hopeful. 

You nod hesitantly. “Sure.” 

He can’t contain himself as he exclaims excitedly, “Alright! What do you feel like eating? Tell me your heart’s desire.” He doesn’t let go of your hand as he once again takes the lead through the alleyways. He gently pulls you along, guiding you through the dark. 

He chuckles upon hearing your answer: “Pancakes.” 

“Breakfast for dinner? Not a problem.” He knows of a wonderful diner and though it is quite far, it’s hidden from prying eyes. 

He finds his motorcycle where he left it and as he approaches you ask him, “Is that yours?” 

“Yup,” he answers as he lifts the seat to grab the extra motorcycle helmet stored inside. “And this is for you.” He turns to you and slides the helmet on for you. You obediently stay still as he secures the helmet in place. “Safety first, little daredevil,” he says in a mildly teasing tone. 

“Daredevil? Me?” you ask in a confused tone. 

“Well, yeah. You’re the one about to go on a night ride with the head of a global crime syndicate,” he counters. It’s times like this when he wonders if you understand the choices you’ve been making. “Did you forget?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” you ramble, becoming flustered. “It’s just that you’re much more than that—you're my first love.” Jason stills at this, and almost misses your next words. “And I know you won’t hurt me.” 

He takes a second to process your reply and steps back, almost afraid of what you might say next. “Damn it,” he mutters. He has to fight the desire to reach out and touch you, and even he doesn’t know what he’d do once he did that. “Sorry. Listen, um,” he stutters a little and it’s embarrassing to be at a loss for words, though he knew he’d become a mess in front of you, “we haven’t even had a first date yet and I’m just about ready to whisk you away. Please refrain from saying things like that, okay? I’m barely hanging on by a thread here.” 

“Sorry,” you say timidly, unsurely. 

He clears his throat and decides to ask you the question that’s been nagging him the moment the words left your lips. “So, is that your answer? Last time we saw each other I pretty much proclaimed my love for you. I wasn’t expecting you to say it back right away, and I certainly did not expect that just now.” Telling him he was your first love is not much of a confession, far from the equivalent of saying ‘I love you.’ Or maybe it is. Maybe everything is not as one-sided as he previously thought. He leans against the motorcycle behind him and he takes your hand in his. “I was ready to keep chasing after you—get you to fall in love with me, you know?” 

“Huh? But I said I wanted to be with you, didn’t I?” At this point, he thinks you’ll both just be running in circles with lines never quite crossing. 

“Yeah, but me being your first love is something you failed to mention. You may have agreed to be with me but you never said anything about love...” Jason lets the remaining words die, suddenly feeling shy about the frustration he’s feeling. 

Then you answer shyly, and he thinks that he is as embarrassed as you look in this moment, “I thought it was implied that I’ve loved you all this time. I’ve been wanting to talk to you since high school. I never really forgot you and, I think, maybe, I’ve always been waiting for you.” 

Jason feels his chest tighten and he doesn’t know what to do. He had already told you, warned you, his self-control has a limit. Holding onto your hand helps keep him grounded but it takes all his strength to stay in place and not jump you then and there. With a sigh he hangs his head in exasperation. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Your answer is slow and questioning, as if just realizing you may have said something you shouldn’t have. “No?” 

He decides to cease suspecting you and, with a shake of his head, he says, “Let’s get going before I kidnap you. I want to date you properly and I’m not about to skip all the steps of dating, no matter how much you tempt me.” His tone is teasing but there’s truth to his words despite your obliviousness. 

“Hey, that’s not what I’m doing! I’m not trying to do anything like that!”  

He’s already turned away from you, ready to mount his bike, and he’s glad he isn’t looking at your face. He can just imagine the pout of your lips and he’s sure he would’ve done something he’d regret if he saw it. And that would just defeat the purpose of this whole night, wouldn’t it? “Yeah, yeah. Are you ready to begin our long overdue date?” He mounts the motorcycle in a swift movement and starts the engine. “Hop on.” 

He feels you settle behind him and having your arms around his waist feels nice. Much nicer than he had expected. But dwelling on that would be a huge mistake so he pushes those thoughts out and he focuses on getting to the next destination without completely falling apart in your hands. 

The ride to the diner is longer than he expected but he gets there eventually. He parks the motorcycle at the side of the restaurant and waits for you to dismount. He then removes his red helmet and, along with your helmet, stashes it away in the seat compartment. As a safety measure, he zips up his jacket before leading you into the diner. There’s an air of nervousness and it’s severely awkward as you both attempt to settle into your seats. He admires your effort to engage in small talk to break the tension. It is a tension from advancing into the relationship almost entirely out of order and a tension in the desperate attempt to make up for lost time. 

Then you ask about the No Harm List. 

“Oh. Well, it’s not much of a list,” he admits with a pause, and thinks, only your name is on my List, then continues, “more of a warning actually. Groups are required to be informed about the individuals protected by it so they’ll know who they’re not supposed to target. It’s kind of self-explanatory, really. Most underworld groups have some kind of List like that. There are Hit Lists and Kill Lists but the No Harm List is the opposite.” 

“Then that means other, um, criminals know me?” you ask. He surmises having your name being well-known in the criminal world would make anyone uncomfortable. 

Jason turns sheepish, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he answers honestly, “Unfortunately, yeah. Some cops and federal agents, too—you know, the bad ones. But it’s meant to serve as a warning to steer clear of you! I did it to keep you safe and out of danger, but I only put you at the very center of it all. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way.” He looks at you apologetically.  

You look back at him with understanding and reply, “I’m not mad. It brought me to you, after all.” It’s the other way around, he thinks to himself, but his gaze softens when he sees your smile. “We never would’ve met again. But now we have a chance to... be together, so it’s okay.” 

Your expression turns bashful and he’s amused to see that you really are aware of how forward the things you say are. But he can’t help but agree with you. He leans in to take your hand atop the table and says, “Yeah. I just wanted to be in your life so badly.” He absentmindedly fiddles with your fingers as he says what’s been on his mind. “I wanted you to look at me again. I wanted to touch you and hold you. I wanted to love you properly... but I still can’t do that, can I? The police are still monitoring your every move because they’re still looking for me. They’re expecting to find a connection between us. They’re right, of course, but it’s still really annoying. I can’t take you on proper dates. I can’t call you. I can’t contact you unless I plan for all the factors ahead of time. It’s frustrating. I’m half serious about kidnapping you, by the way.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” 

Jason looks at your playful smile and realizes you’re trying to lighten the mood, and then gives you a smile of his own. “As much as it pains me, it’s time to get you home now. We can’t have the cops suspecting you even more than this, especially if you’re not home by fuck o’clock.” 

Your face contorts a bit at his words, but a smile appears immediately after. “Guess I have a curfew.” 

“A crime boss dating a girl with a curfew,” Jason declares humorlessly, though he is thoroughly amused by the unimaginable circumstance he finds himself in. “Sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.” This is all the result of his actions however, and by no means are you at fault, so he has no choice but to accept it. He stands and helps you up from your seat. He smiles at you as you step close to him and he looks forward to the day everything will settle down. 

The ride back feels shorter than the ride there. He steers the bike into a dark alleyway a few blocks away from your house and remains silent as he parks and kills the engine. He feels you slide away from him and when you remove your helmet he gloomily says, “I wish I didn’t have to take you home.” He also dismounts and takes off his own helmet. His only thoughts are of the next time he can be with you and he declares, “I’m sure I can work out some way to see you again and get you away from the cops.” 

You tell him you’ll wait for him and he brightens instantly. Why are you always willing to wait for him? How could such a simple thing make him so happy? He takes the helmet from your grasp as he brings himself closer to you. You quietly ask him, “You’ll protect me, right?” 

He answers with zero hesitation, “Of course. For the rest of my life.” Ah, it sounds exaggerated. A little extreme. Very cheesy. But he doesn’t waver as he holds your gaze and he wonders if you know just how serious he is. Then you look down to avoid his gaze. He didn’t want you to look away from him, so Jason calls your name softy, almost a whisper. Your bodies are close enough to touch, just barely, and he knows you can hear him. You lift your gaze to his and he studies your face, but then his eyes fall on one particular feature on that he had been admittedly distracted by all night. His eyes focus on the movement of your lips as it curves into a small smile.  

“Can I kiss you?” He doesn’t even realize he’s asked the question until you answer him. 

“Yes,” you whisper to him. 

It takes him a moment to comprehend your reply. He has your permission. He’s anxious, but eager. Then he leans in to press his lips against yours. He tries to be gentle, tries not to be too forward, but it goes out the window quickly. He deepens the kiss and moves his mouth against yours, but then he realizes he’s trying to coax your mouth open and he stops himself. He looks at you in fear and regret. He didn’t want to do anything you didn’t like. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

“I almost got carried away. I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. He inhales and exhales deeply as he unconsciously glares at your lips that continued to tempt him. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you say in a reassuring tone. No, he thinks dreadfully, don’t say it’s okay. “I liked it.” No, no, no, no. He had vowed not to pull you along to his pace. He didn’t want things to only go his way, he didn’t want to put any pressure on you. You’re not supposed to be okay with it. And you’re most certainly not supposed to like going further than a kiss on a first date.

“Doll, I told you not to say things like that,” he chastises. He wishes you would stop. Though if he were being honest, he supposes he doesn’t really think that way. 

A giggle bubbles from you and you apologize. It sounds half-hearted if you ask him. 

“Alright. Go home before I change my mind about letting you go,” he says authoritatively. However his actions betray his words as he leans his forehead against yours.

“I didn’t think you would ever threaten me,” you quip lightly.

Jason exhales lightly, exasperated. He really doesn’t know what to do when it comes to you. “Well evidently, it’s not working. You don’t listen because you’re not afraid of me, right?” Everyone always did what he told them to—no one dared to defy him, even those who are not in his group. His word is practically law, but here you are, his exception. 

“Why would I be? You just said you’d protect me.” You’re grinning up at him and he feels himself crumble.

Who was he to resist your smile? “We need to talk about your lack of precaution one day.” When you laugh again he seals your lips with another kiss. 

The next weeks are torturous but the moment he sees the authorities have stopped keeping a lookout outside your home, he’s quick to visit you. Once again, just like the first date, he practically ambushes you on your way home. The look of displeasure on your face at his entrance quickly melts into a smile when he insists on another date. He tells you he’ll be able to visit often from now on with the authorities easing up on monitoring you. No more tapping into devices, no more cameras, no more people tailing you. 

He wants to give you the best, shower you with affection, spoil you completely, make sure you never lift a finger when you’re with him. He wants to treat you like royalty. He’s more than willing to bend over backwards to do so—it's what you deserve, after all. 

However it soon becomes difficult juggling both a relationship and his crime organization. He had expected it, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating. So he begins to bring you with him on his business trips. He could plan lavish dates anywhere on the planet. Who said he’s only allowed to take you on dates within the country? 

He doesn’t see a problem with taking you shopping in Milan. 

Or simply strolling through the streets of Vienna. 

Or going to Tokyo Disneyland for a “conventional” date. (You tell him, however, that it’s not a conventional date if you have to cross the Pacific Ocean to do so. He begs to differ, given his line of work and all.) 

But he would never take you to the business meetings or any location tied with the Mafia. He is careful to keep you hidden from the organization and rival groups. In fact, he hardly lets you leave the hotel room if he can help it. Having you join him on his trips is both a risk and a security measure. It all depends on how he plays his cards. And so far, he’s been playing them perfectly well. 

After having just watched the Mariinsky Ballet Company in St. Petersburg, Jason boards his private jet after you but makes the mistake of not first making sure you are out of earshot. He speaks with his pilot in a level voice that should have been much quieter, considering the subject of the conversation. It’s about his next destination and next target. 

When you ask him about it he curses himself. You apologize immediately, and your nervous disposition tells him you have innocent intentions. He explains that he doesn’t like you knowing what he does. He figures the less you know, the better. It’s not your fault but he’s deeply upset with himself for slipping up like this. He had every intention of drawing a clear line between you and the horrendous world he is involved in. 

But you’re stubborn and insist on questioning him further about it. About why he is dismantling a human trafficking operation. If it were anyone else, they would have dropped the subject by now, but you of course are not afraid of him. It’s not like he ever gives you any reason to be anyway, so, he explains his extensively complicated method to you. He explains the flaws of waiting around for an unreliable system of government, that it’s the reason he takes things into his own hands and moves outside the law. 

There’s confusion in your expression and it’s understandable. His actions wouldn’t make sense from an outsider’s perspective. And his actions have brought high levels of tension between rivaling groups and foreign governments.

Then you question his alignment, hinting at the possibility that be may be much more virtuous than he led on. He isn’t, and he sets it straight with a brief explanation. He has long resigned himself to a fate of a criminal, but you interrupt him with fiery resolve about how good a person he is. And it shocks him. 

How could you see good in him when he can barely see it himself most of the time? The vile things he has done, does, and will do far outweigh any good he’s done. His volatile personality doesn’t help his case much either.

But your words reassure him, and Jason can’t help but feel grateful to have you in front of him. He takes your hand and presses his lips against your knuckles. His tone is solemn as he says, “You’re the only good thing in my life and I’m trying to keep you separate from all the shitty things I do, but I hope you don’t change your mind to be with me.” 

His mood lightens when you tell him you would stay with him no matter what he does. It’s a naïve way of thinking but he loves you for it. You continue, “But I’m glad to know you do good things, even if it’s in your own way.” 

Jason doesn’t want to delude you into thinking he’s some misunderstood hero. Reality is harsh and he didn’t want you to believe otherwise. He states simply, “My way makes me a criminal.” 

“But you get things done. You solve problems and get results where the justice system can’t,” you say sternly. He wonders why you’re so set in thinking this way, but he doesn’t dwell on it for long when you continue with a loving gaze, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” Your hands cup the sides of his face and bring him in for a kiss, releasing all doubt from his mind. 

How naïve of him to think your words would last forever. I’m not going anywhere. Your voice saying those words replay in his ears over and over as he desperately tries to remain calm. He tries to keep himself from shooting everyone he sees. Roy is the exception. Though he is the one who brought him the abysmal news so maybe he’s not so safe, after all. 

Hearing that you’ve been kidnapped has him seething. He’s furious. You being detained at a police station for a day is one thing, but being kidnapped? Out of the question. He does not intend to allow for survivors at the end of this. He knows you wouldn’t like it but he couldn’t care less when your life is the only one he cares about. You’re suddenly out of his reach once again, disappearing like smoke from his grasp. How could he forgive himself if you get hurt or if he loses you completely? It would be all his fault if something happens to you. 

The moment Roy informed him you had gone missing Jason’s fingers immediately dialed the number to the burner phone he had given you as a precautionary measure. He told you to always keep it with you. He listens to the ringing, hoping the line will connect, hoping you’ll answer, hoping he’ll hear your voice. But the line eventually goes to the automated voicemail and he yells in frustration. 

His attention is on Roy once more. “Tell me you know who took her. Tell me you you’ve got some useful information to go with the shit you just told me.” 

“I wouldn’t let you down like that, Boss. I know where she is.” His expression is almost smug as he hands Jason a small tablet. The map on the screen is zoomed in on an abandoned building. “The kidnappers didn’t bother to change the license plates when they got to their little hideout. The car was caught by a street camera near her place. It was parked there for hours up until the time she was last seen. We didn’t get footage of whoever took her though. They probably took possession of it or disabled the cameras somehow. Too bad they didn’t check all the cameras, huh? Not too smart on their part.”  

“As long as I know where she is, it doesn’t matter who took her or why. They’ll meet the same end, either way,” Jason says with a clenched jaw. “Get everyone ready. We’ll leave in ten minutes.” 

How long has it been since you’ve been taken? How long have you been waiting for him? He hates the idea of being too slow, of being too late.

Jason finds the abandoned office building within an hour. He had been frantic the entire ride there, all while monitoring the security cameras around your home and attempting multiple times to connect to your phone line. He had hoped that maybe it was all just a mistake and you’d show up anytime now. 

Now the only choice left is to follow his only lead as to where you might be. The abandoned office complex is hardly impressive after years of being forgotten and weathered by the elements. It’s situated in the middle of a long street of manufacturing factories and laboratories, all of which have also long been abandoned. The long strip of buildings is practically deserted and overgrown with weeds. Honestly, it is the perfect place for a massacre. Zero foot traffic and no witnesses means less damage control. Only cleanup would be left in the end and he has no reservations about leaving a bloody mess behind. 

Jason doesn’t really remember storming the place. He’s quick on his feet as he charges in ahead of his subordinates. This is definitely the right building judging from how many lackeys come to meet him. They’re taken by surprise at his unexpected arrival and they yell and shout to warn each other. It’s noisy and he doesn’t hesitate to shut them up. He unleashes a barrage of bullets upon anyone in his path and leaves a trail of bodies behind him. His aim isn’t to kill everyone in the building, no, his men could take care of the rest. He couldn’t care less whether they die by his hand or someone else’s, the only one he is determined to kill himself is the one who had orchestrated your kidnapping. 

The lobby is eerily silent as he proceeds with his hunt. He crosses the large entrance hall to investigate further into the dilapidated building, but soon realizes blindly searching is not going to get him anywhere. There is no way to track you. The answer to his predicament comes in the form of a man running down the side hallway. Jason quickly catches up to him before slamming the runaway face first into the wall. 

“Where is she?” he demands. The man curses profanity at him in return and Jason presses the man harder against the wall, keeping him there. “It’s in your best interest to answer or I can’t guarantee your last moments won’t be absolutely agonizing. Choose wisely.” 

The man hesitates but when Jason shoots him in the leg, he screams in pain before telling him the location of the hostage through shuddering breaths. Jason is not one to make empty threats and true to his word, he shoots the man in the head for a quick and painless death. He then makes his way below ground level to the basement, just as the man said, and he’s immediately met with more lackeys patrolling the hallways. He’s quick to take them out as they raise a rather loud ruckus around him. 

His eyes catch movement in the corner of his eye. He sees a few men filter out one room before hastily retreating back inside upon his approach. It looks to be a very important room and he wastes no time in entering it. 

He easily breaks the door open from the outside, ripping it off its hinges. With a pistol in each hand, he points the ends of the barrels at the men before they can even reach for their weapons. He notices how slow they are to react and notes their obvious incompetence. 

He scans the room and relief washes over him when his eyes finally land on you. You look back at him anxiously, but his eyes immediately go to the man grasping your arm and his anger flares once again. Jason recognizes the man restraining you as a member of Suzie Su’s Family. He can already guess what this is about. She had been trying to get to him for years and now she has finally succeeded in luring him in. Though he can’t help but wonder why she would dare lay a hand on you. Suzie Su should have been fully aware of the consequences that came with messing with a No Harm List. She knew she would be provoking him. She couldn’t possibly believe your brush with the American government would lift his protection over you. It shouldn’t have made you a target, but it seems she was dumb enough to try anyway.  

Jason refocuses on the task at hand and decides to end this quickly. He says to you, “Doll, cover your ears and shut your eyes.” 

When you do as he instructed, he wastes no time firing holes into the men who had been “guarding” the room. He stops firing when he empties the magazine clip, then he immediately goes to you and places a hand on your shoulder.  

He tries to control himself as he scans your condition and asks, “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”  

You visibly relax as you look up at him. “I’m okay. They didn’t do anything to me.” 

His hand moves to cradle one side of your head before sweeping down the side of your face. “Thank god.” He’s happy to see you but his priority is to get you out of the building as soon as possible. He’s sure you would rather not stay here any longer than you needed to. “Let’s get out of here.” He turns to lead the way out but stops when he hears you gasp. 

“Did you kill them?” You’re looking around the room in alarm. 

“Uh, some of them.” Probably all of them, he thinks to himself. 

“Wha—but those were cops! Maybe federal agents!” 

So that’s what they told you. But he can tell from your voice that you didn’t completely believe that either. “No, they weren’t. They’re from a rival group. They posed as cops to use you to get to me.” Jason then peeks out the door to secure the way out. Well, it’s clear of living threats but the trail of dead bodies, and the subsequent blood on the walls and floor, decorate the way back. He is very much against you seeing the mess he had made so he turns to you and says, “I’m going to carry you out, but I don’t want you to see the mess outside so cover your eyes, okay?” 

Your eyes are immediately shut closed and you nod. Jason easily lifts you off the ground, one arm hooked beneath your knees and the other around your waist to press you close to him. You cling to his neck as he walks down the corridor and he hopes you don’t see even a glimpse of what he’s walking through. Making his way to the ground floor, he eventually meets up with his subordinates who are finishing up clearing out the building. He quietly gives orders to several of his men as he passes by. He informs one of his men to track Suzie Su’s location, and orders others to sweep the building one last time before cleaning the place up. 

As he exits the old building, he finally relaxes as he heads for his car. “Were you scared?” he asks in a gentle tone. 

“I was,” you quietly answer, shifting slightly in his arms. “But I knew you would save me... thanks for coming for me.”  

It’s times like this Jason is baffled by your faith in him. You always blindly trust him, which is something he’s not sure he deserves. It makes him think he really failed you today by allowing your kidnapping to happen. 

With remorse in his voice he says, “I’m sorry you had to go through all this shit.” Again, he thinks. He continues, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” Being separated from you has always been torturous and he dreads parting ways with you once more. After today it seems clear to him that targeting you is something both the government and rival gangs had no inhibitions with doing. Leaving your side seemed like he was just giving everyone else an opportunity to take you away from him. Why would he take that chance? So, he says slowly, carefully, “Move in with me, [Y/N]. I’m skipping a hundred steps here and I wanted to go slow, but I want you to live with me. I don’t want to let you out of my sight again. Keeping you safe was all I ever wanted, but I nearly went crazy today. I was so scared when I couldn’t find you or contact you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you...” 

Your answer comes surprisingly fast. “Okay.” He looks at you and searches your face but only sees an understanding smile on your lips. 

“Really?” he questions disbelievingly. How can you agree so easily? 

Your smile widens. “Yeah. After all, you promised to protect me, right?” 

He takes a moment to register your words and he agrees with a chuckle. “Yeah, I did. For the rest of my life.” His life had long been intertwined with yours. How could he let you go now?

.

.