alina ᥫ᭡

…chest?!

You jolt upright, pushing off Jason’s chest, your hair lifting in static little wisps as it detaches from his sweater. He sits up too, gripping the back of the couch to steady and pull himself upright.

“We- This- I swear nothing happened!" you ramble on, elbow nudging Jason to back you up.

“We just fell asleep. Real late,” Jason adds, morning voice raspy as the heel of his palm rubs at his eye, attempting to shrug the morning haziness away. He runs a hand through his tousled morning hair.

“Yeah, sure looks like it,” Babs quips from where she stands, gesturing to the cushions. “You were both so polite to the couch.”

She continues to hover with a smirk, folding her arms as she inspects both of you in your post-cuddled environment.

You rub at your morning eyes and take note of what Babs meant. The L-shaped couch did remain perfect. Untouched. Blankets folded, cushions unmoved by the foot of where you (and Jason) were laying. Even in the cold, neither of you had reached for the blankets. Like your body heat alone had been more than enough.

You glance at Jason, who is now sitting up. He seems to have drawn the same conclusion, rubbing at the back of his neck as his gaze flicks from the untouched couch to you.

Last night was nothing short of magical.

After a late-night snowboarding session, smooth as butter snow on the trails and snowflakes glinting under the moonlight, you’d both returned to the cabin frozen to the bone.

It took a while to get the key to slot into its frozen hole, leaving you two clowning at almost 2am at the door.

“Oh my gosh, Jason.” You lightly jogged on the spot to stop yourself from freezing, the lamp post nearby enabling you to see the puffs of air drawing warm from your mouth as you speak. “Hurry up already!”

“I’m tryin! It’s not going in!” Jason yelped, attempting to stab the key into the iced-up slot of the cabins back door. The keys jingle, then he fumbles and drops it onto a a small mountain pile on of snow by your feet.

“UGH, JAY!!!” 

You stiffly plopped down, digging your glove onto the small mountain of snow where the keys sunk into. You swear your knees give out as you pick up the keys, joints frozen and wailing to be warmed up. And as you stand back up you shove Jason aside to you make your own attempt to open the door too.

“IT’S THESE DAMN GLOVES, I SWEAR,” Jason protested trying to turn the knob as you successfully slot in the key. 

“The key isn’t turning!!!” you whined then, contemplating on banging on the glass door even though most of your friends are well asleep. 

“Okay… here…”

Jason hunkered down and began blowing air into the keyhole to warm it up. And despite your annoyance and your frozen face, you gleam. He looked so damn funny.

“The heck are you laughing at, help me!” he whined. 

You bend down next to him, right next to his face and start blowing warm air into the keyhole too. In the cold winter night, all you hear the the echoing, alternating "hah, hah, hah"s as you both warm up the doorknob. Your faces are almost plush next to each other as you both try to warm the metal. Jason tests it, and finally, the key turns and you both practically pounce inside, giggling at how or why your makeshift mouth heater worked.

“Shhhhhh, you’ll wake everyone up!” you smile up at him smacking a gloved hand at his shoulder.

“Right, right…” he smiles back, both of you dropping your snowgear by the entrance and making a beeline towards the fireplace, already kindling in the open lounge of the cabin.

The rest of the evening... well if you'd consider 2:03am an evening, went by cozily. A warm cuppa of hot chocolate in both your hands, both of you sinking into the couch side by side, letting your chilled bodies soak in the heat from the fireplace.

“Did you see my jump in that last run?” you asked, the warmth of your voice breaking the cold and quiet. “I swear I was flying!”

Jason chuckled softly. “Flying? You nearly wiped out. I thought we were both going to end up in the snowbank.”

“Hey ay ay, I didn’t ask for you to come rescue me, I was fine,” you protested, nudging him gently with your shoulder. “And speaking of wiping out, you practically face-planted on that last slope.”

He grinned, lifting his cup.

“If I wanted to do a graceful winter sport, we’d be figure-skating,” he added, his voice echoing slightly in the mug before he took a sip.

You laughed at the thought. “Oh, we are so doing that next. I’d pay to watch you kiss rock-hard ice instead of snow.”

His eyes glinted at you from behind the mug. He set it down carefully on the coffee table.

“You’re so on,” he whispered, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

The cabin had quieted completely, save for the crackling of the fireplace. Everyone else had retreated to their rooms after the long day of snow and early-morning activities. Rarely did you get these moments; everyone knocked out early, just the two of you, relaxed, with no patrols, no obligations.

He leaned back against the couch, exhaling a slow, peaceful breath. As if his mind was on the same wavelength.

“You know, I never thought snow could feel like… I don’t know… magic. The way it fell under the moonlight? I swear I could see it in slow motion and it was the most relaxed I've ever felt,” Jason spoke, eyes never leaving the fire.

"Save for my freezing balls. Those guys were tense," he tersely added before sipping again.

You chuckled, eyeing his side profile and catching the glint of firelight reflecting in his eyes regally green eyes. You seemed to have a way to make Jason be completely honest with you. No matter the topic. Magic or his balls.

You smiled softly before closing your eyes. “Yeah. It was… peaceful. Kinda makes all the cold worth it.”

A small grin tugged at your lips before you opened your eyes to meet his. “You know, my first memorable winter moment was in our backyard,” you chuckled. “Alfred would get so worried about our DIY course on the hill behind the manor. But Bruce? Oh, man! He'd practically volunteer to go down face-first. On a cardboard sled, straight into a mountain of snow waiting for him at the bottom. It was absolute chaos, but memorable.”

He glanced at you, expression softening. “Yeah,” he huffed, smiling. “Then Damian would clock my head with a bowling ball–sized snowball. I swear on my life.”

You laughed so hard you had to press your face into the back of the couch to keep from waking anyone.

Hours passed of you reminiscing on the past winters, eventually slowing as you both watched the fire dance in comfortable silence after. Without remembering when in the night it occurred, you found yourself head rested lightly on Jason's shoulder, feeling the warmth radiating from him. He glanced down briefly, and though you couldn’t see it, a soft smile tugged at his lips. Then he leaned his head ever so slightly against yours. A simple mirrored gesture that felt sweeter, more comforting, than the hot chocolate you'd just downed.

“You’re… uhm… really warm,” you murmured softly.

He let out a low, amused chuckle. “Yeah… you are too.”

Minutes passed in silence, the fire’s glow and the faint ticking of the clock filling the room. Jason shifted slightly, letting his arm rest casually behind the couch, keeping you close without crowding you. You tilted just a little more into him, feeling your bodies naturally sync.

“You know,” he whispered, almost absentmindedly, “I could stay like this forever.”

You smiled softly, chest fluttering. “Yeah? I think I could stay like this forever too.”

A yawn escaped you.

Jason’s eyes softened, and he let out a low, contented hum. “Guess I’m not the only one,” he said quietly.

You settled further against him, letting the weight of your head rest fully on his shoulder. He shifted just slightly to accommodate, leaning in more comfortably. Then, just before sleep fully carried you away, he added; “So… figure-skating tomorrow, huh? I’m warning you, I’ll qualify for the Olympics.”

You giggled softly, pressing a little closer. “You better prove that with triple axels tomorrow morning.”

Jason laughed quietly, the soft sound vibrating against your shoulder. “I'm telling you you’ll be surprised.”

Your yawn returned, softer this time, as your eyelids grew heavy. Shadows danced across the cabin walls and ceiling as the firelight remained wide awake, snow glittering faintly outside, and the quiet intimacy of the room wrapped around you both.

Finally, by the soft fire, your bodies pressed close, and slowly, inevitably, you drifted fully into sleep… curled together, tender and safe, heads still leaning against each other in the perfect silence of the night. Eventually, you settled fully against him, his warmth lulling you to sleep.

“DICK! Come look! They were cuddling the entire night!” Babs’s voice sliced through, shaking you into the present morning.

You rolled your eyes.

Then, both you and Jason exchanged a glance.

"Slept okay?" he asked.

"Oh, best sleep ever, actually."

It's only fair you return the honesty you always get from him.

You both smile at each other, and between your pair of eyes there was a mutual agreement. An agreement that this couch, may just be your sleeping station for the rest of the cabin holiday.

You prodded him gently, a teasing lilt in your voice.

“Sooo… if I remember correctly, you promised me an Olympic tryout today, didn’t you?”

JASON PETER TODD who, after a day of apple picking in the sun with you, will take your cardigan the moment you get warm and knot it around his own waist. his skin feels sun-warmed under your palm as you stroll down the tree alleys, your hand wrapped around his thick bicep. he carries the basket of apples, filled to the brim for both of you, swinging it lightly at his side like it weighs nothing.

JASON PETER TODD who can't help but watch when you bite into the first apple, watching the juice slide down your wrist. and the moment you bring your tongue to the trail of sweetness, his gaze drops to your mouth. intent, lingering, hungry. he leans in to kiss you, slow and savoring, murmuring against your lips, “mmm, so sweet,” and you're smiling wondering if he's talkin' about the apple.

JASON PETER TODD who turns your day of apple picking into a small feast. pies cooling on the counter, fresh apple juice he presses by hand, warm pastries dusted with cinnamon and sugar, and a pot on the stove bubbling with spiced apple compote. he moves around the kitchen with confident, easy motions. sleeves pushed up, a streak of flour on his jaw that he refuses to acknowledge, stealing bites off spoons and slipping warm apple slices between your lips like it’s second nature. and when he finally sets everything out on the table: pastries, juice, slices, pies, he gestures proudly and announces,

“bon apple teet.”

and you smile stupid.

JASON PETER TODD who will run you a bath, warm water steaming wistfully. He sniffs the bath bomb options with a frown of concentration, brows furrowed, lips curved in exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Lavender,” he decides, “since today’s patrol was stressful,” hovering the lilac and white-specked colored bath bomb under your nose so you can inhale the calming fragrance. “Agreed,” you reply, and he hums contentedly, like he’s just solved an important mystery.

JASON PETER TODD who cups the water from the tub with his big bare hands, then pours it gently on your scalp, letting it cascade down and soak down the strands of you hair. He hums softly. A tune. Fleetwood Mac. His hums echo through the bathroom acoustics. He works the conditioner through your hair with slow, deliberate care, massaging your scalp with a soothing rhythm and the perfect pressure while you play with the bubbles and the now sparkly lilac colored bath water. Magical. And although you can't see behind you, there is a real magic.

Him. Watching you with a sweet smile, as he is fascinated by the combination of your grown strength and childlike heart, thinking again how warm and soft you keep your soul as he watches you peacefully swirl your callused fingers on the water surface to watch the shimmers and bubbles infuse. When it’s time to shower off, he steps in with you keeping you company.

JASON PETER TODD who treats you so delicately and softly, even though you are the strongest person he knows, scrubbing your skin with a fluffy loofa in gentle, patient strokes, following the curves of your body with the care of someone afraid of breaking something precious. He moisturizes every inch, his rough calluses brushing against your soft skin.

JASON PETER TODD who can’t stop burying his face in your hair as you are laying in bed together, inhaling the mingling scents of shampoo and you as his private nighttime lullaby. His fingers tracing idly along your shoulders, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, whispering, “Sweet dreams, baby,” and somehow, the mere words will all your dreams to listen and behave for the night.

11:45pm

The summer heat isn't any friendlier at night.

Gotham City always runs hotter in the summer. Crime spills into the streets faster than the ice in their drinks melt. Tempers flare, patience burns out. Heat seeps into age-old weatherboards; into people's heads, and the nights buzz with sirens and bad decisions.

Because of it, half of us are out on more missions across towns this summer.

Lucky for me, I've got four days of quiet before I'm thrown back into the chaos with everyone else.

I thought I'd spend the time up at Wayne Manor, located at a much breezier place than the cramped buildings of Gotham. I thought it would be a smart escape, but the heat up here is as unrelenting as the psychos I'd been sending to Arkham.

I guess it's a bonus that no one is home though. But, the un-bonus is even Alfred is gone. Which doesn't help, considering this place is massive and it's taken me hours just to hunt down a towel to wipe the sweat off my face. And my neck. And pretty much my whole body.

So much for being the world's best tracker.

Alfred took the advantage of the brief vacation once he knew I would be staying in and someone would be here to guard the manor. I thought he was crazy since the security system here is unlaughable.

Seriously, no joke.

I had to dodge darts flying out of shrubs, sharpened gates suddenly erupting from perfectly mowed lawns. Unassuming, Bruce. I thought. But not unassuming enough.

Then after internally celebrating my glorious success in parkouring, my nostril meets the old man's shotgun.

Hello face, meet M4 super 90.

As welcoming of an entry as I'd expect.

Well... back entry.

I wanted to test the man so to be fair, I had it coming. He's still as sharp as ever.

"Hi, Alfred," I smile sheepishly, gripping the straps of the duffel bag slung across my chest. Alfie must've seen throwing middle fingers up at the erupting sharpened gates through the security cameras.

"Good evening miss Y/L/N," the Brit replies.

"Plan to pick my nose with that?" I tease.

Alfie lowers the shotgun.

"Very well. Your earl grey awaits you," he smiles.

Needless to say, I believed that the Wayne Manor could do without guarding.

Until I hear a thundering clatter from the room next to mine.

It's currently 11:45pm and Alfred had left about 2 hours ago. And I, am a newly irritated woman who has returned from an unsuccessful venturing for any fucking towel in a ridiculously large Shakespearean castle. 

I curse myself for telling Alfred he could totally have a vacation. And curse myself for jinxing it by telling him this place is totally not gonna need guarding.

I get up from my bed, in an oversized shirt and red flannel pj pants. There's no time to suit up. I reach for the metal baseball bat I keep by my door. There's no time to grab Alfred's shotgun. Nor find it.

I slowly enter, careful not to let the door creak open. Darkness cloaks the room, but the moonlight seeping through the windowpanes is enough for me to get a visual and still slip between the shadows, unnoticed, to catch the intruder.

God, it's been so long since I've been in this room.

His room.

Yet, it still looks the same. Smells the same. A strong waft of leather and a lingering, whispering scent of sandalwood hits me.

It smells like him.

I orbit the wooden slat wall divider. Through the slips of the panels I swear I see a figure, sitting by the wall. But the slips are small, and a dark rouge couch is obstructing my view.

I motion forward, around the divider which reveals his bed.

It looks the same. Untouched.

I suddenly feel a strong breeze of hot air on my skin and know the window is open without having to look.

But the breeze not only sends hot air crashing onto my skin, but heightens the smell.

The smell of sandalwood.

A groan echoes.

It's coming from behind the couch.

And leaning by the wall below the window. I see him.

"Jason?"

The figure is slumped on the floor, leaning with his back on the wall for support.

"Y/N?"

His voice is raspy, but unmistakable.

I move closer.

Jason clutches his stomach. There, a pool of blood drips from his shirt onto the wooden floors. Blood, seeping through his fingers as he fights to stay upright. His eyes struggle to stay open.

"Oh my god..."

The metal bat clatters to the ground and I run towards him. I tug on the long wire switch that illuminates the warm lamp by the corner of the room. For a split second I'm relieved it's not an intruder, but then my heart hammers faster because seeing him like this seems a whole lot worse. I see the source of the clattering sound; his shattered helmet and a couple of knives, no doubt remnants of what came crashing onto the floor after he made it through the window in a painful struggle.

"Hi... long time," Jason utters. 

He's breathy. Panting.

I kneel and lift his shirt to reveal an open wound on his lower right abdomen.

"Woah, slow down Y/N. I haven't seen you in a minute and you're already undressing me..." he teases.

I roll my eyes ignoring him, touching the wound and scanning for any bullets or source. It looks like something sharp, like he's been stabbed and sliced through.

"Ngh.." he groans, slightly flinching at my touch.

I look up at him. His head leans back on the wall in pain. Sweat trickles down his bare neck. His face extremely red and skin flushed. No doubt from the heat, but he's drowning in sweat, and far more than I am.

"What happened?" I ask.

"The Serpent..." he replies, almost breathless.

Fuck. I encountered The Serpent* one time. Sonia Vere, once a brilliant scientist under the wing of Scarecrow turned assassin. Awfully skilled in combat and with weapons laced in her trademark poison. Scanning his body, it looks like a small handknife was used. If she's running around, then this summer's about to get deadly.

I get on one knee and reach for the top right compartment of the dark oak chest of drawers, right next to where he leans on the wall. He still keeps his First Aid kit in the same place.

But even amidst his half-consciousness he must've noticed my recollection; my assured conviction in reaching the perfect drawer because his eyes widens briefly, looking at me as I start to unzip the First Aid bag.

"I keep mine in the same drawer,"

"Right..." he croaks.

I ruffle through the kit for a tourniquet, which just so happens to be hiding somewhere in this mansion with the towels because it's not bloody in here. 

Jason gazes down at me.

"Are you wearing my pj pants?" 

Oh, fuck. I forgot the guest room closet had all the family's old stuff.

Oh, fuck, he's bleeding out I need to wrap him. Now.

"Are there no fucking towels in this house?" I ask frustrated, dodging his question.

I swiftly undress, removing my oversized t-shirt. I grab one of his knives splayed on the floor to cut the shirt and use it to wrap around his lower body to stop the bleeding.

A sharp pang of deja vu hits me. Growing up with Jason, I remember him always turning down my help to patch him, except the one time he needed it the least. That bloody cardboard paper cut from 9th grade. I had used a small handkerchief to wrap his finger, laughing at how he could take guns and knives but not delivery cardboard. We'd used to always joke about how it was his true nemesis.

Jason doesn't reply to my towel query. All I hear is heavy breathing, feeling the soft puffs of hot air on my forehead as I concentrate on wrapping him to stop the blood from gushing out.

"I think I like this method better," he finally answers.

I look up to see his heavy-lidded eyes looking down at me as I tend to him. I completely blanked on the fact that I stripped my own shirt to save him, leaving me in a dark lace bra. Half freaking naked in his flannel pants.

I feel my face go hot, and he must have I realised when I realised because he lets out a soft chuckle.

"You got enough oxygen for jokes, Red?" I manage to say, rolling my eyes.

"I hide the towels for this exact reaso- Aghh...." he groans as I wrap the shirt tighter, half intended to apply enough pressure to stop the blood, and half as a warning for him to behave. 

In pain, his hand flies to my arm, gripping at my shoulder in an automatic reflex.

I freeze at his touch, but he keeps his eyes closed.

"It's okay. I've got you," I say softly.

He doesn't let go of my arm as I finish tying off the shirt.

"Bruce gave me some antidotes for her stuff a while back. I'm hoping she hasn't upped her formula," I explain.

Jason's breaths are shallow, but he still holds on tight to my arm.

"Jay?"

"Mm?" He hums.

"You need to let go of my arm so I can get them... the antidotes," I say, keeping my voice as calm as I can. I'm hoping not to embarrass him in case he hadn't realised his reflex had him gripping my bicep. But he knows. He realised fully. And he doesn't let go.

His eyes slightly open, and I see a bit of his beautiful green eyes.

"Don't... Don't leave," he whispers, shutting his eyes again.

My heart sinks. I suddenly get enough chills to not need any more towels.

I get up higher on my knees to get closer to his face.

"I'll come back. I'll be here, I promise," I whisper, and kiss his warm forehead, wiping the sweat with the back of my free hand, careful to not leave any blood on his face.

He holds on still. And I feel a pang of guilt that even amidst his half-consciousness, he knows to be scared.

To be scared that I'll leave him. Like I once did.

"I don't want you to die, Jason," I whisper. Whisper, knowing that if I made a sound, my trembling voice would betray me. Betray my act of total calm and composure.

His shallow breathing calms, and I hear him take a deep breath.

"Okay," he says, through a bare whisper.

His hand slowly loosens its grip on me, caressing my bare arm before collapsing to the ground. I feel the nascent goosebumps and rising hairs on my skin. A reaction to his careful touch, as his hand trails... down my arm, then off.

I get up and pace to the kitchen, accessing the hidden compartment between the stove and oven that spurts out a tray with an array of tubes labelled 'TS ANTI'. God, I really hope this works. If not, I'll have to suck the poison out of his stomach myself.

I rush, sprinting my way back to him.

"Here,"

I hold the tube to his mouth, my fingers holding and steadying his jaw and chin, thumb on his soft lips to part them slightly. I guide the opening of the small test tube and tilt it just enough to watch the dark blue liquid trail down the glass and into his mouth. The antidote is designed to counteract the poisonous chemicals internally after consumption. It should start to take effect in about 2 hours and stop the bleeding from his open wound; the bleeding that won't stop, no doubt worsened by some chemical and infection The Serpent planted.

He gulps slowly. And as he finishes an entire tube of the antidote, he halts my lowering hand reaching for my wrists.

"And no, if this doesn't work, you aren't sucking the poison out of my stomach," he asserts.

I don't know how he does it. Know me. Even after not being around me for some time.

"I'm going to have to since Alfred isn't here," I retort.

Revealing a half-smile, he lets out a shallow, breathy, but still discernible chuckle.

"Y/N, I would much rather have you suck my abdomen than Alfred. And I wouldn't object to that given any other situation," he quips.

My face is on fire. I'll blame it on the heat, sure. It's probably red enough to catch the attention of Moses. I'm hoping the antidote doesn't kick in that quickly on Jason and that he won't be conscious enough to notice or remember. But I guess he's conscious enough to be making jokes, so I'll have to hold on to the hope that he will be fine.

"Y/N. You are not getting this poison anywhere near your mouth, you understand?" he demands. As much as a doozy man can demand.

I pack the test tube, and the First Aid Kit back to it's drawer.

"Y/N," His eyes attempt to open fully, but they still remain heavy-lidded.

"Promise me,"

I stop my fidgeting disguised as cleaning and run my hand through my hair. I can't argue with him right now.

"I understand," I reply. Because I can't promise that.

"That's good enough for me," Jason mumbles.

...

Jason crashes out on the floor, and I spend some moments finding a new shirt (much more easily than the still-hiding towels), piecing back and cleaning whatever was left of his helmet, and checking the security cameras to make sure The Serpent hadn't followed him home. Making sure the security systems are functioning but more importantly, intrigued at how Jason managed to bypass it in a half-doozy state.

Jason seemed to have a contingency plan that got him here even in his half-consciousness, sneaking into his bedroom window. I realised, maybe I'm not here enough because the footage shows him seamlessly dodging every security measure before it even gets triggered. While I on the other hand, recall the first Damien-shaped shrub making it known to be my enemy the second I arrived. 

Art imitates life... I guess.

To have Bruce's systems of this place memorised while on poison is unbelievable. Either he sneaks in here often or... snuck out. The thought of it reminded me of his old days at the manor, and all the stories he would tell me about Bruce's tests. Muscle memory must serve him well. Or maybe, haunt him. I yet to decide whether I should feel impressed or sad for him. All the nerves and emotions and the heat of the night are just sending all the memories back.

I was close with the whole family, but not in the way I was close to Jason Todd. 

He would vent to me about all family, friends, mission matters like I had a way of allowing him to be unguarded. Then when I would vent to him about all my problems, he would always find a way to never diminish them. To be there even if it wasn't solvable. He never saw me as something to fix. 

And when we were together? Oh, we had something in the air every time we were in the same room. Heck, so much as in the same city. Chemistry? Magic? Chemagic? 

I don't know.

I guess neither of those because those two are explainable.

Even last night I could feel... something. 

But since last night, it's been a while since I'd seen him, or even talked to him. Not since our conversation about a year ago. 

When I told him I was looking for more. For love. 

I think it scared him.

We took a beat. A pause in any progress of our friendship. And I've missed him. So much. 

To this day, I feel like a selfish idiot for leaving. For expecting more from him. When he gave me his world. A world he never got from someone else. His love, the way he knew how. The way true love was. And I should have been there to give it back.

...

I spend the rest of the night at the end of the couch, on the floor by the armrest in parallel to a sleeping Jason, not letting him out of my sight. As expected with this antidote, it knocks you out and you wake up feeling almost hungover, but in less pain. The last time The Serpent struck my shoulder with a sword Bruce said I'd been out cold for fifteen hours, but not in a straight sleep. The third hour, he said, brought a brief hazy waking. Disoriented, filled with confusion and desperate questions. Followed by a deeper crash. So I stay here, waiting, to make sure I'm here to reassure him that he's alright and safe when it happens.

The 3hr mark is approaching, and I've spent the first 2hrs of Jason's slumber contemplating if I should move him to his bed. But he's huge. I think I'd collapse carrying six feet of pure, rugged muscle. And he looks too peaceful asleep.

I sigh softly, looking up at the moon through the window then gazing back at a peaceful Jason Todd.

I've missed seeing him. Doing whatever. Standing, sitting, eating, sleeping. I don't even care. I've missed having him around.

It's rare to see him like this. Even rarer where I can look at him unguarded for this long. So I plan to do it the rest of the night. Seeing him at peace brings me at peace. God, I'd give him all the peace in the world if I could. I know of no one else more deserving of it.

Jason lets out a soft grunt.

I glance at the clock on the TV table. Cue 3rd hour.

His eyes fully open for the first time, a beautiful regal green revealing itself.

"W- where am I, where's The Serp-"

He pauses. Emeralds meeting my gaze.

"...Y/N?"

"Hey, hey it's okay your at the Manor," I begin

"Is she here? Y/N you've gotta get out of.." Jason tries to stand, failing.

"Agh..." he moans out in pain.

"Stop, hey... careful," I say, holding onto him.

"She isn't here but she hurt you and poisoned you and I patched up your wound, which is why it hurts to stand. I gave you an antidote for that throbbing in your head and..."

I stop. Realise this is all probably information overload.

I take one deep breath.

"You're okay, Jason. I'm here,"

"I'm here,"

And that was all it took. His fast breathing and disorientation was suddenly at ease.

"Y/N... I-" He tries to stand again, but fails.

"Here, hold on,"

I let his arm wrap around my shoulder. It's at least a lot easier to move him when he is slightly conscious. Still, he puts quite a weight on me and I try my best to not stumble and send us collapsing on the way to the bed. I wrap my left arm around his waist to keep us balanced as we make our way onto his mattress.

I guide him to his bed, slowly aiding him to shuffle up the headboard so he can lay down properly. He lays, and I take a peek at the wound I had wrapped. It seems to be holding up.

As I pull down his shirt his hand reaches for mine at the edge of his shirt.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"I love you."

I freeze up.

Jason did a lot of things.

Brought presents, left sweet notes on loose papers to tell me where he went. Was pretty much the only effective therapist who listened and didn't see me as a puzzle with missing pieces just hiding under the table. 

But Jason never did... this.

Love. 

I never blamed him because he grew up with no one there to show him what love was like. Or was I wrong?

I don't know if it's the antidote making him delusional.

But before I can reply or find out, he crashes out again. I feel the shift as his hold on my hand loosens. And all I can do is lift the hand that holds on to me softly, and place a gentle kiss on it.

...

6:02am

I squint, awoken by the sunlight seeping through the wide windows and onto my face. I've spent the night sleeping on his sofa. I turn to see the time on the clock. If Bruce was correct about the whole 15 hours thing, it means Jason will still be knocked out until 2pm. I need to get up and prepare food for him because he'll wake up starved.

I sit up from where I lay and peek over the sofa back.

"What the..."

Jason isn't there.

"...Fuck?"

I scramble, looking for my phone. He should not be getting up and going on missions already. I pace around the couch to make sure he didn't just fall out of bed. But as I ring his phone, I hear the vibrations from my call from under the sheets.

"What?-"

The bedroom door opens and Jason walks in casually carrying a wooden tray of pancakes, two  mugs and an assortment of strawberries, raspberries and blueberries still in its plastic packaging.

"Morning," he gleams. 

I sprint towards him and smack his shoulder, giving him a jolt that sends a bit of the orange juice spilling over the mug edge.

"Don't do that! You're not supposed to be up yet!"

"What I just got us breakfa..." He trails off and looks at me intently. He must have seen the nervousness lingering on my face because his cheery tone shifts. He walks to place the wooden tray on the edge of the bed.

"Fuck, I'm sorry Y/N, I didn't mean to scare you," he reaches for me and I dodge it, walking towards chest of drawers to make distance.

"At least tell me... you know, wake me up," I say leaning on the drawers facing him.

"I know I know... but look..." He lifts his shirt. The shirt I wrapped no longer there, revealing his toned stomach and the wound which is looking less infected. Healing.

I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding since my brain processed the empty bed Jason was supposed to be on.

He's here. He's okay. He's alive.

"You... didn't say it back," he begins.

What?

"When I told you I love you,"

I just stare at him blankly, gripping the edge of the chest of drawers harder. Now I'm feeling doozy.

"Y- you remember that?" I ask quietly.

Of course he did. He remembered the fucking intruder traps while running on poison. How much more the silence after the 3 golden words?

"My stomach was bleeding, Y/N. Not my brain," 

"I know I know... I just..." I loosen my grip and turn away, facing the window and looking out into the shrubs and garden. Looking at my thorned enemies seems a lot easier than this conversation.

"Sorry, I guess I was just taken aback. I'm not used to you saying... that, you know? And I didn't know if it was you you talking or you half-concussed talking and-"

"I love you,"

Jason interrupts me.

"And this is me, not half concussed talking."

I take a deep breath and slowly turn back.

Jason is still standing at a distance. 

Never pushing too far. And I love him for that too.

I love him.

"If you want I can say it again, or write it down-"

"I love you too, Jason," I say.

He lets out a breath of relief.

"Thank God," he sighs, walking closer towards me.

"Look, I'm sorry I don't say it enough. I guess I'm not really good at... this," he continues, standing in front of me.

"But, every call... every time you show up... patching up my paper cut back in 9th grade. Heck, you patching up my bleeding body without feeling irked. I don't take any of it for granted. I don't take you for granted. And I want you to know that,"

I smile at the thought of us being in sync. In that deja vu feeling of helping him last night taking us back to years ago. To us.

I close the gap between us, my hands reaching for his face. His eyes shut as his head tilts into my left palm.

"I know, Jason. And I'm sorry I don't say it enough either," I say softly.

"No you have. You did. You gave me a chance. Chances. And I pushed you away. And I regret it. Everyday. And I'm sorry. I never wanted to lose you, Y/N. But I was so scared of what would have happened if I admitted that I wanted more too,"

His hand reached to cup my jaw, thumb caressing my cheek, and his eyes meet mine.

"Could someone who has never known how to love deserve someone like you? So full of love with every inch of her being? God Y/N, I got scared. Not for me, but that I couldn't give you the love you gave me. That I couldn't ever be able to translate this to you..."

He grabs my hand, pushing it against his beating chest. I feel his heart racing beneath my palms.

"No, Jason..." I take his hand back and place it on my heart.

"I'm the one who's sorry for leaving you. You are capable of love. It's all you've ever shown me. And I was selfish and wanted proof, clarity , when it was clearer than ever. Your love. Your love for me all these years," I tell him. Try to tell him everything I have felt in our time apart.  

"I'm sorry. And I mean it. I mean my promise," I say.

"I'll be here, and I'm not leaving," I tell him, through my words and through our eyes.

He lets out a smile, eyes twinkling as it catches the sunlight. 

"Good. Because I've missed you," he smiles. "Seeing you. Standing, sitting, eating, half-naked asking for "fucking towels" or whatever," 

I playfully shove at his clavicle and he lets out a laugh.

And just like that, we were back. To us. Like we never left.

We stand there just looking at each other. Taking each other in and trying to make up for the lost time. But mostly trying to tell each other this is all real. We are both here.

"And who the hell got irked at dealing with blood to save someone's life?" I ask, chuckling.

"Dick, one time. And Damian like... always," he replies.

"Mmmn, so I guess they don't love you, huh?" I joke.

"Hmm, guess not..."

His hands reach for my hips pulling me closer, and I feel his callused fingertips graze the small strip of skin between my cropped shirt and flannel pants. His flannel pants. 

"Not the way that you do." 

He kisses the back of my hand softly, just as I did his last night. Man, the muscle memory on this guy. Resting his forehead on mine, his eyes open to look down into mine. And right there, I swear I could feel that chemagic.

"I will have to admit though... It's gonna take some practice to get used to saying the L word. But I'll make up for future me's lack thereof of affection by saying it a lot today," he continues, hands moving to cusp my face.

"I love you." He kisses my forehead.

"I love you." He kisses my nose.

"I." Kiss.

"Love." Kiss.

"You." Kiss.

He swiftly picks me up and we go tumbling onto the couch, giggling like maniacs as he assaults my face with little kisses.

"I could get used to this. One day a week where you assault me with the L word instead of intermittently throughout the year,"

"Okay... Every Friday works for me. You?"

"Deal."

His lips crashes into mine, breaking his streak of playful kisses as it turns into one deep, passionate kiss.

"Hey Y/N?" He says against my mouth.

"Mhm?"

He rears back slightly, his regally green eyes looking straight into mine.

And a small smile breaks from his mouth. Something I could also get used to.

"I love you."

*The Serpent: Fictional villain; scientist and skilled assassin known for poison infused weapons. 

I wake up to a faint sound of clatter.

The setting sunlight seeps through my blinds and I can tell that I've had a long sleep because I know the sun only welcomes itself into my side of the house in the afternoon.

I got home late. And by late, I mean 10am after an overnight patrol mission with Tim. I'd been out for over 30hrs and had my head bouncing in a struggle to keep awake. By 9am, Tim insisted I'd head home and I too finally caved into the craving for my duvets.

Tim on the other hand was set on continuing himself, hunting for clues on a bigger case we were uncovering for Bruce. I honestly don't know how he does it. Run on enough juice to function for 48 hours plus. While I, knocked out cold in an empty house the second I got home.

By the sounds of it Tim's just arrived back.

4:09pm the clock shows. I swear he's a vampire.

I lazily make my way downstairs only to spot a shirtless, tanned, muscular back donning a messy look with his tousled jet black hair, crouched down and rummaging through a cupboard under the sink.

Ah, source of the clatter.

And that's not Tim.

"Uh... Dick?"

Dick Grayson jolts up, turning to face me. And whatever he was looking for and found flies straight behind his back.

"Y/N! Hi! You scared me...." he nervously chuckles.

His sapphire eyes twinkle at me. His perfect abs staring back too.

"What are you..."

As I inch forward, he shifts to block whatever is on the counter with his body from my view. He keeps the arm behind his back. Hiding something.

And now that I'm closer, I see it.

White dust all over his bare chest and lingering in the crooks between his neck and clavicle. I scan his body top down. 

"Are you... high?!?!" I gasp.

I get closer to his face, his woodsy scent suddenly overwhelming me more than the traces of whatever he's been downing.

Dick's brows shoot up, then furrows rapidly at the accusation.

"What?!" he blurts.

"There's white power all over you, and your pupils are dilated," I shoot back.

His cheeks flush a light shade of pink.

"They are?" he asks, turning away from my eyes and rubbing at the back of his neck. "Well maybe that's because you're looking at me like... nevermind."

The concern in me boils.

"Dick, what's on the counter?" I ask flatly.

His puppy eyes bat at me. And his mouth... twitches. Like it's about to...

Laugh? Like he's fighting an urge to smile?

I swear, if Dick is high I'll actually slap the daylights out of him. After it's out his system of course. If I ever get to knowing what is in his system. 

Dick doesn't move from blocking my visual on his suspicious kitchen counter activity.

"Dick," I warn.

"Move. Or am I gonna have to tell Alfred you are high as a kite, wreaking havoc and roughing it in his kitchen?"

A warm laugh suddenly erupts from him. Rich and carrying a dangerous charm.

"I am so not wreaking havoc!" he protests, but he doesn't stop giggling.

"Oh, Y/N. You know you're kinda cute all demanding," he sniffles, folding his arms over his chest. Unmoving. 

"You done?" I ask with hands on my hips. 

Dick finally sighs. Defeated. And slowly retreats from his guard.

"Y/N, I'm not high... it's just-"

I don't let him finish explaining, but shove him aside to reveal a large, standing, bag of...

"Flour?"

A bag of flour lies open, its white powder spilling over the counter. Next to it is a bowl, brimming with smooth ivory cream and an 8-cup tin of crimson cupcake batter.

"Surprise!!!" Dick exclaims, and the whisk he was hiding behind his back makes an appearance as he accompanies the exclamation with jazz hands.

Now I'm just outright confused. Relieved, but confused.

"Don't tell me you forgot..." he continues.

"Forgot... what?"

"Oh my gosh Y/N, you did!" Dick puts down the whisk, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Does tomorrow happen to be... a certain day... when a certain special, beautiful, accusatory woman was born?"

Oh my gosh. I did forget. I had been so busy the past few weeks I didn't even realise it was already my birth month.

"It's [your birth month]?! I thought that was next month!" I ask, surprised. Or honestly just saying my thoughts out loud really.

"Well, I actually thought you were out with Tim, and a part of me was counting on your busyness to not notice me," Dick continues. "Red velvet's your favourite right?"

I turned back to him. And I can't help but smile so wide I feel it to my ears.

"You remember that?" I asked.

"Of course, Y/N. I remember everything you tell me," he answers, gently.

"Including, newly... you accusing me of being high as a kite, and wreaking havoc thank you very much! You know I'd never touch that stuff to keep this up..." he waves his fingers from his chest to his abs.

I let out a small scoff, but smile at him. 

"Thank you," I say, stepping towards him. "And sorry I ruined the surprise."

"Actually, this is perfect," Dick beams.

"There's still a few hours left and I don't exactly know what perfect red velvet tastes like..."

He shifts to move behind me and opens the oven, revealing what looks to be a batch of red velvet cupcake base, still in their tin uniced and steaming.

"So you can taste test this for me and give me enough time to bake you the perfect set," he says cheerily, reaching for the tin.

"Wait, Dick-" I begin, but the warning doesn't come out not fast enough. 

He grabs the metal tray and suddenly yelps, jolting, and sending the tray clanging against the oven racks as he drops it.

"Nnyow!!"

He exclaims at the touch of the burning hot metal he's grabbed for, and shakes his hand rapidly in the air in an attempt to cool it off.

I rush to the sink situated to the right of the oven, turning on the faucet to ice cold.

"Here," I take his burning hand and run it through the cold water.

"Ahhsss..." he hisses in pain as the water makes contact with the burn. His wet hand grips onto my hold under the water and his free hand grasps at the sink's edge. 

I turn off the running water and grab a kitchen towelette hanging from the handles of the oven.

"Man takes the circus out of the circus and into the kitchen," I joke at him as I dry off his hand. There's a slight red line imprinted on his index finger from the edge of the hot tray. I pull it closer to my mouth and blow puffs of air on it in an attempt to cool it off.

Dick stays silent. 

I look up at him to see him just staring down. At me.

Pupils dilated.

Oh. So he wasn't high.

I feel my cheeks go hot as I let his hand go.

"Thanks, for baking for me," I say shyly. "Let me get some aloe for your finger and then try the batch. Aaaand, let's use oven mitts this time. I don't want you getting injured on my account."

"Hey, no," his brows draw together, shaking his head at my remark.

"For you I'd take on a burning building. This is nothing, don't worry," he reassures me, smiling.

My cheeks feel hotter, and I'd place bets that they are as red as those red velvets.

Guy's a walking parmesan.

A walking parmesan phased by nothing.

"But, I am serious," Dick continues.

"I need you to taste test this. But that batch needs to sit in the oven for a few more minutes."

His lip puckers to one side as he ponders for a bit, then spots the bowl of icing.

"Ah hah!"

He reaches for the bowl and the small spoon which rests on a paper towel.

"Try this for now,"

He scoops a bit of icing from the bowl and raises the spoon up to my lips.

I part my mouth, gently, to let a white, rich creamy texture enter.

Holy heavens.

My mind goes slightly dizzy at the sweetness.

"Dick it's..."

Anticipating, he keeps his eyes on me. My mouth. Eyes blazing with a quiet heat.

"Fucking perfect!" I squeal. "Where the heck did you get this recipe?"

He lets out a relieved breath.

"Oh, Thank God, I was just messing around..." he breathes.

In other words, Dick Grayson is just a natural at everything.

I snatch the spoon and bowl from him and take another scoop.

"Mmmrnn," I moan out.

He laughs at me enjoying the unbaked batter of icing.

"Plenty more where that came from, and it's not even on the cupcake yet," he teases, and I frown as he swiftly grabs the bowl back from me back on the counter.

"Fuck, now I'm gonna be lurking around here and waiting until midnight," I sigh.

"Don't worry, it'll be midnight before you reali..."

He stops mid sentence. And just... gazes.

With his ocean eyes and dilated pupils. At my mouth.

"What?"

"Y/N/, you have some..." he points to the side his mouth to signal that there's icing on the side of mine.

"Oh..."

My tongue darts out to try and clean it.

Those entrancing cobalt blues stay on me. My mouth. 

"Gone?" I ask.

"Nearly..." 

His eyes go hazy.

"Here..." he whispers, hand reaching for my chin. His touch sends a shiver through my throat and I feel every nerve in body twitch. My heart is racing faster than any of those speedsters can run. And I swear, I hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

I wait for it. Expect him to use his thumb to wipe off the icing residue.

He doesn't.

Instead, his fingers guide my head to tilt up at him, and his lips come crashing into mine.

"Mmh..." 

I feel the heat of his breath and taste sweetness from his mouth. His tongue softly darts for the icing before plunging into my mouth. A twisting mess of sugared, slickened tongues. His warm lips work into mine, heavily. I can't stop the deep groan lodged in my throat from coming out, the sound spilling from my mouth and into his. I break the kiss slightly, both of us gasping for air like swimmers turning to the surface. 

"It tastes good..."I murmur against his slightly parted lips. "Really... good..."

As I press my mouth back, I feel a deep hum escaping from his mouth into mine, vibrating in my throat.

My stomach can barely handle this. This heat.

"Tell me what tastes good, Y/N..."

His voice is deep and low, the heat of his breath caressing my cupid's bow.

"Is it the icing? Or, is it... this..."

In one swift motion his arms slide down, grabbing me from under my legs and lifting me up onto the vacant space on the counter, parting my legs as he situates himself in front of me. His soft lips presses deeper, tongue colliding with mine, and his hands roam down to my hips to keep me stable. My arms fly to wrap around his bare back, feeling his muscles beneath my fingertips. My legs instinctively wrap around him, the heels of my feet resting on the bands of his blue flannel pants, right above the curves of his perfect rear.

"Nnngh... both," I groaned, answering his question.

One of my hands slowly trails up his neck, fingers skimming his soft jet black strands as his head dips, lips brushing my jaw then making it's way between my collarbone and neck. His soft, warm lips slowly kisses me there. The lingering heat of his breath on my skin makes my head float. Holding him, my head tilts back on reflex, sensitive to his touch, eyes fluttering, breaths shallow.

"Dick we shoul-"

Suddenly, I hear the main door burst open.

"GUYS, IS ANYONE HOME?"

I hear Tim call out, breaking me from my trance. Breaking Dick from his too as he springs back, retreating his hands from my hips to gripping the counter with each arm by my sides. His head dips down as he grunts in frustration. No doubt at the interruption. I bite at my swollen lip to stop a chuckle at his reaction and grasp at his bare slumped shoulders.

But then, his head snaps up, looking up at me, brows knitted.

And it hits me too. Registers at the same time.

The piercing sound.

That's not Tim.

We realise at the same moment the unending sharp siren, wailing through the house.

The fire alarm was going off.

Shit, how long was that going off?

I quickly hop off the counter, and Dick lets me hold onto his shoulders to keep balance. But I'm not quick enough for a rushing Tim.

Tim Drake leans on the fridge, eyebrow raised at me. Us.

"Distracted?" Tim teases, eyes darting between me and Dick.

Busted. Tim saunters his way to a framed Monet, reaching for the frame's edge which opens a hidden panel on the wall. The intermittent shrills cutting through the house stops.

Dick and I make eye contact. Eyes wide. He blinks once, then can't resist as one corner of his mouth lifts, revealing a dimple. I cannot believe we were so distracted we didn't notice how long we left the cupcakes, or hear the fire alarm.

I hear Dick begin fixing up and smell the waft of burnt cupcakes as he opens the oven door. And as I turn to thank Tim, I notice he's... froze. 

"Hm." Tim mutters. A hand to his chin. Thinking. Looking at Dick intensely.

"Is Grayson... high?!?" he gasps, exaggeratedly.

I'm officially howling. I'm laughing so hard my stomach begins to get stitches. Mostly because there is no doubt someone as sharp as Tim missed the bag of flour and he is asking merely to spite Mr. Perfect Grayson. 

Dick rolls his eyes, taking out the burnt cupcakes. This time wearing mitts.

"Why does everyone keep asking that," Dick grumbles.

"He's baking," I respond, gleaming at Tim after I catch my breath and calm myself from hooting.

"That's practically the same thing. As in, on the scale of unlikely things for Dick Grayson to be doing," Tim shrugs.

Dick lifts his hands as if to say, "Really?". Tim just sticks his tongue out in response.

"I'm heading back out, I just rushed in 'cause I was nearby and the alarm systems sent me an alert," Tim says, beginning to walk off.

"You can keep... baking. Or whatever is going on here," the world's best detective winks.

I glare at a smirking Tim as he leaves.

Turning back to face Dick, I watch him with arms folded, looming with a tight lip over the now brown cakes.

"So... we've got plenty of hours. Let me help you, and I'll go get that aloe for you," I begin, squeezing his arm lightly and patting him as if to let him know I was still proud of him.

"Yeah, you do that. I'll start another pan," he sighs out.

Giggling, I walk, making my way upstairs to get the remedy. But as I'm about to begin the flights of stairs, he interrupts.

"Oh, and when you get back..." Dick calls out.

"I'm gonna need you to taste test this new batch."