#failed prank

-----

Red Hood stared as the pint-sized woman took down two would-be muggers before he could get a swing in. She backed up a step or two to retake her suitcases from where they'd fallen in the scuffle. He slipped out of the shadows and zip-tied the thugs for safekeeping.

"That was somethin' else, Pixie."

The eyes she turned on him burned blue under the streetlight, and her stance shifted once again—as if she was ready to take him down if he proved to be another threat. "Who are you supposed to be?"

He gestured to the red helmet on his head and the blood-red bat symbol beneath his leather jacket. It was fairly obvious. Once upon a time, the name Red Hood had been little more than a threatening whisper slinking through the worst alleys in the city. But now? He was a known anti-hero. The black sheep of the Bats and Birds. Dangerous to a fault, but with a soft spot for the truly innocent. Children knew to come to him if they needed help with anything. Dead men didn't hit their kids.

She blinked once before turning to walk down the street. Her heels clacked against the sidewalk. "What is it with Americans and their ridiculous cosplay?"

That racket would bring every thug within a mile. "Wait! Pix. Need a hand with your luggage?" He could escort her safely home since he'd been too slow to help with the first set of muggers.

Marinette stared at the helmeted vigilante who was offering to walk her home. She had asked the cab driver to drop her off in front of a building two blocks from her actual apartment complex to avoid doxxing herself. Her trip to Paris had been good, but she'd arrived back in Gotham with double the luggage she'd left with. Parisian textiles were irresistible. Despite her outward display, she was aware of the city's crime-fighters; she simply hadn't run into one in her last year of living in the city. The rest of her walk would be easier if the hulk gave her a hand.

"Oh, alright. But I've been gone a fortnight and don't have any snacks to offer you once we arrive."

He tilted his head. "You in the habit of feeding vigilantes?"

Marinette sighed, shaking her head against a half-smile of remembrance. "In another life, I fed a hero or two."

"Right. So, where to?" Red Hood grabbed one of her bags as she led the way to a decent building that he knew had a doorman by day, but left its security to other measures by night.

Marinette smoothly used her palm, a key card, and a solid brass key to open the outer door nearest the stairwell. The elevators didn't operate between the hours of midnight and five — for security reasons. She opened the well-lit stairwell door, waved to the camera, and started up.

"Stairs?" Hood grunted behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. "If you can't handle it, I can take my bag from here. I'm not likely to be jumped in the stairwell." She had chosen this building in particular for the security. Not only was she an acclaimed fashion designer who needed to keep some of her work out of the public eye, but she was also the sole caretaker of a miracle box in a rather danger-filled city.

"Oh, I can handle it."

Marinette listened to Hood's breathing as they climbed. He sounded a little like Darth Vader as his breath twisted its way through his voice modulator. Magic was much more convenient than all the layers and technology that most of the Bats employed.

"Something wrong with the elevator?" He huffed as they passed the fifth floor.

She shook her head. "Thieves don't like stairs. Slows them down. No doorman, no elevator—at least without an ADA badge to override it."

Hood growled as they climbed, lapsing into silence for a floor or two. "I guess that's as smart as anything else in this town. Pain in the ass though. Couldn't you have gotten a better flight?"

Marinette paused on a step to crack her neck before continuing up. "I had a better flight. I got bumped." She'd made out like a bandit for the inconvenience, though. You don't travel between continents as often as she did without knowing all the ins and outs of air travel. One lost night of rest was hardly the end of the world… although the stairs were wearing on her.

"Huh. Bad luck there."

She heaved her bag up the last flight. "Not for the family that didn't get split up instead."

"That is an extremely altruistic attitude for three in the fuckin' morning."

Marinette keyed herself onto the twelfth floor with a smile. "So is carrying my bag for me. Thank you."

He glanced back down the stairs, then down the hall. "You're welcome. You gotta balcony or big window? I'd rather take my chances grappling than with those stairs again."

She shrugged, holding the door open. "I guess I could allow that."

The floor opened to a wide hall with only four doors. Hood took another look at the tiny woman. Her clothes were nice, but he'd assumed that it was a European thing with the accent and all, but it must be more than that. Most of the floors in this building had a dozen apartments. She wasn't quite penthouse material, but she wasn't hurtin' either.

She unlocked the door marked 12D, and he walked in as she flicked on the lights and set her suitcase aside. He dropped the slightly larger bag next to it. "Nice digs."

One wall was all windows with a balcony that traveled the full length of her quarter of the building. The furniture was nice, but plush. The place screamed comfy and cozy in the kind of setting where he was used to seeing overdone elegant austerity or a mess of antique knick-knacks.

"Thank you." She kicked off her shoes, slid into slippers, and padded across thick rugs over dark hardwood to open the French-style balcony doors. He paused in the entryway, glancing at his boots. He didn't owe her anything, but it seemed rude to track Gotham muck into her homey oasis. "Don't worry about it."

He shrugged. It was her place. He followed the shortest path and slipped out of the doors. "Night, Pixie."

"Thanks, Hood."

"Hah!" He whirled. "You do know who I am."

She only smiled as she shut the door, leaving him to grapple back to the street in the noisy excuse for nighttime silence that was the melody of Gotham City.

-----

"He's undercover, playing Barista Ken for the foreseeable future. All you have to do is resist his charm."

Marinette rolled her eyes. She could handle charm. Chat Noir had tried for years to turn her head. "How do you know he'll even hit on me?"

Jason snorted. "Listen, Pix. And don't take this the wrong way—You're hot. You're cute—adorable even. You're confident. He'd hit on anyone with any one of those characteristics. You're basically catnip. He'll want to roll around in you until he can't think straight."

She looked at him with a grimace, appalled. Jason was like a little brother to her. "What's the right way to take that?"

Jay poked her shoulder. "I'm your big brother, right? I can admit basic truths without drooling all over you. Those are all objective observations."

"You— You're the little brother! By almost four years."

Jay laughed. "Age is irrelevant. Just a number. I've got like three feet on you."

"Three—" Marinette screeched, shoving him as hard as she could, but without leverage or momentum on her side, he didn't budge. "You keep up those wild over-exaggerations, and you'll need to find a new bestie to harass your brother. I bet Roy wouldn't work for your plan."

Marinette didn't actually know Roy, but Jason talked about him often enough. Of course, she didn't know his brother either… Maybe Dick really would flirt with anything.

"Sorry, sorry. You're the tallest four-and-a-half-foot woman I know. Just shut him down—with a little flair. Okay? That's all I'm asking."

"Hair up or down?"

Jason grinned, glancing her over quickly. She was dressed down since this was supposed to be a casual meetup and not one of her business meetings or client things. But Paris casual was in a different league than Gotham casual, and she looked good. Classy, but chill. As luck would have it, she had a fancy little hair stick holding a simple twist. "Pull the hair stick out and give your head a little shake just before you order."

Marinette blinked twice. "This better not be some kind of librarian feti—"

Jay shook his head, waving her off. "Don't make this about me, Pix. No straight man can resist an action even remotely close to undressing. Not that you'll need it. Catnip, remember?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Stop saying that. It's weird."

Jay rolled his eyes at her discomfort but nodded in agreement. "I'll behave, little sis. You torment Dick."

Jason hadn't been… well, he had been joking, but the Barista who grinned at her really did have a name badge that read Ken. Was his whole family ridiculous? And hot? Because while she and Jay would never be an item, she could admit he wasn't bad to look at. But Dick…

Feeling flustered under the light of his deep blue eyes, she shook her hair out while Ken asked what he could do for her and, admittedly, enjoyed his reaction. His words slowed to a stop while his eyes traced the movement of her hair. She glanced at him and quirked an eyebrow.

He shook his head. "Sorry—what, uh, can I do for you?"

Marinette offered him a sunny smile. "I'd like a café au lait, and the closest thing you have to a croissant, please." She wrinkled her nose, laughing softly. "Nothing here is quite like what we have in Paris, but I can't give up my daily pastry even if it isn't the same."

"Sure thing. Can I get a name for the order?" Ken stood with his pen poised over the cup and an eager look in his eyes.

Given his alias, she was tempted to say Barbie, but resisted the urge. Not that she wasn't open to trolling him a little more, but she was starting to feel guilty about what she was here to do. Maybe she could keep the lies to a minimum. "Marinette."

"I'll get this started for you, Marinette."

The sound of hissing steam joined the jazzy café music and engulfed her while she waited. She loved coffee shops. There was something soothing about them… although that was probably on purpose.

Dick/Ken turned back to her with an admittedly charming smile, her coffee and croissant ready and plated on a tray. The latte was perfectly formed with a leafy sort of heart crafted from foam skimming the lip of the mug. Her heart sank. He'd done such a nice job…

"What do I owe you?"

He winked. "Nothing, if you call me handsome."

If it had been a usual day, she would have laughed and gone along with it. Not for the free drink, but because he was cute (and yes, handsome) and not everyone flirted so sweetly. She probably would have flirted back and tipped him anyway. But she could almost feel Jay's gaze boring into her back. She couldn't let her best friend down.

It was just a prank. Backed by brotherly revenge. Carried out by her.

She handed him the $50 without a word.

Dick's smile dropped along with her heart. Hurt dimmed the light in his gorgeous blue eyes. "Oh. Right." He swallowed and nodded. "Thanks."

Riddled with guilt, all she could do was say, "Keep the change," as she took her tray and slipped out to the rarely used outdoor seating where Jay waited for her.

Jay was already in stitches where he'd collapsed into a seat. His boisterous laughter felt at odds with her sudden sadness. "Keep the change. Oh. My. Fucking— that was beautiful. Pixie, you're a genius."

Marinette dropped into a seat and slumped over her coffee. She took a sip; it was perfect. She set it back down quickly — as if it had poisoned her. "It was awful. I feel sick. I don't know how Lila and Chloe could act like this all the time."

Jay glanced up. "Who?"

She couldn't meet his eyes. "Just these girls who bullied me in school."

He reached across and tapped her chin lightly in a 'buck-up' gesture. "C'mon, Pix. You're no bully. Dick can take it. It'll probably be good for him."

Spiders in lockers, gum on chairs, a well-timed foot for her to trip over, and accusations of stolen bracelets rattled around her mind along with the sick feeling that came with being told all her friends would be taken away if she didn't play along with lies and schemes.

She was no better. Not now. Dick didn't even know her. Didn't know why. She had been open to teasing, to having fun with Jay, but this feeling wasn't fun. The memory of hurt and embarrassment in Dick's eyes slammed into her as she shoved her coffee and croissant in front of Jay.

"Here. I bought it with your money. I'm not hungry anymore."

She ran, jumping the little gate that separated the outdoor dining area from downtown Gotham proper, ignoring Jason as he called after her.

Why was it always the wounded ones who got under her skin?

-----

Marinette was sensitive enough to the whims of luck that she wasn't surprised when Red Hood landed on her balcony only a couple of weeks after their first meeting. She wasn't expecting him exactly, but what man (regardless of heroic tendencies) wouldn't come around for baked goods if he thought they could be had?

She hadn't expected him to be hurt.

The thunk against her balcony doors was anything but stealthy. Hood was big enough—an easy foot and a half taller than her—that his dark form would have been terrifying if he'd been able to stand. As it was, she dragged him in, scolding him for getting hurt, for bleeding, and for waiting so long to stop by while she helped him out of his armored uniform enough to patch him up.

He'd lost just enough blood to be… difficult.

"Stupid helmet. Can't see." Hood reached up with unsteady hands and unclasped his stupid red helmet before turning to look at her in a domino mask. "Heeey, Pixie-girl. Little French fighter woman. D'ya have a bandage I could use? Or a cookie? Somethin' to take the edge off?

"Hood! What happened to you?" She'd had to cut his leather jacket off when his limbs wouldn't cooperate.

He lifted his head to try looking down at his torso. "Guy had a knife. Big one. Not sure where he was hiding it." He'd pouted, frowning in confusion as she lifted his shirt to find a messy stab wound. Hood's head dropped back to thunk against the floor.

"Owwww. Whatcha do that f— Bandaid? Or! Or a really stiff drink, maybe?"

Marinette pressed her hands against the wound, and with little more than a whisper, her first aid kit was delivered to her side by a plethora of tiny, colorful deities who disappeared as quickly as they'd appeared. Even if Hood had seen them, he would never believe it.

"You could have stopped by for pastries without getting hurt, you know," Marinette said softly while she worked. Cleaning the wound made him pull away from her, but she didn't want him to get an infection.

"Hold still." She yanked him back, pressing gauze against the wound, and begging a dozen gods for him to start clotting. She knew how to do basic stitches, and thanks to her occasional leatherwork, she had the tools for it, but she didn't really want to have to.

"Hate holding still." Hood slurred.

"Unless?" She needed to keep him talking. Surely he had some kind of hobby that he'd stop for.

"Huh?"

"What is something you like to do that keeps you still?"

Hood's head twisted toward her. "Yer lll-ittle."

"Next to you, maybe."

"Next t' most people." He lifted a hand up and held it over his face to study it, but he was too weak, and it dropped back to the floor. He sighed heavily, then winced. "Hood doesn't hold still. Too angry. Jason though. Jason likes to read. Whole ass worlds are in stories, and they are all better than this one."

Marinette taped the gauze down securely and scrambled for a glass of water with a straw and her phone. She linked to her speaker and started an audiobook before offering the straw to Hood.

"You need to stay hydrated. You probably need an infusion of blood." She said worriedly as he slowly sipped the water she offered him.

The straw fell from his lips as he whined. "I just wanted a cookie and a Band-Aid."

With an incredulous huff, Marinette grabbed a plate of macarons, an older blanket and dropped to the floor next to Hood. "Here. I don't want you to choke or mess up your bandage." She helped him sit up just enough to slide the rolled blanket under his shoulders and handed him a cookie.

Hood stuffed it into his mouth with a smile. "Can't believe that worked."

"Next time, you only get one if you don't bleed on my floor." Marinette watched the wound site carefully while they talked. If the bleeding didn't slow, she'd have to call someone. An ambulance maybe.

"Shit. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"Jason always was a screw-up."

"Who would Jason call if he needed help?" She asked carefully, "I bet someone cares about him." There's no way he was completely alone—he'd have died from some previous fight.

"Alfie would come. He'd stitch me up too, iffin' I needed it. But you gave me a band-aid and a cookie. Soooooo I'm aaaall good."

He smiled at her. She smiled back, but her heart hurt. Whatever this man had been through had left more scars than the ones that riddled his skin.

"Thanks, little pixie-girl."

"You're welcome, Jason."

She was stiff and sore by the time the dim daylight crawled through her windows. Jason—Hood—snored on her floor where he'd fallen asleep. She'd spent the night cleaning him (and her floor) up the best she could and monitoring his wound. Thankfully, it didn't seem too deep and had stopped seeping through the gauze about an hour before daybreak. He still looked a little pale from the blood loss, and she didn't want him trying to walk or, worse, grapple on his own. She rifled through the pockets of his jacket until she found a cell phone next to a small paperback copy of Jane Eyre. It wasn't a new model, just a basic old thing with a very short list of contacts. Alfie was the first one.

Scooting across the floor with the phone, Marinette dialed the number of the one person Jason thought might care enough to sew him up, which hopefully meant that this Alfie also knew that Jason was Red Hood.

He answered after only one ring. "Ah, Jay-lad. What can I do for you?"

Marinette paused at the formal British accent. Not what she'd expected, but he sounded like he cared. "Bonjour. Hi. I mean. Sorry. Jason is hurt. Can you come help him?"

"Certainly, miss. Can you tell me what's wrong and where you are?"

She rattled off her address, along with instructions for the doorman, before explaining Jason's injuries. "I don't think he should walk on his own, and if he tries to leave the way he came, he'll reopen the wound for sure. I didn't stitch him up… It's just gauze and bandages. He might need clothes. Something less conspicuous, if you know what I mean."

"Yes. I think I do. Anything else?"

"He lost a lot of blood."

"How much, Miss?"

"Enough that he was babbling like he was drunk. He referred to himself in the third person a lot."

"Ah."

Dead air hummed over the line while Alfie took care of things on his end and Marinette watched Hood sleep. He looked softer, younger than he had that first night.

"Alfie?"

"Yes, miss?"

"How old is he?"

"How well does the mademoiselle know the young master?"

She filed the 'master' comment away to scrutinize later. "I've only met him once before. He helped me carry my luggage late one night."

It should be impossible to hear a smile over a phone line, but she swore Alfie was smiling when he spoke next. "Good lad. He was always a good lad. He's twenty now, Miss."

Twenty to her twenty-four. How long had Red Hood been operating? Had he been a child-hero too? If the rumors about Red Hood once being a Robin were true… then quite possibly.

"I'll look after him until you get here."

"Thank you, miss. I should arrive in approximately fifteen minutes."

Alfie—Alfred—looked exactly like he sounded, except he wore a black suit coat instead of the cardigan she had imagined. He'd inspected the wound, made a satisfied expression in her direction, and set up a blood transfusion right in her living room. After a little while and an injection of some kind of painkiller, he'd made the call to add a few stitches before Marinette re-bandaged him.

"I'd like to let him wake up here, if that's alright with you, miss."

"Of course. I don't know that we could move him even if we wanted to."

"Quite so."

"Besides, I wouldn't want to put him through the stress of not knowing how or where he was," Marinette added. The idea of being moved while she was unconscious was terrifying.

"Quite right."

She took a turn getting cleaned up while Alfred watched over Jason before they shared a cup of tea and waited.

And waited.

She kept an audiobook running while Jason slept. It was after noon before he stirred. Alfred remained calm, poised in his seat, but his eyes didn't leave his charge. Marinette wasn't stoic enough for that.

"Jason? How are you feeling?" She slid her hand into his and squeezed.

He squeezed back but remained quiet.

"It might take him a moment, miss."

Jason's eyes fluttered open. "Alf?"

"Right here, Jay-lad."

Jason scoffed, then coughed, wincing as he tried in vain to clutch at his wounded side. Marinette held him back. "That bad, huh? I must be near to dead if you're dropping the honorific."

"Not so, Master Jason. I simply wished to offer you an added layer of support in this trying time."

"Thanks, Alf." Jason turned his head to find Marinette holding his hand. He grunted. "How'd you get here?"

She shook her head. "You came to me. For a bandage and a cookie."

"Shi—"Alfred cleared his throat, and Jason snapped his mouth shut before trying again. "Cool. I'm an idiot."

"Are not. You got everything you wanted." Marinette said.

"Doesn't count if I don't remember it."

Marinette let go of his hand to fetch the remaining cookies. "Here, and it's not polite to suggest a lady's baking is forgettable, for future reference."

"Good to know." He popped a macaron into his mouth and moaned. "That's good. Alf?"

"Yes, master Jason?"

"Nobody else knows about Pixie. Ya hear me?"

"Yes. Of course."

Jason turned to look at her. "You're my friend now."

Marinette smiled. She didn't necessarily want all of Gotham's vigilantes crashing her place, so she had no problem being exclusive. She'd never had a little brother. "Sure. Why not?"

-----

Dick flipped the open sign to closed with a sigh. He'd spent a lot of time undercover. In bars, warehouses, a couple of times as a loiterer in a popular alley, and once as a hired goon—none of it had been as devastating as the sick burn he'd received from that girl, Marinette. She hadn't even been willing to call him handsome for free food. In Gotham of all places. It was possible she'd been embarrassed or had a jealous boyfriend, but something about the exchange had sunk into his psyche and refused to let him alone.

Maybe it was karma. He probably deserved it. He'd pulled the most epic prank in the history of the bat-clan (depending on who you asked), and his whole life had tanked directly afterwards. He hadn't even been able to enjoy Jason's reaction before being sent on assignment. And Ken the barista, didn't know Jason Todd. There was no way he could check in with him; he couldn't even go to his own apartment or the manor if he wanted to protect his cover.

Marinette had broken his heart like a cheap coffee mug.

His fake apartment had been broken into, and all of his left shoes had been stolen.

Someone had called his bank and frozen his account, citing questionable purchases. It was his undercover account, and he wasn't allowed to use any other assets while on assignment. By the time he'd sorted it out, his rent had been late, and he'd been hungry enough to consider stealing from his fake job. Which would have been bad considering he was trying to earn the trust of the mochaccino mafia (his name, not theirs, like villains could be that awesome).

Undercover life was just plain lonely. He couldn't trust anyone in the organization, and he couldn't break the trust he was building by connecting with his family or friends.

He'd gone so far as to stop by the library and borrow a few books that he knew Jason liked. Fictional friends had to be better than nothing, right?

Wrong.

The stories were great, but the characters all had their own lives and friends, and there wasn't room for him. So, with nothing better to do when he wasn't at the café, he closed his blinds and trained in the little living room of his cheap apartment. Focusing on his muscles and the burn that came from focusing on individual muscle groups before putting them all together with basic acrobatics. He walked himself through empty-handed sword drills because he knew Damian would challenge him when he finally returned, and he wanted to be in top form.

And he moped. He'd grown up in the circus — with a big, bright, loud family in addition to his parents. The slow accumulation of Robins had revived some of that, but for now it was all gone.

What else could go wrong?

It didn't take too long to close down. He'd wiped the tables and cleaned most of the dishes before closing time. Once everything was clean and locked and balanced, he let himself out the back door, only to come to a dead stop.

Marinette was waiting for him. And she was so much prettier than he'd allowed himself to remember.

-----

Jason had gotten his books back. Marinette had helped him restock the shelves with his careful arrangement of genre and author name. He'd apologised for asking her to do something she wasn't 100% comfortable with, and things seemed to be back to normal.

But a furious guilt still gnawed at her stomach. Jason had not apologized to Dick (she tried not to think about what else his revenge had entailed)… and neither had she.

He probably didn't even remember their exchange, what with how many people drank coffee every day. And Dick was attractive. Plenty of women — and men — would make sure to flirt with him. But that didn't help the feeling of self-disgust.

So she had decided to do something about it. Dick closed the cafe on Tuesday nights, and there was a working streetlight above the employee entrance at the back. It was as safe a place as Gotham had to offer outside of her apartment.

She tapped the ring on her finger while she waited. Plagg was better for stealth in the dark shadows of Gotham if she had to fight or run. Finally, the door swung open, and Dick Ken (she wouldn't bust his cover) stepped out.

He froze. His eyes raked over her red silk skirt and white polka-dotted blouse. She'd had a client meeting earlier.

"Wha—This isn't a safe place to be loitering. Unless you came to mug me for the $50. But I have to warn you, I don't have it anymore."

Her hand twisted around the ring. She shook her head. "I came to apologise."

Dick looked up and down the littered street. "Is this some kind of prank?"

She waved her hands frantically at him. "No! No pranks. Not anymore." She clutched her stomach. "I'm not cut out for cruelty… I thought I was fine with joking or teasing, but that requires some kind of relationship. And we don't have that. I'm sorry."

Dick frowned. "For paying for your drink?"

Marinette leveled a glare at him. "It was more than that, and you know it."

He gestured away from the shop, and she fell into step beside him. It would be safer to join the greater populace on busier sidewalks. "Can you tell me why you did it?" He asked as they walked.

"Someone put me up to it," Marinette answered quietly. "A friend of mine was hurt and wanted to play a revenge prank."

He eyed her again, his eyes lingering everywhere but refusing to meet hers. He was probably used to hanging out with masks. "Do we know each other? Because I'm pretty sure I'd remember a woman like you… and I've got nothing."

She shook her head. "We have a mutual friend. He likes books and freaked out when he found his bookshelves empty."

Dick's eyes widened. "Oh, shit. Wait—has he been torturing me the whole time?"

Marinette shrugged. "I didn't want anything to do with his pranks after the first one. The guilt has been eating at me."

"No way. You're way too sweet to be friends with— that guy."

Marinette scoffed. "He can be good when he wants to be."

"So are you guys…" Dick crossed his fingers and waggled them suggestively.

Marinette gagged lightly. "No! He's my friend. Practically my little brother. One hundred percent platonic."

"Okay, then. Apology accepted."

Marinette paused. "Really? Just like that?"

Dick narrowed his eyes at her. "Why? What did you have in mind?"

"I was going to offer to buy or make you dinner. You know, to make up for my rudeness and lying. And to keep me out of the next prank war."

"You cook?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I'd kill for a home-cooked meal."

Marinette took a step back. "Ummm…"

"Not for real. And not you. Obviously."

Marinette knew Dick was a decent guy—book theft aside—but she wasn't going to let that comment slide. Jason would kill her for her stupidity, even if he was the reason she trusted Dick. "Right. How about I buy you dinner tonight, and if we live through it, we can see what happens next."

"Sure."

"Well, come along, handsome."

A grin spread across Dick's face, making him even more attractive. He slipped a hand around hers. "Just for that, I'm buying."

-----

Hood stared across the rooftops at Marinette's balcony. Things had gone back to normal over the last few weeks, but Marinette had been busier than usual, and their hangout time had dipped. He noticed movement in her apartment and grinned. He hadn't had a macaron all week, and she always had something fresh on Friday nights. He'd pop over, make sure she didn't have company, and steal a couple of sweets. Keeping her to himself and away from the rest of the flock had been one of his smarter moves. He liked that he didn't have to share. The cookies or his friendship.

With a smooth grapple, he dropped almost silently onto the balcony and looked around the edge of the curtains. It wouldn't do for some random client to discover that their designer was an anti-hero hot spot… but Marinette was very French and didn't approve of working overtime. She was sitting on the edge of her sofa, relaxed, a glass of wine in her hand. He couldn't see the rest of the sofa, but she never looked that chill when she had a client up. He walked to the door, but found it locked. Which was good. Safety first and all that, but she usually expected him on Friday nights. He could have knocked, but their friendship was more 'barge and bluster' than 'niceties and etiquette', so he pulled his lockpick kit out and got to work.

Quietly, he opened the door to see if he could get the jump on his best friend. She was surprisingly aware and prepared. He'd only managed to sneak up on her once over the last couple of years. He ditched his helmet in the kitchen before slinking around to the living room behind the sofa, where he came to an abrupt stop.

She wasn't alone.

Abort! Abort!

Some dude had his arm wrapped around her and was plastered to her face. Marinette had dated on occasion, but she hadn't been in a relationship since he met her. No wonder the balcony door was locked—but why hadn't she told him she met someone worth bringing home?

He tried to back up and out, but bumped into the edge of the wall. "Shit. Fuck. Crap!" It was a whispered slurry of words, but whatever show was playing on the TV wasn't loud enough to hide his reaction from Marinette and her guest. Marinette jerked back and up off the sofa, clearly ready to throw down. And more surprisingly so did—

Oh, shit. Fuck him ten ways to Sunday.

Dick.

Jason recoiled in horror. Then he turned to his best friend. "Ew, Pix! You put your mouth on that?"

Marinette blushed. Blushing wasn't enough. She should be horrified. Jason had thought she was smarter than that.

"Hey, little wing!" Dick grinned. What little space their reaction to his intrusion had caused disappeared as Dick pulled Marinette back into his arms—where she went willingly.

Jason scowled. This was not the revenge he'd wanted. He looked around balefully. From the way Marinette was blushing and nibbling on her lip, eyes darting towards Dick, to the last remaining cookie crumbs on a plate at the table, and Dick's smug face, Jason knew that life with his best friend as he knew it was over.

And he'd paid $50 to make it happen.