potentially definite

“Would you have eaten if I hadn’t?”

A short but telling silence ensues. “I plead the fifth.”

Honestly. It’s a wonder this man lived to adulthood.

“You know, this is why you’re so skinny,” Jason says, conversationally, as he flips the second omelet in the pan.

“Nah, that’s the cocaine,” Tim says, equally conversational.

Jason pauses and half-turns, seeking eye contact. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Tim’s still clinging to him like a limpet, but the arms around his waist tighten in reassurance.

“Joking,” Tim says. “Obviously.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Jason mutters, but returns his attention to the frying pan without further discussion. It’s not like it should matter to him, anyway, if Tim Drake is doing lines behind his back. That’s none of his concern.

“The only thing I’m addicted to is work,” Tim promises, then pauses thoughtfully. “And maybe your cock.”

It surprises Jason into laughing, and Tim finally lets go of him to make his smug way over to the breakfast bar. Two glasses of orange juice are ready and waiting, and he helps himself to one without hesitation, downing half of it in one gulp.

Sitting there in an old, faded t-shirt and sweatpants, too-long bangs hanging in his face, both hands wrapped around a glass of juice…Tim Drake looks soft. Soft and sweet and harmless.

You’d never guess by looking at him that this man needed less than a decade to turn a failing conglomerate into Wayne Enterprises’ biggest competitor.

It’s suspicious. He’s suspicious.

But he gives Jason the brightest, happiest smile when he places a carefully plated omelet in front of him, and maybe those suspicions are a little too easy to forget. They sure as hell were last night, when Jason followed him up to his penthouse suite and pinned him to his bed without a second thought.

It’s not the first time Jason’s done that. It’s not even the tenth.

“This looks fantastic,” Tim says. Rudely, he doesn’t wait for Jason to sit down with his own omelet before digging in. The way his eyes immediately close in pleasure makes up for it a bit, though. “And tastes even better. Thanks, Pete.”

He hums happily when he takes another bite, and hearing the fake name doesn’t even bother Jason anymore.

Yeah. This undercover thing’s gone way, way off the rails. Even if it does turn out that Tim’s up to something as shady as it looks like from the outside, even if he has done something worth killing over…

“Anytime.”

…at this point, Jason’s not sure he can.

Tim will admit to a bit of sympathy for the fool who came here looking to kidnap him. Jason Todd subdues him so quickly and easily, it’s hard to think of the idiot as any kind of potential threat. Sure, it’s annoying that he thought he could just waltz in here and abduct Tim, as if Tim weren’t smart enough to hire security, but…it’s like being mad at a dog for barking at the mirror.

It may get on your nerves, but the little guy’s too dumb to hold a grudge against.

By the time Tim finishes the second half of his sandwich, the whole matter is settled, and Jason Todd has returned to his guard position by the door, unruffled as always.

“Thank you for lunch,” Tim says to him and, caught in raptures over how damn good that meal was, only belatedly remembers to add, “And for dealing with the whole…kidnapping thing.”

Jason Todd shrugs it off. “It’s my job.”

“Protecting me is your job,” Tim corrects. “Making me lunch—”

“—is just protecting you from your own bad habits,” Jason Todd says, desert-dry. He’d been very unamused to discover, his first day on the job, that Tim usually only ate a granola bar for lunch. And sometimes breakfast. “Speaking of which, a little more concern when some asshole points a gun at you might not go amiss.”

“I didn’t see any reason for concern,” Tim says honestly. “I have you, after all.”

Jason Todd’s classic Bland Bodyguard™ expression flickers. Tim, being only human, can’t help but enjoy the way those broad shoulders shift in the equally classic Bland Bodyguard Suit™.

“I appreciate the faith,” Jason Todd says after the briefest pause, “but you’ve only known me a week.”

Ah, well, that’s…technically true. Tim has indeed only known Jason Todd for a week, since the man came on board as his newest bodyguard after Mike Takeda received an unexpected inheritance and quit.

“True,” Tim admits. “Still, I’ve got a good feeling about you. It’s hard to be worried with you in my corner.”

After all, Tim has known of Jason Todd since they were both kids—since he was watching Robin soar over Gotham every night. They’ve both grown up since then (and Jason Todd in particular has grown up very, very well), but even with him wearing a different cape these days, Tim doesn’t think anything will ever shake his faith in Jason Todd.

“…Thanks,” Jason Todd says.

“Again, thank you,” Tim says in return, then finally, reluctantly abandons his empty plate. “Now, I really need to get back to work. Join me in my office?”

“Of course, Mr. Drake,” Jason Todd says. He falls into step behind Tim without another word.

Jason Todd looms over Tim just like he did Tim’s would-be kidnapper, but the shiver that runs down Tim’s spine has nothing to do with nightmares. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He doesn’t know what’s motivated the Red Hood to take an undercover role as his bodyguard, of all things, but he intends to enjoy it while it lasts.

(And hopefully, with enough exposure, he might collect himself enough to get his inner twelve-year-old back under control. Really, at this rate, it’s only a matter of time before he calls ‘Pete Davis’ Jason Todd to his face, and then he’ll really have problems.)