Jason had tried to speak to Bruce three times in the past four days.
The first time, he had made it as far as the door of Bruce’s bedroom before deciding that three in the morning, immediately after patrol, was a terrible time for a serious conversation.
The second time, Bruce had been stitching a knife wound in his side.
The third time, Jason had entered the study, found Bruce on a business call with Lucius Fox, and escaped before Bruce could finish the call.
He sighed.
Saving Gotham was easier than talking about feelings… At least criminals had the decency to punch him instead of waiting for him to explain himself.
Maybe this would have been easier if either of them knew how normal people talked about their feelings.
Jason stood near the bottom of the Batcave stairs and watched Bruce work at the Batcomputer.
Several windows filled the main screen.
Photographs of cheap handguns sat beside police reports, hospital records, shipping manifests and a map of Gotham covered in red markers.
Over the past three months, defective firearms had begun appearing across the city.
Most had been sold illegally, passed between gangs and street dealers for a fraction of what a reliable weapon would cost, but others had entered legitimate stores through forged documentation and distributors who had either failed to examine their stock or preferred not to ask questions.
One gun had discharged inside a drawer and put a bullet through a six-year-old girl’s bedroom wall.
Another had exploded when a shopkeeper tried to defend himself during a robbery, tearing apart two of his fingers while the robber shot him in the chest.
A criminal’s weapon failing at the wrong moment was not a tragedy, but a civilian trusting one with their life only to have it injure them instead was different, in Jason’s opinion.
Bruce had already connected four shipments to the same shell company.
Now he was comparing the serial numbers against weapons recovered from the Odessa Mob.
He had been doing that for the last twenty minutes, and Jason had spent nineteen of them pretending to do something on his phone.
He could still leave.
He could go upstairs, grab something to eat, and try again tomorrow.
Or next week.
Or never.
If you want to know what he was thinking, ask him.
Jason scowled at the Batcomputer.
The bartender made it sound so fucking easy.
“You’re hovering,” Bruce said without turning around.
Jason stiffened.
“I’m just standing here.”
“You’ve been standing in the same place for nineteen minutes.”
Of course he had counted the fucking minutes.
Jason shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and approached the platform.
Bruce kept his attention on the screen.
He had changed out of the suit after patrol but still wore the black compression shirt and trousers beneath it.
There was a fading bruise along his jaw from his final fight with the Beast.
Since the Beast had been defeated, Bruce had not mentioned their argument once, and neither had Jason.
“You got a minute?” Jason asked.
Bruce’s hands stopped over the keyboard.
“Yes.”
That was it.
No turning around or asking what was wrong, just one word followed by silence.
Jason felt the urge to just turn around and forget about all of this, but damn it… He was not a coward.
“It’s about the Beast.”
Bruce finally turned his chair toward him.
“What about him?”
“When you benched me.”
Bruce’s expression became guarded.
“You disobeyed a direct order and engaged him alone.”
“Yeah, I remember.
I was there.”
“Then you understand why you were removed from the operation.”
“No, I understand that you were pissed.”
“Jason—”
“Were you?” Jason demanded.
“Just pissed, I mean.
Was that why you didn’t want me there?”
Bruce fell silent.
The silence stretched, and Jason shifted his weight.
This was exactly why he didn’t do this shit.
Give him a rooftop full of armed thugs any day.
“Forget it.” He turned away.
“This was stupid.”
“I was angry.”
Jason stopped with his back still turned to Bruce.
“You ignored the plan, left your assigned position and confronted an opponent whose abilities we had not established,” Bruce continued.
His voice was even, but something in it changed.
“You could have died.”
Jason looked over his shoulder.
“But that wasn’t why I kept you out of the operation.”
“Then why?”
Bruce looked toward the screen, though Jason doubted he was seeing any of it.
“Our first fight ended without a decisive victory because the Beast withdrew.
He believed I had an advantage he hadn’t identified.
I didn’t.”
Jason frowned.
Bruce admitting that he had nearly lost was rare enough to be concerning.
“I had more information before our next encounter,” Bruce said.
“But not enough to guarantee the outcome.”
“There are never guarantees.”
“No.” Bruce met his eyes again.
“But there was a significant possibility that one of us would not survive.
I wasn’t willing to let that person be you.”
Jason stared at him and Bruce took his silence as disagreement because his jaw tightened.
“You’re skilled, but you are still reckless when you’re angry.
You take unnecessary risks and—”
“Do you ever listen to yourself?”
Bruce stopped talking and looked at him with a frown.
“You almost say something normal, then ruin it.”
“I’m explaining my reasoning.”
“Like a case report.”
Bruce seemed genuinely uncertain what Jason expected from him, and in all honesty, that made two of them.
Jason was not sure what he wanted from him, and his regret about having this conversation only grew.
–if you don’t clarify things, you’ll both make assumptions, become increasingly angry, and trust one another a little less every time it happens.
Jason looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I thought you didn’t trust me,” he admitted, forcing the words out before he could lose his nerve.
“That you thought I wasn’t good enough to fight by your side.”
“I wouldn’t have allowed you to wear the uniform if I believed that.”
“You don’t allow me to do shit.”
Bruce’s eyebrow rose.
“All right, bad example.” Jason folded his arms.
“You know what I mean.”
“I trust you.”
“Then why do you keep treating me like I’m made of glass?”
“Because trusting your abilities does not mean ignoring the danger.” Bruce stood.
“You are my partner, Jason, but you are also my son.
I will not apologize for wanting to keep you alive.”
Jason’s mind stopped at son.
Bruce realized what he had said a second too late, and neither of them moved.
Then Jason stepped forward and hugged him.
It lasted perhaps a second, long enough for Bruce to hesitantly place one hand against his back before Jason released him and stepped away.
“You’re still an asshole,” Jason muttered.
“Jason—”
“And I’m still pissed you benched me.”
“I gathered that.”
Jason pointed at him.
“Don’t think this means you won the argument.”
“I didn’t realize we were keeping score.” Bruce gave him a small smile.
“Of course you didn’t.”
Jason turned and stormed toward the stairs with as much righteous fury as he could manage after hugging the man.
Alfred stood near the stairs, holding a tray with two cups of tea.
Jason froze.
The old man’s expression was perfectly neutral, but knowing him, he had probably seen and heard everything.
“Not a word,” Jason warned.
“I would not dream of it, Master Jason.”
Jason narrowed his eyes, took one of the cups from the tray, and continued up the stairs.
Alfred watched him leave before turning toward Bruce.
“Perhaps you are not a lost cause after all, sir.”
Bruce frowned.
“What do you mean, lost cause?”
Alfred placed the remaining tea beside the Batcomputer and walked away without answering.
“Alfred?”
Alfred’s lips twitched as he climbed the stairs.