…

…

…

It began where it ended.

"…how he survived…"

With pain.

"…dead beyond a reasonable…"

Dealt from a familiar face.

"We gather here today to honor the memory of…"

With a ticking clock.

"Ready? Begin."

With a hero coming to the rescue.

"50 meters…40 meters…"

…

But this time…Unlike many times before…

"…No…"

He would fail.

GOTHAM CITY, NJ March 19, 2011 7:32 AM

Blinking, the young man rose from his slumber, greeted by the blare of a police siren hurtling down Martin Avenue. He closed the window and moved back towards the bed, lying next to the ginger haired woman, her chest rising slowly with each breath. He kissed her forehead and shut his eyes, wishing that morning wasn't here.

"Mmm…hey. S'seven thir'y," the red head mumbled drowsily.

"So?" the man replied drily. "No one gets up before 10 on a Saturday."

"Yeah, but I'm hungry," the red head whined playfully. "And you promised."

"5 more minutes," said the man, rolling over and facing the loud window.

The woman propped herself up on the man's back, her bare chest pressing against his shoulder blade and arm. She nuzzled his head, tracing the man's toned bicep all the way to his pectoral. "You promised me. If you don't make me breakfast, I'll kick you out."

The man chuckled. She'd kick me out if I forgot to put the seat down, let alone cook breakfast. He rolled around and pulled her atop him.

"Easy, tiger," she smiled that pearly-white smile, the kind that dove right into your soul and made you realize that this was how true beauty manifested itself. Her deep azure eyes sparkling pools of both the mischievous and ferocious kind drew the man in like a moth to a brilliant flame. How glad he would be to feel her heat consume everything he was. She pecked from his cheek to his mouth in a slow line, each kiss intensifying until their lips melded together.

The kiss went on for what seemed like hours until the red head finally broke the lip lock. Her narrowed eyes, arched eyebrow, and seductive smile told the man that now was the time to get up. He laughed softly, sitting up with the beautiful woman still in his lap. She scooted off for him to get up again, this time reaching toward his duffel bag for a pair of boxer shorts, as he had lost need of them last night.

Getting some sweatpants and a red t-shirt on, he moved to the kitchen, pulling out various ingredients for that morning's meal. As he mixed some batter for pancakes, he tended to some Canadian bacon sizzling lowly in the pan. He heard the sound of water trickling into a drain, as well as some music from the direction of the bathroom. Taking care to not burn the pancakes he had lovingly/forcibly slaved over, he stacked 3 hearty flapjacks on a plate, piling fresh cut strawberries and blueberries on the pancake mound, finishing it with some fruity syrup and whipped cream. The bacon slices he placed on a smaller plate, setting the table in preparation for the woman's arrival.

She came around the corner in a black and yellow hemmed T-shirt and some shorts that were more of a rectangle of denim wrapped around her hips, her slightly tanned and toned legs catching the man's eyes. "You'd never believe that twiggy-legs Babs would become a supermodel-class hottie."

Barbara smirked, her eyes trained on the man. "Never thought you'd cook anything more than a can of beans straight off the shelf."

The man laughed heartily. "The days before the discovery of the stove were dark and tasteless."

"Much like your humor back then,"

The man rolled his eyes. "Hey, we get it. My childhood wasn't as much a gem as it was the crap that comes off the gem when it gets cut. Any more snark from you, bookworm, and I'm revoking your right to breakfast."

Crossing her arms, she gave the man a wry smile. "Revoking MY right to breakfast cooked in MY kitchen with MY food?"

"By MY hands, Babsy-poo."

"Okay, first, no. Never again. Second, you owe me a good meal for our little rendezvous last night."

"We both wanted it."

"Yes," Barbara wrapped her arms around the man's broad shoulders. "And you promised me breakfast the next morning."

The man put his hands at Barbara's sides, just hovering over her hips. "Isn't there a story about a guy who sold his birthright for a meal? I think it ended badly."

"I didn't sell you me. I gave you me in exchange for a small favor."

"Speaking of which, that favor's getting cold."

Barbara giggled. "You remembered to wash your hands before you started right?"

The man snapped. "Darn, knew there was something I forgot."

She gaped. "You didn't-" His wide grin and chuckle told her the opposite. She shoved him. "You jackass."

"Gotcha good, Babsy." He pulled out the chair in front of a lavish pile of pancakes and fruit. The Canadian bacon still steamed up from her plate.

As she sat, she felt a small heat coming off of the plates. Warmed. Good foresight.

The man seated himself, awaiting her beginning the meal. "Go on, it ain't getting any warmer."

She cut a small slice out of the pancakes, stabbed at some fruit and the stack of warm flapjack wedges, having the pile disappear behind her lips. As she chewed, her eyes widened. She looked down and back at the man. She swallowed, and shook her head. "It's impossible. You couldn't possibly make something this good!"

Enamel colored teeth became visible from the man's slight embarrassment. "Living in the land of Her Majesty the Queen taught me the true blessing of American cuisine. There were some days I just had pancakes and whatever passed for bacon there 3 meals a day just to avoid some of the weird stuff Brits call food. Hey, call me a spoiled American."

"So, you have pancakes down to an art. I thought it was something you put in the batter."

"Well, there was Bisquick, milk, egg, vanilla extract, LYTD."

Barbara arched an eyebrow. "LYTD?"

"'Love you to death.'"

"Aww, you're so corny," She took another bite, caught in the small rapture of her perfect pancakes. "So, other than making the world's best pancake breakfast, anything else you do while in the Isles?"

"Oh, you know. Saw the sights. Visited the villages. Canoed on the Thames."

"Why?"

The man shrugged. "Just so I could say I did it."

"Fair enough." She picked up a glass of milk, her throat slightly dry. "Anything exciting?"

"There were those bombs."

Barbara almost sputtered. "Bombs?"

"Yeah, that explosion under the Westminster Bridge that was on the news. Cliff notes are bomb maker, Russian mob, blame on Arab kids, Muslim extremism, and one officer with a helluva good report for that day."

Barbara blew out a long whistle, taking some coffee and adding a spoonful or 4 of sugar to it. "Anything for attention?"

"Gimme some credit. I booked it while Westminster rattled like the San Andreas Fault. It's also why I'm here."

She knew that reason all too well. After taking a sip from her coffee, she set the mug down and put both her hands on the man's left one. "You can't do this. Not unless you want him coming after you."

The man turned aside. "Barb, we both know that…rehabilitation," He spat the word out like it was a vulgarity. "won't work on that thing."

"This isn't the way. No one but me knows you're back. You can begin a new life and I'll help you do that. I've told you this countless times. Revenge won't change what has happened."

"So what? I forget what's happened to me?" His fist clenched, drawing blood. "Forget how that clown tortured me and left me to die in that over sized C4 coffin?!"

Barbara swallowed. The mental agony he had endured was far beyond what anyone should have to experience. And yet, it wasn't a valid excuse. She took in a deep breath and turned his face to him, a stern glare fixed into his hazel eyes, a tuft of white and dark red hair slightly covering his right eye.

"Jason, if you don't let this go, you'll let him win. You'll let Joker win for what he's done."

Jason Todd stared at the woman's endless blue eyes, at Barbara Gordon's endless blue eyes. Being the police commissioner's daughter didn't factor into her not wanting him to kill the Joker. It was her love. She didn't want to see his life consumed by hatred and vengeance. She knew his reasons, He had told her, and she had agreed with him that he had every right to end Joker's life.

But she would not let him.

If only for his soul to be spared.

Jason picked up his fork and dug into his pile of untouched pancakes.

Thank you for taking your time to read this chapter of a new story I am undertaking. It has been on my mind for some time now (4 years as of 2015), and I couldn't get a good starting place I felt good with. So, here we have the first chapter of what will eventually become the maxi-series, Red Hood and the Titans. How we get to that point will be a matter of time, so bear with me.

I also wish to say this. I have planned for this story to take place within a version of the Teen Titans TV Show Earth. However, since the Teen Titans category doesn't account for the existence of Barbara Gordon or Jason Todd within that Earth, I have resorted to naming this as a Batman story for navigational purposes. As more stories are published, they shall retain the "Red Hood and the Titans" master title. But for those who wish to read a Jason Todd story, having this fall under a category where Jason Todd is visible as one of the main characters is better than naming Robin or Starfire who won't have a prominent role in this prologue.

I welcome comments, critiques, etc. I am always looking for ways to improve my writing, and I would hope you would extend the same kindness and courtesy to me as I would to you.

As for Jason Todd and Barbara Gordon being a couple, well, shock factor helps, but that isn't the only reason I chose to take this route. Stick around and see what's gonna happen in the next chapter of the prologue :)