Comfort Zone, a batman: arkham asylum fanfic

Some details have been polished and updated. I'm working on a prequel/origin story on how they met...heh, I guess stay tuned?

We also has a tumblr: bee-and-greg-9229

Jason usually has a 'sixth sense' for the bad things; tonight, however…he can feel tonight may be a good night, even here in Gotham City. Okay, maybe one bad thing might sprout its ugly head, but tonight some good may come out to squash the bad one.

He had finished his job earlier than expected; the bastards that had been terrorizing Otisburg lately had been apprehended—not killed, which he would prefer them dead since those criminals have records that could fill a ten-volume encyclopedia collection—but decided against it, in favor of not angering the GCPD and putting another reason on the Red Hood's Wanted List. Sure, he gets his daily reminder from Oracle and Replacem—Robin—regarding how they need those thugs alive for interrogation behind GCPD bars, but sometimes, it's her face that pops into his head that makes him rethink on applying calm, rational action on the situation instead.

Speaking of her face, Jason could see her walking on the sidewalk across from where he stood, at the top of an old apartment roof. The job's done and he is going home now…

He rappels down the side of the building and, as quiet as a cat, lands on the alley between the apartment and a closing pawn shop. From across the shadowy alley, his girlfriend walks among other Gothamites, her light, brunette curls tied haphazardly in a bun. It looks like she had a long day.

The population is lower here in this particular suburb—and so is its crime rate—unlike the densely populated and commercialized islands, and the central Gotham mainland; because of that, he's not too worried for her walking at night time. Plus, he can still spot her figure on an almost-bare sidewalk.

Felixa Lowe has gone to the supermarket again, carrying a paper bag of vegetables and meat she knows her boyfriend needs. She walks with a purpose, a bit hurried in the way her shoes audibly clacks against the old pavement. She has, undoubtedly, wanted to prepare them a decent meal again, as a way of avenging themselves from the take-aways they had had to endure under Dick's roof a few days ago, when they had an assignment on Bludhaven. Felixa had volunteered as their medic and, having grown a bit disgruntled with Dick's 'efficient' diet of fast foods, she became their cook before they all cleared house after that mission. Jason knew both Tim and Barb shared his grateful sentiment about the actual food she had cooked as a celebratory meal for their mission success. Jason, on the other hand, was happy Felixa was simply around.

Taking advantage of the shadows and security camera-free alley, Jason pushes a button at the back of his red helmet. The blood-red domed surface of the Red Hood's helmet pulls away to reveal a scarred and chiseled face; with the helmet locks around his head and neck smoothly unlocking, the helmet slides off easily and he tucks it underneath his arm. He finds a nicely-hidden duffel bag full of Red Hood gear, placed inside a basement window of the dark pawn shop, behind a large metal garbage container; opening the bag, a lightweight, heavy-duty container with a numerical security lock is revealed. Punching the right numbers, the container opens and he places the helmet on what appears to be a metallic, domed indentation, perfectly fitting the helmet there. He quickly takes the grey bomber jacket and folds it to fit it inside a slimmer, ziplock-looking container, as well as his kevlar and weapons, all fitted on their own molded fittings within the duffel bag. Securing the duffel bag again inside its shadowy hiding place, Jason could just imagine the horror on Felixa's voice if she finds out about how he hides twenty percent of his vigilante gear, camouflaged as unwanted pieces of trash, then worn and used on his body; just like Alfred (Jason's chest tightens a little), Felixa's concern is as deep as the Mariana's trench and has a fury against mistreated and spoiled things or people...especially people; with that, she doesn't need to know this. Besides, the gear's containment is sealed air-tight within the seemingly-abused duffel bag.

He does smirk at the thought of how Dick would flip off his head when he becomes suspicious of the Red Hood's gear hiding inside notorious Bludhaven spots, but that's another story…

Standing just beside the corner of the pawn shop building, Jason looks to where Felixa stands three blocks away. She appears to be fishing inside her coat pocket for the keys on the front door of the boarding house they live in. Jason was considering on getting over there to help her, when the front door was opened by the landlady, who must still be awake watching late night shows; his gaze follows Felixa as she goes inside and chats with her, until the front door shuts close.

Living near the city limits of Gotham City, Jason has to admit that the people here are much more...civil than their heavily-urbanized cousins, but that's what you get when high-profile criminals and crazed supervillains terrorize your neighborhood on a daily basis, even on the luxurious Bristol Township and the old rich flavor of Crest Hill.

Jason Todd is a pragmatic man; he never lives too long on any of his safe houses, not even the one Tim has so kindly left him one grandiose penthouse within Bristol, on Jason's birthday, no less. Each safe house is, thankfully, armed to the teeth with security and hidden arms, connected directly to the Clock Tower's computers and to the Panessa Studios' intelligence. However, this paranoid, better-be-safe-and-fast-than-be-killed attitude has softened a little, tiny bit.

Against all his better judgment, even on a supposedly safe part of Gotham, Jason Todd lives with his girlfriend. Which is dangerous for the both of them. But with the demands of each of her part-time jobs, Jason knew how important it was she has, at least, one solid home—safe house—to depend on.

It's both endearing and worrying him that Felixa is willing to move to different safe houses with him when bigger threats arise in Gotham. If it becomes apparent that it's really dangerous for her to stay with them, they have an arrangement on how she can get away from the city and rendezvous with her brother on another state.

They could always come up with a better arrangement, but since Felixa's practically a part of the dysfunctional, crime-fighting vigilante family, it's no wonder she can't leave. Even if Jason is willing to part with her, it's not always an easy feeling.

Especially since he can admit that he needs her more than what it appears…

Procuring a cap from inside the pocket of his hooded jacket, Jason presses the cap further on his head, making sure the visor is low enough to hide his eyes. He does his best to look casual as he smooths the long-sleeves to hide the scars as he walks among the civvies, not looking them in the eye or face, just trying to 'blend in', as the phrase implies, until he reaches the same front door.

He forces out the anxious breath he's been keeping and rings the bell.

Since the landlady had just answered the door earlier, Jason's willing to play out the civilian part a little longer—a big, burly, middle-class, young American jock who's just getting by. He remembers all the different alibis he had come up regarding his night shifts in Wayne Enterprises as some sort of part-time IT technician (which is true, actually, as Lucius was kind enough to hire him because of his skills, but that's not the point) and how he had given the only copy of the front door key to his girlfriend; Jason has also memorized the patterns of his neighbors and how he can react to them: greet the neighbors who might still be awake, be polite and calm, especially to the elderly on the upper floors; ignore the flirtatious teens on the second floor (if they are any invited over), don't talk back to Mrs. Simcocks if she happened to be dramatically spewing out political conspiracies again in the B&B room, and he would be just fine…

"Oh, Jason!" The landlady is an old cheery woman, with a hearing aid that she would dial to low volume when she doesn't like hearing thunder, or when there are petty arguments among neighbors on the hallway or on the B&B Room. She gets salty quick and settles the noise by giving them milk and cookies to shut their dispute and finally make up, or just being there on the same space with them to silently judge them; in the end, she wins. "You're back early from your work?"

"Yep," he does his best to do a cheery tone, admittedly a similar tone like Dick's, who's a master at hiding his exhaustion better with his supermodel smiles, which he doesn't have, but it's better to sound cheerful to the landlady who's given him a home. But the landlady could hear how tired he must be, because she's squinting her eyes at him and subconsciously touches her earlobe. Her hearing aid's in full volume. "Not a lot of work, but the boss is giving us too many product training again...boring stuff, almost fell asleep."

Truth was, he was ready to nap on a dilapidated old bedroom that once belonged to a child in Otisburg for waiting it out for his targets. Robin was kind enough to play his favorite rock bands on their shared comms, just to pass time. When it was their favorite indie band playing, Dick was doing his best to sing along in the comms, but his voice warbled badly that Jason threatened him, which Tim kindly re-translates it to "Dick...stop...please…" and he thankfully shuts up and he was wide awake long enough to finish that song. Felixa's voice in their was always, always a wondrous experience. He wondered how she could work herself so hard and still find some time to produce songs with her underground band…

"Bah! Whatever kind of technology it is, it better cure cancer! You poor thing." She kindly pats his arm, in a grandmotherly sort of way. "There's some black coffee on the B&B counter, if you like. Jonny's got a big exam tomorrow, so he's pulling a study party tonight with his buddies, so they're loading themselves with a lot of caffeine." Jason could see she's holding a black cup of the liquid herself. She must be marathoning her late night shows. "It's best that we stay as quiet as we can. You don't want Jonny spewing his vitriol all over! He really wants to pass his exam."

"Thanks, Mrs. Omali. I'll pass the coffee, though." Jason can understand Jonny's determination, especially at his school age. Jonny is dedicated to his family, as they had apparently grown up in an impoverished part in Maine and Gotham, although not really anyone's best choice, is waving a ticket for him to succeed. Because Jason had been background checking people since Robin-training days, Jason at least has an idea of who Felixa's neighbors are. It always saves lives to know more.

"Jonny and I are cool. And we won't be interrupting your TV marathon."

"That's what I like to hear. Good night!" And with that, the landlady happily goes back to where her room is; she opens the door and, as Jason ascends the stairs to the second floor, the faint sound of laughter from an audience on her television floats briefly outside its living space, before she shuts the door tight, and the boarding house becomes almost quiet.

Jason could hear nothing on the second floor as he continues to ascend the stairs. Truly, Jonny and his classmates are on a mission to pass their exam tomorrow, which means Daisha's not in her flirting games, thank god.

Going another floor up, the muffled laughter of a father and his children playing in their bedroom tickles his ears and Jason recalls Mr. Hendrickson's recent recovery from being hospitalized from a brutal attack on his store in Coventry. Red Hood and Robin saved him, along with the other employees just in time, but the store he manages has been burned to the ground. Despite the recent misgiving, Jason's glad Mr. Hendrickson's pulling through.

Upon reaching the fourth floor, Jason smiles as the smell of a favorite meal managed to waft through the crack of their apartment door.

He's home…

Pushing the doorbell with his thumb, Jason hears the bell signal inside their apartment, as well as the soft and subtle whirring of electronics hidden inside the 'doorbell'. The security identification system he and Barb had installed not only makes sure it knows and responds to the friendlies, but also alerts them of any unknown individual or potential enemy that's trying to get in.

Poor Stephanie. He smirks at the memory of Felixa's friend and bandmate—and unfortunately, a vigilante in her own right—Stephanie Brown, once trying break inside her apartment room, only to find the new security system worked too well and had to wait for them to welcome her inside. The reason had been very poor (Stephanie supposedly lost her toothbrush during a sleepover last year!) and likely had been Stephanie being too protective of her friend for having…well, someone like him as a boyfriend, or even as an acquaintance.

He shoves the thought away, content on having something to mull over his significance to his girlfriend's life, as he hears her footsteps coming to the door, unlatching several locks he had insisted they should have. Felixa pulls it open and she greets him with a smile. "Hey, hey."

"Hey," he pecks her on the lips as he goes inside their apartment. He thought Felixa looks cute on her red apron, with her brown curls of hair still tied haphazardly in a high bun and her warm, brown skin glowing from a bit of perspiration. He feels guilty for thinking like some sort of perverted chauvinist, drinking in the details of his girlfriend, but there's no denying her beauty.

"You're early." She sounds happy and very relieved. "Good thing. Dinner will be ready. Did Mrs. Omali let you in?"

Jason's lips curl as he observes her watching over the gleaming pots on the electric stove. There's four that's slow cooking. "Yep, she did. Gave me a talk about Jonny's study party. You seem to be making a family-sized dinner. Are we expecting Dick?" It's a joke, but he wishes his older brother, Mr. Metabolism, isn't actually coming for a surprise visit.

She chuckles at that. "No. Although it would do him good to eat something like this, not the grease he preserves in his fridge." She opens a pot and Jason peers in to see heaps of brown beef and their bones, vibrant vegetables and big cuts of tomatoes, all mixed in with the bubbling broth. It smells subtly like lemons and tamarinds—an exotic fruit Felixa had introduced him—and he can already taste dinner just by looking at it. "It's unfair how Richard's got a sculpted bod and all he eats are fast food, while I eat like a proper omnivore, and I still have weight issues. How the fuck, right?"

Felixa's usual affinity for avoiding saying 'Dick' always makes him chuckle and, of course, her light-hearted joke her point hits home. Petite and overweight, having three part-time jobs and with almost no sleep, Felixa has thrown her self-consciousness on her appearance out the window to focus on work, regardless of her health and overall state. But if it weren't for her selflessness they wouldn't have met…

"It's gonna bite his perfect ass in the long run. You'll see." Jason wraps his arms around her waist, feeling her hips and butt press gently against his thighs. Yes, she's fat, but he has to give her props for doing her best whenever they worked out together. That prominently round butt isn't from cosmetic surgery.

Felixa giggles and sways her hips, with him awkwardly swaying with her. Jason would've never imagined this future, but he's here now, swaying his hips with his girlfriend—in private, of course. "Imagine it, Jay," Felixa teases. "Nightwing, going across Blüdhaven rooftops, with a harder pair of buttocks!"

"Bulletproof, too," Jason quips as Felixa breaks into laughter. "For his sake. I'd shoot his ass if he ever invites us in his apartment with fried grease food again."

"Aw, don't. Poor Dickie is already the butt of our secret jokes…"

Jason groans at the pun and decides to ignore that in favor of pointing out an amusing anomaly. "Oh! You said 'Dick'."

"One time only." She asserts as he kisses the side of her forehead before he languidly releases her to continue with her cooking.

"Well, what's with all the food, anyway?"

"Me, Dr. Pikalov, some of the nurses and the college volunteers are whipping up a big meal for a big charity event in Somers. Stephanie's gonna come over tomorrow to assist me with moving these onto her van."

As she explains, Felixa lifts another lid from a pot and shows him a delicious, gleaming pasta meal. "Don't worry. I have enough food for the both of us for this week. You don't have to be jealous."

"I'm not." On the contrary, Jason feels proud, to be next to someone who actually gives a damn about the marginalized people. She meets his gaze and he feels a blush creeping up to his ears. He always liked looking into her warm, amber eyes, especially when she's happy. "I'm gonna finish work. We're following a lead on why Otisburg's being hit by a lot criminals."

"I'll be here. The beef needs thirty minutes more." They give each other a quick kiss before Jason goes to their bedroom to get to work. Felixa reminds him that he can snack on the wheat bread from the pantry, but he waves it off and tells her he's willing to wait for the beef sour broth.

Jason picks up his laptop from Felixa's vanity table and sits on a couch parallel to the room's balcony; the view outside shows a different Gotham, to Jason, at least: rows of six-to eight-storey buildings—business or houses—all of which are either old-school art deco-styles or the usual mix of Pinkney's Gothic-Victorian, now complete with that slight, dilapidated look, contemporary neon signs and urbanized flower gardens; but no sign of any recent violent explosion on their walls, sidewalks and curbs, no bullet holes, vandalism, no nothing…

Not even a scream from a neighbor, no suspicious gunshots, no patrol car blazing through the road, honking its horn or blaring its siren. Everything's quiet and old outside; it's unreal and peaceful at the same time. The quiet, calm side of Gotham…

I'm glad this is one of our safe-houses.

Jason opens his laptop and checks the clock in it. 9:23 p.m. Making sure his own watch is synced correctly, Jason moves on to find two emails from Barb.

Opening the one called "Otisbug: New Lead-ish", Jason finds copies of several new profiles of the targets he and Robin had apprehended; three of the targets are linked to a rising criminal gang from Bludhaven. Dickie was actually right...

Red Hood and Robin have generally been Gotham City's main protectors now, since Batman's 'demise', while Nightwing remained Bludhaven's (they still have contacts from Bruce and Alfred, because Dick's optimistic and Tim feels Bruce owes them all an apology and an explanation. They managed to find them just a few months after Halloween 2015, through encrypted communications and all. But Jason's 'content' with the distance and that he and Alfred are alive somewhere. But he can't bear to see them or talk to them, especially Alfred).

Oracle, besides being their information broker, was best when she uses her social networking skills to contact allies to help in their investigation. It doesn't help, however, when Nightwing's flirting with a Bird of Prey, so they've come into an arrangement that either Robin or Red Hood's paired with one of the Birds, unless it's completely necessary that Nightwing goes in. Her skills in persuasion also come handier when it came to dealing with the 'wild cards': Spoiler and Moneyspider, and whoever else is within their strange and definitely foolhardy, but undeniably effective possé.

Stephanie and Moneyspider's methods of vigilantism are unorthodox and accurately are the definition of asymmetric urban warfare, combined with other entities that work closely with legitimate Neighborhood Watch associations and online crackers from other parts of the globe. It's especially important that every information Oracle receives are true, but it's another thing entirely to persuade people with trust issues that what she and her family are going to do with the information isn't going to be misused or handled with negligence. And with Oracle's new reputation in the dark virtual world, it's a miracle to have some grey-hat crackers and their brawn—such as Spoiler—are, in some ways, in a same league. Together, the three men and the Oracle work together with the Birds of Prey and Moneyspider's possé, for the sake of the two cities.

In the past few months, however, Otisburg has become a new hotbed for criminal activity, linking various criminals from across the State to have a stake at the place, but no known motives are even clear as of late, besides the usual illegal activities they all have a fondness for committing.

Whatever they're brewing up, it's most likely a big one. Worst case scenario: it could probably topple the whole of Gotham City in its underbelly...or worse-worse than that. And the fact that they're taking their sweet time is fucking pissing me off. GCPD is doing their best, but even when some suits from D.C. came in to interrogate some of those big shots that Robin and I took down a few weeks ago, they didn't croak one shit. They did, however, carry with them phones that trace back to Riddler's old hideout in Arkham City, and that still came up empty.

There's no doubt that a new rising underworld gang from Bludhaven is building up a shitstorm, but being linked to Riddler? He had escaped a year ago, but he's been too quiet. That's saying a lot for an insecure, narcissistic genius who's into painting the whole city with green question marks and rigging it with death traps. The only noise he's created was also a year back, just a few days after his escape from Blackgate; Riddler had accumulated quite a following over the years prior his imprisonment, and they had been responsible to an attempted bombing on a Smithville-Gotham subway. I'll never forget that.

And then, this.

He's letting his cronies do all the noise, which is a surprise. Edddie Nigma's always been working alone, using people like puppets to help set things up for him. What made him change his mind and team up with the new kids on Bludhaven's block?

Jason rubs his temples as he opens the second message. He's too preoccupied with thinking about the Riddler's possible motives to read Barbara's other email, however.

The Riddler had, at least, been a big part of the Arkham Knight's operation back in Halloween 2015, so it's not untrue that Riddler's always been a lone wolf, but he's always thought of himself too superior to see how much of an asshat he is. Plus, teamwork wasn't his forte, as that would mean working with people he deems inferior or dangerous, both.

Unless it's with someone smart, someone he could at least see as an equal, but wouldn't get too close with, otherwise Nigma would be literally tossed out of the game. He knows his best asset is his brains and he may have to strike a deal with someone who can pack him some brawns. Just some kind of twisted, long-distance relationship with the new bully…

As painful it is to remember that Halloween, Jason recalls how he had to give Nigma some credit for being able to do what he does best while surviving a Cloudburst-infested city. He created distractions for Batman while the Arkham Knight—him—and Scarecrow mobilized with their plans.

It may be similar, but where are they? The traced calls lead to empty, abandoned places, infested with Joker toxins, decaying wood, pests, seawater...Plus, the crime scene was easily tampered with by either Riddler's followers who was left behind, long enough to erase their presence, or someone from the inside...No, can't be! Although I could always re-check what the investigators missed.

He closes his eyes for a minute, trying to rest his eyes for staring at the monitor for too long. Re-opening them, he finds the second email's message clearer: "Robin Found Pyg's Victims! New Crime File for Pyg!"

Attached to it were several photos of people cut open gruesomely and the only video feed from a 'functional' security camera in Otisburg. Again, this bothers Jason…

And it isn't just the fact that Tim is really taking the Spring Break Week to his advantage. Heck, he even let his students out earlier than its usual dismissal time, just to get a head start.

Robins gotta be early, or they'll never catch the worms. Jason lips smirk.

Professor Pyg is known for two things: his perverted ideals of what perfection is and how he can use his knowledge of his own hybridized skills of surgery and butchery, for his own purpose of 'remodeling' people into his own new creations.

The victims Robin found are not Pyg's usual 'perfect' cadavers, however. They all look like mutilated piles of every part of the human anatomy, looking more like mangled up pieces done by an animal, than a precision instrument.

What in the hell?

Jason looks up from his monitor to see Felixa, still busy around the kitchen, the living space and on her phone, engaged in a conversation. He couldn't help the way his lips curl; he's relieved that she isn't coming to the bedroom anytime soon. He'd hate for her to see this.

He opens the file titled "Otisburg Terror" to add in it the photos, the video and details of Pyg's crime. Examining the details Robin unearthed, this Professor Pyg really is back; he is, however, backed up with actual human cronies this time, not the usual enhanced army of Dolls he so lovingly perfected.

The video feed shows a grainy video of the old salon Professor Pyg had used back in Halloween 2015, only this time, he's followed by several armed men. One of the armed men, however, appears to be threatening Pyg. A few seconds later, a truck drives near the old salon, which cues three men from the group to push Pyg inside the truck. With all of them inside, the truck drives away, coming a bit close to where the camera's view is.

An old Sugar Kreme Donut truck? They must've salvaged it. They haven't been in business here in Gotham for ten years.

Jason groans out loud. He initially had the mood to work on these cases, but those two new things about the Otisburg Terror case is really dampening his spirits. Plus, he can feel his stomach slightly rumble and his lungs missing the burn of cigarettes.

What the actual fuck is going on? Pyg was transferred to another psychiatric institution in New Jersey when they were finally organizing who to lock up in Blackgate. There had been no news of him being busted out of the institution. So, someone's been greasing palms for Pyg's release. But why Pyg? And then there's Riddler, and his new Riddling army sneaking their asses around! And a new criminal gang's going to do something bad, and they're from Bludhaven, of all places!

"Fuck this." He meant to whisper those two words, but Felixa had stopped talking and is staring at Jason. She whispers a "hold on a sec" on the phone and quickly goes over to him.

Jason, on the other hand, is looking for his tin of cigarettes.

"Jason?"

He finds them in her vanity table's drawer, camouflaged among trinket boxes. Felixa never really throws his cigs away, but sometimes she has a way of placing the tin box in places that aren't in the same place twice. She knows how hard it is to break habits, so she never admonishes him for it, but her cleverness sometimes gets to him, so he sometimes forgets about smoking and tries to predict, instead, where she'll be hiding them.

Sometimes, yes, he manages to be clean for weeks and find other ways to distract his itch for the taste of nicotine. His best distractions are work, Felixa and having to endure Barb's video game winning streaks.

Today, however, Otisburg and its criminals are shitting on his brain right now.

So much for a supposed good night, huh?

"Honey, not now." He isn't mad at her, but his tone reflects what he feels about the stress in his investigation, and he feels a twinge of guilt for making her worry. No one can ever take change gracefully, but with these criminals behaving like they aren't themselves is somewhat short-circuiting Jason's brain, and probably Tim's and Barb's, too. But maybe after a cig and a big dinner, Jason knows he'll cinch them eventually, and maybe slam those criminals' heads against concrete in the future, for good measure.

He procures his lighter from his jacket and flicks it open, lighting the cigarette like it's second-nature—which it is—and peers into the tin box. Five left. They've come from one pack of Philip Morris he bought back in December. He hadn't bought any new ones and he's not buying any until he finishes the last five. He's saving them for really bad occasions.

With the cigarette on his lips, Jason does his best not to meet Felixa's eyes and goes to her to give her a quick hug, then heads out through the balcony. A cool spring breeze coincidentally passes by and Jason exhales the first smoke he's had since three weeks ago.

Wow, thre—

"Three weeks clean, now zero." Her voice murmurs dryly from behind and Jason turns to see Felixa, cocking a brow at him, one arm folded under her armpit and the other arm has her hand holding out an ashtray. Her foot taps annoyingly at the sight of his sheepish face as he murmurs a "thanks" as he takes the ashtray.

"You're welcome." She says with a huff and Jason's lips only smile further. She steps outside to join him and the breeze softly ruffles the hanging curls around her face and head. Jason stares at her as she tentatively steps forward to the solid brick balcony to look down below the street. He brings the cigarette to his lips again as his eyes follow the curves of her shoulders, her waist and hips, all the way to her buttocks and legs.

How could someone be this short be packing curves and legs in her small person? Jason rolls his eyes at the ridiculous question. Dick made a similar question like that before, to her face even, which earned him a warning tone from Barb and a wide-eyed Tim. Jason had rolled his eyes, like he did just now, and was preparing for the inevitable silence that's sure to follow. Instead, he had found himself laughing when Felixa snapped that she was born packing the ballistics on her and is just usual protocol.

Glad to know I'm with a ballistics-carrier. Feel really safe…

"I'm sorry," He whispers after setting the cig on the ashtray. "I know you want me to quit."

"You will." Her voice is soft, but there is a firm conviction in the way she said those words. "I swear, one day, maybe...when you feel Gotham doesn't have to demand so much from you. I'll get you out of here, even if you'll protest, and maybe then, that'll break the cycle."

Jason exhales a stream of smoke and taps away the burning millimeters from the cigarette, trying to distract himself from the heavy feeling he's getting inside. "You gonna carry me outta Gotham?"

"Bridal-style, if you want." She snaps, turning to him with a quirk of her brow.

And just like that, a laughter bubbles from his lips and Jason's heart melts. He stubs the cigarette completely from the tray, which he sets aside on the balcony table. He comes over to her and embraces her slowly, and she leans her head back on his strong shoulder. He peers down to see her face and she smiles softly.

She looks so cute and vulnerable…

Jason dips his face close to hers to place his lips on her cheek. Felixa gracefully drapes one smooth arm around his neck to tangle her fingers on his hair, all the while craning herself taller for him to continue his little gifts across her face.

Jason stops nibbling on her earlobe when she sputters a giggle; she's ticklish around her ear area. He presses one last kiss on the side of her head before he murmurs, "I'm hungry."

"Yeah?" She playfully pats his stomach, her fingers splayed across the hard expanse of muscles underneath his jacket. "Oh boy! Good thing the beef I got's big! We definitely need to feed these muscles!"

Her amazement and playfulness elicited a laughter deep from him, it sounded rich and boyish…

He still wonders, sometimes, how he's able to produce that kind of sound, that it naturally frees itself from inside him to show him and anybody responsible for making him laugh that he's genuinely happy. He owes being able to feel this to a lot of people…

"They'll practically open up like some kind of mythical Japanese armor who's hungry for souls." He remembers an old-school game Barb had unearthed from her old home before her big move to the Gordon-Drake mansion. One of the characters in the fighting game was a cursed Japanese warrior wearing a demonic armor. Barb is, as usual, the beast in the game, having perfected every character in the roster. Tim and Jason are both currently fighting for Second Place, while Dick struggles to even master his favorite, a green-haired busty succubus. Felixa manages to beat Barb once with her favorite, a fluffy sasquatch.

"Alright, alright, Mr. Ripped, lemme check the beef. I'm sure it's tender by now." Felixa untangles herself from his arms and pulls on his left hand to lead him inside.

"As tender as you?" It was his turn to tease.

"Oh, as tender as you'd like it, Mr. Todd." He swallows and he knows she could see his reaction. He could feel her playful tone dripping down him, eliciting warmth…

Once in the kitchen, Felixa reaches for four spoons and gives one to him. He looks at it, perplexed, but the context hits him immediately. "You wanna taste test them for me?"

"All of them?" She nods. There was a few seconds of silence before he could answer. He was still not finished being amazed at her face and having the honor to taste-test all four.

"Sure." He can still feel the blood warming his ears as he dips the spoon on the first pot. As he voices his opinion on each food (which isn't much intel, just "it tastes great", or "maybe some pepper...or don't, maybe they like how the chicken tastes anyway. It's nice!"), he presses himself closer to her. He feels her hand slithering between them to wrap her arm around his waist.

This oddly, and unfortunately, brings up that time, in the Smithville-Gotham subway, when they first met...

"How's Mr. Mason?" He brings him up because the last he heard, the poor old veteran had to be confined for months in the Elliot Memorial Hospital after being shot at the leg by one of Riddler's cronies. Felixa had been visiting the old man, but…

"His family actually moved him to where I work, in Somers. There's a retirement home there as well, but the facility in Elliot's was better. And expensive." As Jason brings the spoon to his lips, he chews on the beef slowly, savoring it in his mouth. It contrasted the heavy subject; whereas he's here, safe inside with his girlfriend, the old man of their topic is struggling with PTSD, waning health and mounting bills that needs to be paid. She continued. "Mr. Mason had decided he's not gonna live in Bleake anymore, even though he feels he shouldn't leave. But in his age and his health, he's got no choice."

Jason gives off a solemn sound as an answer, before swallowing the beef. "That beef is good. It's...sweet."

Felixa's smile is full of pride, but it turns into a frown. "Why'd you bring him up?"

Jason shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. I guess...you've talked about him before. We're still looking for those terrorists that tried to bomb the subway months ago. We have leads and...I'm still working on it."

Felixa harrumphs. "So the ones you caught wouldn't talk, huh?"

"Paid not to, or scared not to. And Riddler's leading the whole pack of them." And just like that, rage threatened to bubble up. He exhales a breath, hard, trying to repress it because there's no need to be angry and there's no need for it now. "The sonuvabitch is out there, biding his time."

Felixa chuckles dryly as she presses a button on the electric stove, putting one burner to a boil. "Guess Riddler's been a cult of personality these past few years, huh?"

"I think that's an understatement." The kind of followers Riddler has accumulated isn't to be underestimated. Sure, there are far more dangerous criminals still lurking around Gotham, but sometimes the most dangerous ones have some kind of point to prove, that it didn't matter that innocent lives will be endangered…

...he knew that too much.

Felixa gazes up to him again and there is a quiet strength and faith in the way she looks at him. With her arm still wrapped around his waist, she begins to make gentle circles on the small of his back, soothing him to keep his worries for another day.

Sometimes he wondered, if he had decided to keep everything about him a secret—his vigilantism, his past, his family, the things he's been through, the kind of monster he had become and can be capable of—would she have stayed with him still? Would she have told the police who he really is? Would she have killed him?

It wouldn't surprise him if she did all that.

Back then, when they had been in that...well, in that awkward dating phase, it was Felixa who had committed herself to him that she would keep his identity secret, so long as he is honest with her with whatever is going on with him and his busy vigilante schedule. He was surprised at her commitment to stay with him.

He had felt like he was being blackmailed, cornered to endure a sick joke, and he had darkly teased her about it; he meant to be light-hearted with her with a very bad, dark joke and should've probably turned her off, and he would be fine with that.

But she surprised him further with her own joke, by saying he could always shoot her if she ever failed in her end of the bargain. He had been so shocked to hear such brutality from a lady he's trying to save from a disaster that is Jason Todd…

But instead her fortitude endured and she continued to love him, and he returned with his own love tenfold. He promised that he'll keep his end of the bargain, because she's worth it.

"Jason, sweetie?"

He'd been quiet for five minutes as he nonchalantly swirled the soup with his spoon. "What's going on?" Her question sounded more like a parent who's genuinely concerned for their child. "You can tell me."

It was his turn to chuckle dryly. "Nothing. My head's just going to different places. Sometimes, it's in dark places…"

Her lips smile in concern and the hand resting on his waist slowly reaches to that scar on his left cheek. He presses himself on her soft hand automatically, which he cups with his own hand, enveloping her delicate, brown hand with his own pale, scarred one.

"But I'm glad that sometimes, it's in good places, too."

Her smile widens, and he likes that. He's basically praising her skills and her patience with him. His blue eyes flit from her own amber eyes to her delicate lips; she saw the way he was looking at her, and a pink blush forms across her cheekbones.

"Can I kiss you on the lips?" He asks. And yes, it's so cheesy and stupid of him to ask, but his brain is always trying to make sure she's okay with a few things.

She coquettishly turns away for a second, her eyelashes fluttering. She nods her head and adds, "But only a minute. I don't want to overcook the fish on the other pot. I don't wanna get too distracted."

That earns her a small and hearty laugh. "There's no guarantee."

With that, Jason wraps his other arm around her waist and he dips his face to hers, kissing her mouth. Felixa is soft against his dry lips, tasting a bit like strawberry because of her lip balm. His fingers lace with hers for a moment as he guides her fingers to his hair, to tangle them however she likes. Jason's other hand tentatively draws little lines on her back, just above where her buttocks are, a bit uncertain if he should touch her there, even though he had a few times before. Felixa assures him by grabbing his hand and guiding him downward, emphasizing how he should dip his fingers there. She moans against his mouth and he responds with his own moan. He sounds so boyish when he moans, compared to her husky, melodious ones. The kiss is deeper, their mouths open to accommodate one another's desire to taste the other. Jason is pretty sure his heartbeat is off charts, but he feels assured to hear hers is beating loudly against her ample breasts.

They separate with a loud smack; he can feel his own pulse on his collarbone and the heat of his blush across his cheeks. He can see Felixa's pupils are dilated and her lips curled mischievously at him. "Damn, we haven't kissed like that since...probably the first time we did it."

Jason swallows. Oh, that time…

"Probably. Yeah. I...don't know." He does know. Jason remembers it vividly. He remembers her skin against his own ugly mess he manages to call skin, but with her, Jason can feel how much she cherishes him in bed.

And it's insane, really, how someone like him, a few years back, have finally given up on the idea that Jason Peter Todd could even live a normal life—or at least, could dip himself into it every once in awhile, when the cape and domino mask was put safely aside—and resigned his fate to solely putting himself in danger, everyday, along with his family, to keep a whole city safe, so its people could live normal lives.

He had resigned his dreams of getting formal education, of date nights and a farmhouse somewhere in Oregon, or a bungalow in a beachside, probably a monthly visit or two back to his family in Gotham…

He had resigned it all, because being Red Hood is what he knows, what he's capable of, and because not a lot of people could throw their lives willingly, for other people who's suffered, who have been victims, who are dead because of unjust things. He shunned any ideas from Tim that he can balance a life with being just Jason, entirely separate from being Red Hood, because he and Barb can do it, so why not him, too, right? He mocked at Dick for trying so hard to date that certain redhead he'd been stalking on social media. Apparently, Mr. Perfect isn't very good at finding Mrs. Right, but he's too damn idealistic to see the consequences if she knew who Nightwing truly is.

But damn, Felixa had turned Jason into the biggest hypocrite. Dick is now making fun of the irony and supporting their relationship like they're some kind of internet OTP.

Felixa continues to twirl her fingers around Jason's hair, which is full of cowlicks on his crown. He was never into styling his hair in any fashion, but he does his best to comb them in place, only to have them tangled messily because of her fingers playing around with them. "You're thinking again…"

Jason snaps back to reality. "Huh? Oh..." Yes, this whole thing that I'm living in right now, it's an insane idea to past-Jason, which is what I'm thinking. He would never have dreamt this...even if he could, it'll all be buried beneath all those nightmares with Joker, and Bruce, and probably back when I was a rat in Crime Alley, stuck with my parents.

Felixa shakes her head as she sees him avoiding her eyes; with that one hand still on his cheek, she gently brushes her index finger on the length of his nose and "boops" her fingertip on the sharp edge of his nose. A half-laugh bubbles from his throat, but his smile widens again as they meet each other's' gazes.

She looks at him with concern and love brimming from her amber eyes, her dark lashes fluttering slowly whenever she blinks; the lids on her downturned eyes are heavy, almost to the point of closing her eyes shut. She blinks wanly, opening her eyes to reveal his reflection on her gaze. He feels like he could dip his entirety to the amber pools of her eyes, with the floor slowly evaporating below him...the only thing that matters is her hand on his hair, her lips, her eyes, and her form pressed deliciously against him, pulling him with her to wherever they could go...

She reaches up to peck his lips lightly and she languidly, completely separates from him.

"Time's up. I need to check on each pot." She murmured. Jason felt reality was still trying to slip back into his system.

"I'll—I'll prepare the—you know, plates and...stuff."

And that he did.

A few minutes later, Felixa sets the pot for their dinner on the table and they eat. In most meals, he sits at the distance. On Tim and Barbara's mansion, it's so easy to sit somewhere that's at least six feet away from them. In the years that had passed, he had gradually transitioned to sit at least two feet from the couple, three feet when Dick's around, because his table manners are entirely a different beast. Ever since he and Felixa moved in Mrs. Omali's boarding house two months ago, however, Jason is proud of himself to be sitting next to the love of his life. It wasn't quite the case when they were dating, but Jason's making up for all those awkwardness and doubts. It was comforting and real to have one significant person be this close to him. It's a comfort zone he's finally accepted.