Jason was many things, but a romantic guy wasn't one of them. His relationships, for the most part, involved punching the people he kissed, or kissing the people he punched. Not always, of course. Sometimes, he and the people he kissed teamed up to punch someone else.

The point was, he wasn't a romantic. He'd tried, and it hadn't worked out. Not that his other relationships had worked out, either. But the ones that hadn't somehow involved his violent lifestyle just hadn't lasted very long. He'd gone on more dates with the Lazarus Pit than with his partners, which considering he'd only gone on one date with the Lazarus Pit...yeah.

Okay, that was hyperbole, but what this meant was that if Jason was actually going out of his way to woo someone, that meant something. It wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing, it wasn't a "what the hell, why not?" thing. It was an "I really like this person" thing. He'd made reservations at a fancy rooftop restaurant. Worn his best suit. Gone to the barber (Alfred) to get his hair styled. Put on cologne. Shaved. The whole nine yards.

And then he'd headed over to his date's apartment. Which was fine. Except on the way there, there was a fire. He couldn't not help. So he helped. And he also helped a guy getting mugged, and an old lady whose home was broken into, and a family whose car was vandalized, and some kittens in a box, and...

When he finally arrived at his date's place, he was too late for the reservation. Also, a wreck. His clothes were torn, his hair was a mess, and he was wet and filthy and the flowers... Well, one of them still had two petals left, at least.

"So, I uh, I can explain," he said, gesturing with the tattered remnants of the bouquet, causing one of the two surviving petals to float sadly to the floor. "See, I was gonna... Well, I mean, the kittens, you know, and—" Jason sighed, his wet hair clinging to his forehead as he held out the world's worst gift of flowers and the box of confused kittens. "I'm a moron and I should've called. But the fire, my phone—"