“This is… us?”

Jason looks up from the photo album, searching for an answer in your stony expression. Since his last encounter with Joker caused him a traumatic head injury, he’s been unable to remember anything–even your relationship with him, his identity as Red Hood. All his memories, wiped from his mind like they never even existed.

He's still Jason–just not as you remember him. He wasn't the man you were in a long-term relationship with, but... he still was? Still brash, snarky, too sarcastic for his own good. Still tough, too–he insisted on looking at these albums to gain some sort of memory, despite knowing it's futile. But he's different, too. Jason no longer cracks little smiles or remembers how you like your coffee in the mornings. He doesn't remember Joker, or Dick, or even Bruce.

“We looked happy,” he mumbles, though it’s not like Jason would remember. He runs a finger over the picture, the now-familiar guilt eating at him once again. He hates seeing you sad, though he's not sure why.

He feels some sort of weird connection to you, like he needs to protect you. Maybe it came from knowing you before he lost all of his memories. He doesn't know. He couldn't figure it out, even if he tried.