The rain came fast — unexpected, relentless, and loud against the windshield of Bruce’s sleek black car.

Jason sat behind the wheel, one hand resting casually at the top, the other on the gearshift, glancing over at her in the passenger seat as another flash of lightning split the sky.

Bruce had pulled him aside after dinner, quiet and urgent. “Something came up. Can you take her home?” That tone—the one Jason knew too well—meant it was Batman business. Life-or-death dressed up in tuxedos and smiles.

Jason agreed. Not because he had to. Not because it was asked. But because he could never say no when it came to her.

He wasn't supposed to care.

Bruce had made it clear that she was someone special. And sure, Jason played it off, shrugged and nodded when they all met her for the first time. Said she was cool. Said it didn't matter. But it did. Not in a way that made sense.

It wasn't like Jason didn't know. Didn't see the way Bruce looked at her - like she was the only piece of this chaotic world he trusted to stay. Like Gotham couldn't touch her. Like maybe she was his last chance at normal.

Jason had watched them together—at first from a distance, a silent observer in shadows he knew too well. Later, when Alfred insisted on one of those awkward family dinners he rarely attended, Jason found himself wanting to be there. Because he knew she would be there. Looking at Bruce like he hung the damn moon.

And maybe he did.

But she didn't know the whole truth — not about Jason.

Not about the way he caught himself listening when she spoke, even if the words weren't meant for him. Not about the way his gaze lingered a little too long when she tucked her hair behind her ear or leaned too close to reach something across the table.

It wasn’t a silly little crush, not really. It was the way her presence lingered in his mind long after she was gone. It was the way she laughed at his jokes — not politely, but genuinely. Like she saw something worth laughing with.

Just like she had that night in the car as they pulled away from the manor, her laughter filled the quiet between them, easy and unguarded, as if he wasn’t someone she should’ve been more careful with. She joked about Alfred’s lemon tarts solving world peace. Jason had smiled more than he should have.

But now, silence filled the space between them. The downpour blurred the road, thunder rolling in closer, heavier. He pulled into her driveway, but the storm showed no signs of letting up.

“Come inside,” she offered, turning to him as she gathered her clutch. “It’s not safe to drive in this rain.”

Jason hesitated for only a second.

Maybe it was the way she said it — calm but with that thread of concern in her voice. Maybe it was the ache he’d buried for too long. Or maybe it was just that he didn’t want to say no.

He followed her up the steps, rain misting off his jacket, boots hitting the pavement in quiet but fast steps.

She unlocked the door and held it open for him. He stepped past her, the soft scent of her space surrounding him instantly.

Warm. Familiar. Off-limits.

The door shut behind them with a soft click.

“Text Bruce. Let him know you’re home safe.” His voice is calm. But on the inside, he’s anything but calm.