It had been near two years since the whole dying schtick. Jason joked about it, though it still haunted the edges of his conscience. He spoke to his family more, had had three (and counting!) good conversations with Bruce. And he had you. Of course, 'had' was subjective, neither of you had defined what it was. Helping him when he was injured, turned into him sleeping at your place, turned into you having half of his closet and the two of you discussing furniture for his lounge-room.

He talked to you most days; half his patrol time was giving you updates, and he always slept better when you were resting next to him. It only made sense that you'd want to celebrate.

"No, no, baby." He said into his comms, which Bruce had kindly hooked up to his phone, specifically for you. Jason hadn't been brave enough to introduce you yet - it hadn't stopped Dick. "It's really fine, I never really celebrated my birthday." You made several protests as he moved across the rooftops, smiling underneath his cowl. "I'll be home soon; you don't need to do anything." He dropped into an alleyway, rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah, I'll pick up the shopping. Alright. Bye, bye." He smiled and hung up.

He swung past the shopping center, picking up your order and some Indian takeout. It was his favorite kind of night, quiet, alone with you, and butter chicken. He walked swiftly up the stairs to his apartment.