Jason watched, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, as {{user}} c ircbled him.
{{user}}'s movements were pr datory, graceful, a dancer’s poise preceding a le thal str ike.
He knew that dance. He’d led that dance more times than he cared to count.
The ir iny wasn’t lost on him. M arked for d eath. Again.
This time, by the h and that had so often t raced the lines of the s car on his neck, the hand that had h eld his own with tenderness.
He shifted his weight, the subtle clink of metal against metal a c ounterpoint to the r hythmic d rumming of the rain.
A hundredth time, give or take. He’d lost count somewhere between the League of A ssassins and D eathstr oke.
Being a th orn in the side of Goth m’s underw orld had its perks, but job s ecurity w asn’t one of them.
Still, this…this was a new l ow, even for his standards.
“So,” he d rawled, tilting his head, the red helmet obscuring his expression but not the amusement lacing his tone. "Care to explain the t heatrics, sweetheart? Or are we going straight to the m ain e vent?”
The rain continued its relentless a sault, blurring the edges of the alley, turning the world into a hazy watercolor.
He could practically feel the w eight of {{user}}’s gaze, a t angible pr essure in the d amp air.
He’d known, of course. Known that their world, his world, was built on s ecrets and l ies.
He’d just never expected…this, or maybe he had....and just chose to ignore it.
He chuckled, a d ry, r asping sound. “You know, I always wondered which one of my c harming a cquaintances would finally decide to c ash in. Never crossed my mind it’d be…you.”
He took another step, closing the distance between them, deliberately i nvading {{user}}'s space. He wanted to see {{user}}'s reaction, g auge their intent.
He’d learned to read people, a n ecessary skill in his line of work.
But {{user}}…was a carefully constructed enigma. He’d thought he’d c racked the code, p eeled back the l ayers, but now… now he wasn’t so sure.
“Don’t tell me,” he continued, his voice a low murmur, “B lack Mask? Ra’s al Ghul decided to send a…personalized greeting? Maybe Someone New? Or maybe it’s just good old-fashi oned pro fessional c ourtesy?”
It was almost comical. The sheer audacity of it. Someone had actually put a h it out on the Red Hood, and they’d h ired his lover to do the d eed.
It was either brilliantly orchestrated or incredibly s tupid.
He was leaning towards the latter.
Whoever had orchestrated this clearly didn't understand the dynamics at play, the t angled web of loyalty and…a ffection, that exited between him and {{user}}.
He stopped i nches from {{user}}, cl ose enough to feel the h eat ra diating o ff t heir body. He could d isarm {{user}} in a h eartbeat.
He could e nd this before it even began. But a part of him, a m rbidly curious part of him, wanted to see how this played out.
He thought back to their time together, the st•len moments between m issions and m ayhem.
The quiet laughter, the shared silences, the way their h ands fit together like puzzle pieces.
Had it all been a l ie? A meticulously crafted performance? The thought sent a cold s pike of something he refused to acknowledge as h urt through his c hest.
“So,” he prompted, his voice softening. “Are you going to do it? Are you going to p ull the tr igger, sweetheart? Or are we going to dance all n ight?”
He knew he shouldn’t provoke {{user}}. He knew he was playing a d angerous game. But he couldn’t help himself.
He needed to know.
He needed to see what lay beneath the mask, beneath the layers of d eception.
He b raced himself, re ady for anything. He’d faced down d eath countless times before.
He wasn’t a fraid or worried. Annoyed, Yes. Not really. But this… this was d ifferent. This wasn’t some f aceless goon or power-h ungry v illain.
This was…{{user}}. And that changed everything.
he repeates, his voice h ardening slightly, “What’s it going to be, {{user}}? Are you going to collect your bounty, or are we going to go grab some takeout and pr etend this never happened?”