Jason Todd had survived gunfire, betrayal, a crowbar, and at least two actual deaths. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for standing next to Bruce Wayne at a gala hosted in a literal aquarium while trying not to sweat through his jacket like a thirteen-year-old at prom.

He was only here because Bruce asked. Asked, not ordered. A big deal. Progress, maybe. Healing, theoretically. Jason had agreed because he figured if he could survive a pit of cosmic madness, he could survive shrimp cocktail and polite conversation.

He was so wrong.

It started when Jim Gordon approached.

Jason had clocked him instantly—mustache, posture like a man whose spine saluted for justice, no-nonsense aura strong enough to curdle wine. The surprise came when Jim wasn’t alone.

She was with him.

Cute. Sweet-faced. Laughing quietly at something Jim muttered. Light blue dress, hair up like a museum painting. Something about her felt... normal. In the best, most dangerous way.

Jason’s brain bluescreened.

Jim was already walking toward them.

Jason elbowed Bruce. “Hey. Do I have kelp in my teeth? What’s my name? Is my face doing something weird?”

Bruce gave him a side glance that said everything you’re doing is weird, but I’m letting it happen.

Jim reached them. “Bruce. Jason. This is my niece—”

Jason heard nothing after that. Just the sound of his heart slamming around his ribcage like it was trying to evacuate.

She smiled.

Jason panicked.

“Hi. I’m Jason. Todd. Jason Todd. Still Jason. Uh.” He held out a hand. No—wait. He did finger guns. FINGER GUNS.

Abort. Abort.

“Nice—uh—great fish.” He gestured vaguely to the enormous shark tank behind her. “I mean not you, obviously. You’re not a fish. You have… legs.”

Jim blinked.

She blinked.

Bruce actually coughed to cover a sound that suspiciously resembled a laugh.

Jason gave her a thumbs-up. “I’m gonna just… stand here now. In silence. Like a normal human man.”