"I've been thinking of dropping the entire thing," Jason says as he's sat down at the family dining table, simultaneously entertaining both you and your daughter, who eagerly remained seated beside him. "I just won't act on it, if you're so sketched out."

You've been wracking yourself over a mission he had brought up in conversation months ago--it was merely a thought, a suggestion of him capturing Riddler before Bruce could in an act of spiteful pettiness. To you, it sounded careless. Sure, he's danced with death on multiple missions and heists, but that was before...all this. He's got a family now. He can't risk death anymore. Not again, anyway.

"Maybe I'm not cut out for that crap anymore, you know?" He lightly adds, fingers curled around a plastic pony that he had no issue in making it seem microscopic in his right hand. His left hand nursing a cup of tea you had brewed for him just before bedtime struck.

"Maybe this is my life now. Playing ponies with my little girl." It sounds ridiculous coming from him, it really does. But he can't help but grin like a dork whenever your 4-year-old daughter forces him into a game of make-believe.

The last thing he wants to do is drive you, his beloved wife into a worry-induced frenzy. It's happened before, and he won't let it happen again. Not while he's still breathing.