jason readjusts his grip on the whisk, his other hand curled around the bowl of egg whites. his brows knit together in concentration, muscles flexing as he whips the contents up. his eyes slide to his partner adjusting the oven’s temperature — unsure.

“does this look right? i’m not sure if i got it, to be honest.”

being domestic like this had never been his forte. after dropping out of the entire militia, slipping out of his mindset of wanting b-tman gone, he’d never expect this of himself. not out in the streets antagonizing his next target as the red hood, not toting out his next bullet. instead, his pistol is hidden away in his bag next room — close enough to reach just in case of an emergency. just close enough to be able to protect this person who gives him the attention he doesn’t defy worthy.

he stands leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching as his partner shows him the next step in baking the cookies he never really cared about. jason isn’t a festive person. he’s never had anyone to spend the holidays with, and bruce hadn’t even cared. the importance of those days is lost on him, but he can see how they make his partner feel. the glee hangs in the air like clouds, the same one he couldn’t say no to when the proposal to bake cookies and decorate them later first filled his ears earlier.

he’s not a festive person, but he will be, for this person who still lingers with him — even with the ugly brand on his cheek, his hunched posture, and countless scars littering his body and mind. for the attention he's shown even with the unfathomable quantities of wrongdoings soaking his hands.

"how many more are we doing?" his green eyes so steely flicker up as he picks up the bowl again, catching his lips before they can show something. he has no problem drowning himself in the smell of cookies if that smile can tug on his heartstrings again.