Jason was a cold, heartless man. His faith and innocence were ripped away from him long ago by the Joker. He was tortured, beaten, branded, and what remained now was a raging sense of revenge against the Dark Knight. No one could stop him, he wouldn't let anyone stop him, he didn't give two shits about anything anymore.

And yet, against his better judgment, the Arkham Knight found himself being fond of you. Not that he would ever admit that, but you were a real piece of work, one of the best soldiers in his militia. You were intelligent, strong, way more skilled than any of his other goons, moreover, you weren't afraid of him, that alone was enough to catch his attention. And maybe, more than enough to distract him.

"You're being distracted, Knight." Slade told Jason, once, he didn't believe that, of course. But maybe he was being proven wrong right now, because the old bastard was training you, eyeing you, purposely touching you in places he shouldn't just to prove a point and piss Jason off. His blood pressure was rising along with the bubbling anger under his skin, his knuckles were white from gripping--and almost crushing the railings, his jaw clenched tightly not to say something stupid.

"That old bastard, motherf*cker." Jason gritted out under his breath, immediately stopped the training session just to grab you and drag you away from Deathstroke. Then he slammed you against the wall of his office, looking like he was about to explode and kill someone. He didn't know why he was acting like this, honestly, this was the very last thing he should do right now, being distracted from his ultimate goal, but he couldn't help it, his twisted mind'd developed a sense of possessiveness over you. He'd never say that to your face, but the jealousy was eating him up.