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From the moment Bruce entered his office, he knew one of his interns was a traitor.
It was obvious. It was obvious from the red motorcycle helmet on his desk. It was obvious from the dirt on his carpet. It was mostly obvious because Jason Todd, second eldest son, and rival prosecutor, sat in his office chair reading his case files. He’d propped up his feet so his mud-clad boots were resting on his desk like they owned the place. If they hadn’t scratched the wood, it would be a miracle. Bruce hoped his right eye wasn’t twitching.
There was a simple rule at Wayne Law Firm: Jason didn’t enter without Bruce’s okay. Reminders were pretty much tapped to every surface in the office. Barbara, his best laywer in the joint, had made up the bright red sheets with Jason’s mug on them. They were impossible not to notice. Which meant whoever broke the rule knew exactly what they were doing.
“Who did you bribe?” Bruce asked, dropping his briefcase as soon as he walked past the doorway. He was already cataloging the list of interns in his head (It couldn’t be any of his partners, no, Dick and Barbara knew better). It couldn’t be Tim; Jason and him fought like dogs on a good day. There’d be nothing Jason could buy to get past that kid. Harper was an easier target, she had yet to see the havoc one Jason Todd could unleash. Rookies were always a risk. Stephanie could be bribed with the right milkshake, though it depended on how charitable she was feeling at the time (Bruce had learned first hand that the blond had one hell of an angry side). And Cass? Well, his daughter just liked messing with him.
“Stephanie,” Jason held up a receipt. Bruce was almost positive that it was from Stephanie’s favorite burger joint down the block. “Pretender was too busy forging his report card to care.”
Bruce sighed. Tim was a smart kid, but a lazy one. He could only guess what his son got this time on his exams. Even Damian, who viewed school as an inconvenience, got better grades (Though that may be due to his tutor Duke Thomas’s effect on him). “Why are you here, Jason?”
Jason put down the case file he was reading. A smile stretched across his face. It reminded Bruce too much of Selina Kyle, defense lawyer. “Can’t a man visit his father?”
“Not when he’s trying to take a case.” Bruce sat down in the chair across from his desk, and reached for his laptop. Jason moved his feet just enough to the side so the mud smeared across the back of the thing as he pulled it over. Bruce brushed off the dirt and started to pull up some case files. The keys were somewhat sticky with soda pop. He shot a look a Jason. The young prosecutor raised his hands.
“Don’t look at me old man. That’s all Goldie’s work. You’re just lucky he wasn’t eating Cheetos.”
Bruce decided to ignore the sticky keys (reminding himself to lecture Dick later about working and eating) and pulled up the files. There were a few new cases, mostly little things like petty thievery. No one Jason would care about. He scrolled down some more until one caught his eye.
Dent. Former lawyer, former great man. Former a lot of things. Bruce looked over the top of his laptop and raised an eyebrow.
“Dent? You want Dent?”
“Yep.”
That was….surprising. Jason generally didn’t try to take cases with Dent. He usually went after bigger fish, like drug lords and child abusers. People he could push the death penalty on with little remorse. Not folks who were criminally insane (except for the Joker, who Jason couldn’t prosecute due to personal issues. Personal issues like being almost blown to bits by the man when he was still a teenager in retaliation for Bruce daring to prosecute the man’s case. He had the scars to prove it.) Folks who had a rough time. Like Dent.
Sensing his confusion, Jason spoke up. “I’m not pushing death for him, don’t worry. In fact, I was thinking of going with your usual deal.” Time in a mental facility, then. “Should be an open and shut case.”
Bruce still stared. It had been over a decade, and he still had trouble understanding his second eldest son. Even when he was so sure he had finally figured him out. “Why?”
Jason rolled his eyes and took his feet off the table. He spun around in Bruce’s chair once. “Because whenever you take Dent’s case, he gives you a verbal whiplashing that puts you in a funk for weeks. And with Alfred’s birthday coming up, you don’t need any funks. You can’t give it to Dick because he’s biased,” Dick was. When Dent first lost it, all those years ago, he’s attempted to beat Dick into a pulp when the kid was in college. It was one of the most frightening days of Bruce’s life, behind Jason’s attack. Dick had a long scar on his forehead from it. “And Barbara is busy dealing with Quinn. Thus,” He pointed to himself. The chair came to a stop, resting so that Jason was facing Bruce. “I’m your best bet.” He stood up and held his hand out. Waiting for the file.
Bruce frowned. Jason was right. It was annoying. He reached for his briefcase and pulled out Dent’s case file. “Swear you won’t push for death?”
“On Alfred’s balding head.”
That settled it. Bruce gave the file to Jason, taking care so none of his notes slipped out of the folder. Jason looked down at it in surprise for a second, his bravado fading to honest shock. Did he think Bruce didn’t trust him? Even now?
“Alright. I trust you,” Bruce said, awkwardly. He didn’t do stuff like this, verbal encouragement. But seeing Jason so raw seemed to call for it. After a second, the venerable expression on Jason’s face was gone, replaced by a smirk. Jason ran his hand through his hair and headed for the door.
“You probably won’t regret it,” he said reaching for the doorknob. “Oh, by the way, Damian’s school called. He snuck the cat in to class again and got into a fight with Elliot’s kid.”
Jason could hear Bruce swear all the way into the lobby.