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King Bruce Wayne of Gotham doesn’t like guns.
It’s a personal thing, Jason knows, the king and queen before him being assassinated on their way home from an event while the then-prince watched and escaped unscathed. Bruce has been king for years, and up until Jason, none of the royal family’s security has ever carried a gun. Or at least, not one with non-rubber bullets. Which Jason, who’s been in the security business since he was sixteen years old and has been shooting guns for a lot longer than that, thinks is fucking stupid, frankly.
Jason’s been the crown prince’s head guard for half a decade. Dick, lead security to the younger prince, got him the job after Prince Timothy Wayne drove off eight guards in the span of three years. The longest one made it six months before giving up. Bruce had been looking for someone that his adopted son wouldn’t scare away, and Dick recommended Jason for the job.
Jason hasn’t been scared away yet, but he started carrying guns after the third assassination attempt on his charge’s life. Bruce didn’t like it then. He doesn’t like it now. But he knows that Jason is an asset, and Jason knows that he’s an asset, and after he made it past the six-month mark Tim decided that Jason wasn’t going anywhere, so they put up with each other.
He sometimes wonders how it is that he’s able to snark back to the King of Gotham without being thrown in a dungeon somewhere. Probably because Tim takes his side in every argument they get in, and Tim’s the only hope for the country, or whatever, because Tim is smart and cutthroat and cares about the people of Gotham in a way that only someone who grew up on her streets can, and the people love him, and Bruce loves him, so when Tim takes Jason’s side in arguments with a smirk and bags under his eyes, Bruce caves.
The royal family is… weird, Jason’s decided. Bruce has been king since he was barely a teenager, but his experience shows. He’s got the highest approval rating of any Gotham monarch dating back to when the polls started. He’s got an advisor that was his father’s, and Alfred is more of a father to everyone in the palace than he is an advisor. Of Bruce’s three children, only one is his by blood, the youngest. Damian is, to put it kindly, a piece of work. Dick certainly has his hands full. The only daughter, Cassandra, spends most of her time abroad, abdicated her position in line for the throne, and can kick both Jason and Dick’s asses at the same time without breaking a sweat.
Which leaves Tim. Tim, who practically forced his way into the royal family after breaking into the palace six separate times, whose mother was a noblewoman that didn’t care about him, who Bruce took on as a ward and then adopted as a son when the Drakes died. Tim is cunning and gorgeous and compassionate and ruthless, the perfect politician and the perfect prince. Jason is devastatingly in love with him.
Not that it matters. It’s his sworn and sacred duty to protect Prince Timothy Wayne, heir to the throne, with his life. That does not involve falling in love with him, so Jason brushes his feelings aside and follows Tim on every scheme he cooks up and makes sure the prince doesn’t get them both killed in the process.
Tim’s a pain in his ass a lot of the time; there’s a lot of people that want him dead for various reasons, and he’s good at making enemies in high places. One of the benefits of being embroiled in politics from a young age, Jason figures, and from having an acute disorder that involves not taking anyone’s shit with a polite and dangerous smile. The prince is already missing his spleen (from before Jason was hired), and he seems intent on losing more organs if it weren’t for the fact that Jason is really, really good at his job.
They throw a surprise party when Jason hits five years of employment. Jason knows it’s coming, or at least that something is, based on the way Tim makes him stand outside his office door while he and Stephanie make plans for an event he’s not allowed to know about. He wakes up the morning of in his bedroom down the hall from Tim’s to a smiling Dick. Dick is just about the only person that can sneak up on Jason, other than maybe Cass and occasionally Tim himself. Dick grins at him and drags him down to the kitchens, doesn’t even let him get dressed, and shoves him unceremoniously inside.
There’s a banner hanging up that reads congrats on not quitting in huge block letters. Tim is sitting on the counter under it with a wide grin, cheering along with everyone else as Jason takes in the sight. It’s a breakfast-themed party and every one of his friends in the palace is in attendance. Bruce even makes an appearance, giving him a rare, genuine smile. Jason’s not sure how to feel about it.
The kitchen staff kicks them out a few hours later. Tim sticks around to clean up, and refuses to let Jason help. As they’re leaving, a bundle of torn-down streamers in Tim’s arms and the banner flowing behind him like a cape, he looks up at Jason.
“Thanks for sticking around,” he says. He’s got on one of those smiles that he only uses in private, one of the ones that’s not for the cameras or the people or other royalty. It’s the smile that’s only for his siblings and his friends, for Bruce and Alfred, and these days, for Jason. “I know I don’t make things easy on you. But I’m really glad you’re still here.”
If Jason were any worse at his job, he would probably stop short at how much emotion Tim’s letting seep through his voice. But Tim has been surprising him for five years now, so he just grins back and ruffles the prince’s hair.
“You’re gonna have to try a lot harder if you want to get rid of me,” he says, and Tim lets out a loud bark of laughter.
It’s been nearly a year since the last attempt on Tim’s life, and Jason can admit that they’ve all gotten comfortable. He can also admit that while there have been a lot of attempted assassinations, there have been very few attempted kidnappings, which is another reason he’ll use to justify why he didn’t see it coming. Mostly, though, he doesn’t see it coming because it’s well-planned and well-timed and someone just got the jump on him.
That someone being Ra’s al Ghul, the monarch of another kingdom who should probably be dead ten times over by now. Ra’s is Damian’s grandfather on his maternal side, and even though Damian disowned that side of his family (other than his mother) a long time ago, Ra’s is still royalty, and therefore when important events happen, the al Ghuls and the Waynes are forced to interact.
Ra’s has an odd obsession with Tim that predates the beginning of Jason’s employment. Tim treats it like it’s nothing, even though Ra’s is probably the reason he’s missing his spleen (not that they can prove it). Everyone else in the family is horrified by it, but Tim’s nonchalance keeps them from starting an international incident, which is most likely a good thing. Jason’s not sure what Gotham going to war would mean for his position, but he’s sure it wouldn’t be good.
They’re at a conference in Metropolis, a gathering of several kingdoms to discuss trade sanctions and the role of the International Criminal Court in persecuting inter-kingdom criminals and the recent almost-coup in Bludhaven, among other things that Jason doesn’t really care about but Tim does. And Jason’s a good bodyguard and a good friend, so he listens to Tim as he paces back and forth in their guest room in King Luthor’s palace and complains about how Jonathan Crane makes him want to stab his eyes out.
They manage to avoid a disastrous end to the conference– or rather, Tim and his friend Conner, prince of Metropolis, manage to avoid a disastrous end to the conference by conducting negotiations behind closed doors and signing a Gotham-Metropolis treaty before Bruce and Lex figure out what’s going on. The two princes are very pleased with themselves. Bruce looks proud, Lex furious, but the signatures of their heirs are just as legally binding as their own signatures, and everyone leaves the final wrap-up meeting in better spirits than they were when the conference started.
There’s a gala the following night to celebrate. Tim grumbles the entire time he’s putting on his outfit. Steph, wearing a purple gown that Jason knows is hiding at least three different weapons, redoes his bolo tie four separate times because he keeps trying to get away.
“Jason,” Steph says after try number three, and Jason (who’s already in his suit and has been for the past hour) grabs Tim’s shoulders and holds him steady. Tim goes still as soon as he feels Jason’s touch, and Steph’s following eye roll is practically legendary. Jason escorts them both down to the ballroom, Steph’s arm looped through Tim’s. Someone shouts their names as they enter, Prince Timothy Wayne, Lady Stephanie Brown, and Sir Jason Todd of Gotham. Jason will never get used to the sir in front of his name at these events, even though Bruce technically knighted him after the fourth time he saved Tim’s life.
He lingers on the edges of the ballroom as Tim alternates between mingling with other attendees, dancing with Steph, and blatantly eavesdropping on conversations he’s not a part of. Jason holds a champagne flute that Tim takes a sip of every fifteen minutes and lets his eyes dart from every entrance to every possible threat. Even though the security is tight at events like these, there’s always the chance of a threat from the inside.
Three hours in and Jason’s hackles have been raised. Something’s tingling at the back of his mind, an undercurrent of anxiety telling him to be on high alert. He’s not sure what it is that’s set it off, but he almost tells Tim they’re done for the night when Conner and his guard agree to escort Steph back to her room. Tim is more relaxed than he’s been in a while, though, and tells Jason just another hour, he’s almost got this deal with the Smallville representatives sealed. Jason reluctantly agrees, and leaves his position on the outskirts of the room to follow behind Tim directly.
Tim forces him into three separate dances. Jason wants to say no every time, but he’s weak for Tim and more especially, he’s weak for a slightly-flushed Tim in a nice suit, so he spins the prince around the room and lets the slight smile grow on his face as Tim laughs. They manage to clinch the deal with Smallville half an hour after Steph departs, thanks to a well-timed comment from Jason about agriculture that wins over the last representative that’s on the fence. As the reps depart, Tim turns to Jason with a beam.
“Thank God for you,” he says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Die, probably,” Jason replies without missing a beat. Tim snickers and loops his arm through Jason’s, like Steph had done with him before, and allows Jason to lead them out of the ballroom. They both nod to Bruce on the way out, who nods back, and they make it back to the room without any stumbling on Tim’s part.
“I’m not that tipsy,” he says as Jason closes the door, and then immediately stumbles. He scowls. “Okay, I’m a little tipsy.”
“Did you eat today?”
“I had some hors d'oeuvres. At the gala.”
“So, no,” Jason says. Tim looks away guiltily. “I’ll send for something. Go shower.”
“You’re amazing,” Tim says, beaming at him, and he bounds over to press his lips to Jason’s jaw before disappearing into the bathroom. Jason touches the spot on his face for a long moment before he manages to call someone to bring them chili dogs. They’re warm and waiting when Tim gets out of the shower, dressed in pajama pants and ruffling his hair with a towel. Jason does not ogle his bare chest, because he’s better than that, and Tim throws on a sweatshirt soon after anyways.
Tim crashes shortly after finishing his meal. He stares at the ceiling for a long while, Jason positioned at the door. There are more guards outside, provided by the Metropolis palace, so he could hypothetically relax if he wanted to. Something is still telling him to stay alert, however, and it’s not until Tim gives him a look that he tries to untense his shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” Tim asks, buried under blankets and looking at him with a frown.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Jason says, probably too quickly. Tim narrows his eyes.
“Well, if nothing’s wrong, you can sleep,” he says pointedly. “Long trip back to Gotham in the morning.”
Jason sighs. He’s changed out of his suit already and is wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he goes to the couch off to one side of the room. Tim’s eyes track his movements, and he sits down on the couch.
“I’m resting,” he says. He even reclines back to prove his point.
“That’s the most uncomfortable couch I’ve ever sat on,” Tim says. “Come on.”
He rolls over in the bed, throwing the blankets back to leave room for Jason, an open invitation. They’ve shared a bed before, at events like these, and occasionally in Gotham if Tim is feeling particularly clingy and Jason reluctantly indulges him. Jason argues to himself that if anything happens, they’ll be alerted by the guards stationed outside, and he’ll be closer to Tim to protect him anyways. He sighs and gets up, and Tim grins victoriously.
He makes sure there’s a handgun on the table next to the bed before he actually gets in. He forces his muscles to relax– the mattress is a hell of a lot more comfortable than the couch– and Tim throws the blankets over him, then curls into his side.
“Night,” he mumbles. He told Jason once, on a night like this, that he sleeps better when there’s someone else in the bed with him. That’s mostly why Jason can’t say no to him when he asks. He mutters something in response, and the warm weight of Tim against his side is enough to have him drifting off into slumber.
He wakes up suddenly, hair standing on end, every alarm going off in his brain. It takes a moment for him to figure out why, and then he hears muffled grunting and the sounds of a fight outside the door. He grabs the handgun on the nightstand and shakes Tim’s shoulder.
“Hmm?” Tim says, clearly being pulled out of a deep sleep. “What– Jason?”
“Get up,” Jason says, sliding out of bed and making sure the gun is loaded. He positions himself in front of Tim, gun raised and held in both hands. Tim sits up, rubbing his eyes, still confused.
“What’s going–” he starts, and then the door shudders as something is thrown against it, and he stops. It’s still dark outside, the sun nowhere near rising, and Jason thanks everything he’s a light sleeper and that Tim is, too, considering Tim’s sliding out of bed to stand just behind him, scanning the room for a weapon.
“You didn’t bring a bo, did you?” Jason whispers, because of course Tim is trained in combat, same as Cass and Damian and Bruce. He’s a hell of a good fighter, too, though he does better with a bo staff than he does hand-to-hand.
“No,” Tim says. “You have an extra gun?”
“In my bag,” Jason says. The bag’s on the other side of the room. “Don’t move.”
“I won’t,” Tim says, remaining behind Jason. The door shudders again, and it sounds like someone’s trying to kick it in rather than throwing a body up against it. One of Tim’s hands snakes up to grab Jason’s shoulder, steadying. Jason lets out a breath.
The door slams open, blown clean off its hinges, deadbolt shattering and splintered wood raining into the room. Jason waits to make sure it really is an intruder and not Bruce coming to get them out of some cataclysmic event. Once he sees the signet of the al Ghuls, he shoots. The first three men to enter the room go down with rubber bullets to the helmet, enough power behind the shots to knock them clean out. The fourth gets one in the knee, crumpling, but keeps his own gun trained on Jason. He shoots and Jason ducks, pulling Tim down with him, the bullet going through the plaster of the wall behind them. Another headshot and the fourth is down, gun falling, but in the time it takes him to duck and cover Tim, four more men have entered the room, guns trained on them. One’s made his way to the foot of the bed and Jason swivels. The gun’s on Tim, not him, and he could shoot but then there’s the risk of someone else taking down Tim, and–
“Give it up, Todd,” a familiar voice says. Jason keeps his gun raised, down on one knee, Tim crouched behind him. Ra’s al Ghul makes his way into the room, grinning slightly. “Either of you scream, we’ll shoot the other one. Understood?” Tim makes a snarling noise. He’s still got a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Tell your attack dog to lower his weapon, Timothy. He’s not going to need it anymore.”
Tim’s fingers clench on Jason’s shoulder. Jason doesn’t move.
“Now!” Ra’s hisses. Tim grips Jason tighter, and he lowers the gun, slowly setting it down on the ground. He keeps Tim between his body and the bed as best as he can, but there are a dozen men in the room now, all of them with guns that Jason assumes aren’t loaded with rubber bullets.
“You really think we’re gonna go without a fight?” Tim asks, and Jason wants nothing more than to tell him to shut up, but Tim talking gives him enough time to assess the situation. Tim knows it, and Jason knows Tim knows it. “Go quietly? What’s the plan here, Ra’s?”
“The plan,” Ra’s says slowly. “Is that you’re coming with me. Alive and whole, preferably, but you don’t really need your kneecaps, do you? And you certainly don’t need your bodyguard. So if you don’t, we’ll kill him. And if he tries to attack us, we’ll shoot you.” He says it casually, like threatening bodily harm against a crown prince is something that happens on a daily basis.
“What do you want, though?” Tim drawls, keeping his volume low. “Ransom? Another organ? A kidney, maybe, put it in a jar next to my spleen?” He lets out a snort, like it’s funny. Jason has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.
“We’ll see if you’re still laughing in a few hours,” Ra’s says plainly. He jerks two fingers and Jason has to resist the temptation to snap the neck of the first man that approaches, because he’d rather not have Tim get shot because of him. Three men get their hands on him and pull him up and away from Tim. Tim stands as they do, and then there are zip ties around Jason’s wrists and duct tape over his mouth and he glares at Ra’s as he approaches. Ra’s doesn’t seem deterred, just moves straight past him to Tim.
The men holding Jason turn him around so he can see as Ra’s caresses the side of Tim’s face, and Jason growls at him. Ra’s shoots a smirk over his shoulder and grabs Tim by the neck. Tim, for his part, doesn’t flinch, just stares Ra’s dead in the eyes. “We’re going to have so much fun together,” Ra’s croons, and Tim’s face sets into grim determination and pure hatred. Jason tries to lunge, red tinging the edges of his vision, but he’s firmly held back. Ra’s smirks at him again as he pulls Tim forward by the collar of his sweatshirt. Tim gets the same zip tie and duct tape treatment, and Jason can barely shoot him a reassuring glance before there’s the sharp pinch of a needle on the back of his neck and everything goes dark.
Jason crawls back to consciousness slowly. He registers that he’s lying on his side, knees tucked up to his chest, hands still zip tied, though they’re behind his back now. The duct tape is still covering his mouth and wherever he is it’s dim, not dark. Inside, probably. It’s slightly humid and he can’t tell how much time has passed and he has no idea where Tim is, until someone kicks him in the back and he opens his eyes, immediately on guard.
“Oh, look, he’s awake,” Ra’s comments from somewhere above him. “Finally.” Someone pulls him up by the shoulders and he’s forced onto his knees. He glances around quickly, taking stock of his surroundings. An office space, no windows, one lamp in the corner. Mahogany desk that Ra’s is leaning against. Eight guards with guns stationed around the room, and Tim to his left.
Tim’s not looking at him, but he’s awake. He’s in a similar predicament, wrists zip tied behind his back and on his knees. Except Jason is unhurt, as far as he can tell from a quick assessment of his body, and Tim’s got a bruise forming around his left eye and blood dripping from one nostril, leaving a red streak on the duct tape over his mouth. That’s not the most concerning to Jason– Tim has had far, far worse than a nosebleed and black eye. No, the concerning part is that Tim isn’t looking at Jason. He’s not looking at Ra’s, either, he’s just staring at the ground in front of him.
Jason tries to talk through the duct tape, and a garbled sound comes out. Ra’s steps forward and rips the tape off none too gently. Jason winces and tries again.
“What the fuck did you do to him?” he snarls.
“Oh, nothing much,” Ra’s says. “Yet. He woke up a while ago and wouldn’t shut up. Clearly he has no regard for his own safety, so thank goodness you’re awake now. Much easier to get compliance when you threaten something someone loves.”
Jason glances at Tim. Tim’s head is still pointed at the ground, but his eyes flick up to Ra’s, something murderous in them.
“It’s so easy,” Ra’s continues, not taking notice of Tim’s glare. “Gotham won’t do a damn thing against me, not when I could hurt their beloved prince. No one else is strong enough to march against me. I can get whatever I want, do whatever I want… and you’re here, Timothy’s favorite pet, so he can’t do anything against me, either. It’s perfect, isn’t it? What a perfect opportunity I have here.”
Jason tries edging closer to Tim. A boot flies out of nowhere and catches him in the stomach, knocking him back. He groans and Tim jerks toward him, but someone catches him by the hair and holds him steady.
“Imagine what I could do with you,” Ra’s says, talking to Tim and Tim alone. “Your skill and mine combined… we could take over the world. Unlimited power. And if you say no…”
The boot flies again, hitting the same spot. Jason doesn’t make a noise, because it hurts but he’s had worse, and he doesn’t want to worry Tim and he’s still frantically trying to figure out a way out of this. Tim tries saying something through the duct tape. Ra’s steps forward and gently removes the tape, peeling it away from Tim’s skin and then haphazardly tossing it to the side. Tim takes in a shaky breath.
“Yes?” Ra’s says expectantly.
“Don’t hurt him,” Tim says, and his voice is steady. “Do whatever the fuck you want with me, but don’t hurt him.”
“Tim–” Jason starts, and the boot flies a third time. It hits his ribs but he doesn’t feel the pain of a break, and he lets out a grunt.
“Stop,” Tim commands. He’s using his heir-to-the-throne voice, the one full of power and danger and the threat of no mercy. That voice alone is enough to have the guards in the room glancing around at each other nervously. Even Ra’s looks affected, though he’s trying to present as unphased. He gestures, and the man that had kicked Jason steps back against the wall.
Tim gets to his feet, a bit wobbly, and Jason gets himself back onto his knees. Ra’s steps forward, toward Tim, ignores Jason and the guards and tilts Tim’s chin up.
“Perfect,” he says, barely there, like he didn’t even mean to say it. He leans in closer to Tim, his other hand coming up to grip Tim’s waist. Jason sees the way Tim tries not to flinch, lets it happen, holds steady. He thinks about Bruce’s rule of not executing anyone, and thinks maybe he’ll have to kill Ra’s before Bruce has a chance to imprison him. Will that start an inter-kingdom war? Maybe. But Ra’s is touching Tim, and Jason hates him with every fiber of his being. The red is swimming across his gaze and Ra’s’ hand slips lower, the other one gripping Tim’s chin and pulling him closer, and then–
And then Tim’s leg sweeps out, knocking Ra’s’ feet out from under him. Ra’s hits the ground and Tim follows, kneeling heavily on his chest to keep him down and wrenching his wrists out of his zip ties. He gets both hands around Ra’s’ neck and leans in close and not a single guard in the room is moving.
“You made a mistake,” Tim breathes out, seething, still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, perfectly in control. “You know what it was?”
“Underestimating you?” Ra’s chokes out, trying and failing to grin. Tim shakes his head.
“You took Jason,” he says. “I would go to war for Jason. I would tear the world apart for him. I would burn every last kingdom down if he wanted me to. That was your mistake.” He pauses. “And you hurt me. Thank God Jason wasn’t awake for that, or you’d already be dead. But I think your biggest mistake was forgetting that I’m friends with your daughter.”
Tim lets go of Ra’s and stands up. Jason is trying not to gape at him. The guard that had kicked him steps forward, pulls off their helmet and– yeah, that’s Talia al Ghul, smiling down at her father.
“I owe Timothy a favor,” she says to him. “Sorry.” She does not sound very apologetic. Tim grins and she hands him a knife, and he goes to Jason’s side immediately, cutting the zip ties and getting him up on his feet, checking him over for any other injuries, hands darting over his torso carefully.
“You okay?” he asks, searching Jason’s eyes. “He didn’t hurt you?”
“Just Talia,” Jason grumbles, looking over Tim’s shoulder, and Talia shrugs. This time she does look a bit apologetic.
“Appearances,” she says, and begins giving orders to the other guards in the room, two of whom drag Ra’s out with them. “There’s a plane waiting for you outside. Take your time, I’ve already let your father know you’re safe.”
“Thanks,” Tim says, offering a grim smile. His hands are still resting lightly on Jason’s chest. “We’ll be right out.” He turns back to Jason as Talia exits and closes the door behind her. “You’re really okay?” he asks, voice full of concern.
“I think,” Jason says, his head throbbing but not from a headache, Tim’s words replaying in his head, I would tear the world apart for him, “that working for you may be a conflict of interest.” He can feel his pulse in every part of his body and the heat from Tim’s fingers as they dance up to his shoulders.
“Yeah?” Tim asks, eyes full of mirth. The bruise around his eye is darkening, the blood under his nose congealing, and Jason reaches out with one hand to wipe it off his upper lip. Tim lets him, holds his gaze the whole time.
“Yeah,” Jason says, letting his hand cup Tim’s face, rubbing his thumb under Tim’s eye gently. “I’m kind of in love with you.”
“What a relief,” Tim says, fighting a giddy smile. “Considering I’m kind of in love with you, too. I don’t think it’s a conflict of interest, though. Seems to me like you have a pretty good reason for keeping me alive.”
Jason laughs, and his stomach aches a little bit but he doesn’t wince, and his other hand comes up to hold the other side of Tim’s face. Tim leans up on his toes as Jason ducks his head down, the both of them pressing their lips together gently, sweetly. Tim tastes a little bit like honey with a tang of blood when Jason licks into his mouth, and he lets out the most beautiful sounding moan as Jason pulls him closer. Jason’s the one that has to break the kiss to breathe first, and Tim is grinning at him, that full, real grin that lights up his eyes and every other feature on his face.
“Should we go home?” Jason suggests, and he’s grinning back. He’d die for Tim. Tim would kill for him. A pretty solid deal, honestly. “We should maybe go home. Avoid an international incident, and all that. Bruce is probably ten seconds away from declaring war.”
“Yeah,” Tim agrees, leaning back in. “That’s probably a good idea.”
He kisses Jason again. Jason doesn’t have it in him to argue.