Chapter Text
Jason
It’s early in the morning when Jason finds Angelica Aguilar opening up the community center. It’s old with boarded-up windows, but the lights still turn on, and there are still lines on the basketball court.
“Bothering me again?” She says when she notices Jason. She’s an older woman with short curly hair and a near-permanent scowl. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m retired?”
“Hey, I pay you, don’t I?” Jason says, holding up his hands in surrender. “And I brought you a danish from Carelli’s.”
“You pay me against my will,” she snorts as she flicks the light switch. Jason trails in after her. It’s early, but kids from the alley will trickle in soon. The community center is in Hood territory. It’s one of the few safe places they have.
“Coffee?” Angelica asks. She walks him towards the small kitchen to the right of the indoor basketball court.
“I’m Dominican,” Jason replies easily. “Half, anyway.”
“Right,” she scoffs (or maybe it’s a laugh) and turns on the coffee pot. “Why’re you here, Jason?” She asks as she fills the carafe with water.
“I can’t visit an old friend? Check in on the place?” Jason hedges.
“We’re not friends. I talk you out of killing yourself, and you keep this place open,” Angelica says flatly.
“You wound me.”
“Jason,” she sighs. They’ve done this dance a million times, Jason knows. He jokes. Dodges. She waits him out.
Sometimes, she reminds him of Alfred, that way.
He sighs, caught. “I’m…worried.”
“About?” Angelica gestures for him to go on.
Fuck. Okay. He’s really doing this. “I’m worried about…my…family,” he grits out, and there, it’s out in the open.
“Considering you look like that nearly killed you, I’m going to assume you don’t mean the husband.” The coffee maker dings, and Angelica pulls them down two mugs from the cupboard.
“I’m always worried about Roy. That’s different, though. No, I’m talking about my…” he shakes his head. The word feels lodged in his throat, mucus-y and thick.
“Your?” Angelica prods with a put-upon sigh. “Finish the thought, Jason,”
“I’m worried about my siblings,” Jason blurts. “My siblings. Because I have those.”
Angelica rolls her eyes, but the slight smile is unmistakable. “Good job using your words,” she says. She doesn’t hand him cream or sugar because she knows better.
“Bite me,” Jason groans and leans against the counter.
“Clock’s ticking, pretty boy,” Angelica says, “and kiddos are going to be here soon.”
Jason groans and squeezes his eyes shut. He came here for a reason. “I don’t know,” he says. “That’s not true. A lot of things are actually shit, but for the first time, it seems like we’re all on the same page about it. That means things are good.”
“And?”
“Well, I don’t fucking know, Angie, that’s why I came to you!” Jason shrugs his shoulders uselessly. It’s been bothering him for days like an itch under his skin. Tim’s actually in therapy. He’s talking more. Even looks better on most days. Less like he’s gonna take a sudden swan dive. Jason knows Dick’s talking to someone too, managing the stress of being the go-between the League and Bruce. They’re at least on better terms, he thinks, he and Bruce. On the same wavelength again for the first time in years. There was a time when that would’ve made Jason jealous, he thinks, but what is there to be jealous of now? He’s not Dick. He’s not supposed to be.
And that’s okay.
“Well, good is kind of unfamiliar, isn’t it?” Angelica is saying. “You’re normally only around family when it’s a crisis. It probably feels strange to be in contact when things are good. When good things are happening, even if the world outside is shit.”
“I want good things to happen,” Jason huffs more to himself than to her.
“Jason.”
“I can be happy. I want to be happy.”
“Then be happy.” She shrugs again and takes a sip of her coffee.
“Gee, thanks. I see why they gave you a counseling license.”
“Coño, don’t insult me. I’m a fucking social worker, and you know that. And don’t deflect. We’ve talked about this. What makes you happy? What contributes to that feeling?”
They have talked about this before.
“Roy and Lian. Good books. Taking care of my community. Good seltzer like a loser. Marbolro reds. Menthols on a bad day. Trashy romance. Bravo TV. Good food. Good music.” The list is rote. Easy to remember.
Angelica nods approvingly. “Happiness takes work. We’ve established this, but the work is not impossible. We can feed the beast, or we can feed ourselves. You can ruminate on what might go wrong, or you can live in what is going right. Up to you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“Oh? You know? Then why the hell are you bothering me?” Angelica places her now-empty mug in the sink and turns on the faucet. “You already knew this, Jason. What’s really wrong?”
“Nothing. You’re right, I’m just…I’m getting in my own way again,” Jason sighs.
“Then stop.”
Jason snorts a laugh. “You’re so encouraging.”
“I’m retired from clinical work. You want gentle? Go talk to a baby social worker.” She turns off the faucet and sets her mug on the drying rack.
“But then you’d miss me.” Jason drains his mug.
“I’m not cleaning that.”
“I’m not a savage,” Jason scoffs. “I'll wash it. And wire you.”
“I don't need your money.”
“Sure, sure. The back door still busted?”
Angelica purses her lips. “Yeah. And it's gonna take weeks to get someone to come out.”
“I've got my drill. Hardware store isn't far. I'll get it fixed today. Who knows, being helpful may improve my mood.”
“You're a menace.”
“Did I get an A+ in therapy, Angie?”
“You gave me a headache, is what you did.”