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1.
Slade stares at the ceiling, brain turning as he tries to puzzle out the solution to his problem. He’s a world-class mercenary. He’s a strategist, and a deadly opponent to face. How could he possibly be defeated…by Valentine’s Day?
He tries not to sigh, so he doesn’t wake up Jason. The younger man sprawled across the bed, practically on top of Slade himself, an arm thrown across Slade’s middle possessively, as if even asleep, he was afraid of being left.
(It’s been a long time since Slade has felt as wanted as he does with Jason. Beautiful, talented Jason who has his back through everything, and looks at him like he hung the moon, and who trusts him with everything he is. The fact that Jason wants him around so badly, in so many different aspects of life, leaves Slade reeling. Slade wants so badly to deserve that trust. One day, he thinks he will.)
The problem keeps twisting around, making it harder and harder to plan. What Valentine's gift do you give to a man who hates the holiday? Slade had heard the speech before, about the over-consumerism of Valentine’s Day, and Christmas, and so on. He’s heard the comments, when decorations went up in stores, about capitalism killing good intentions and various marketing plays that leave the average person feeling inadequate when they try to buy gifts.
But when Slade thinks about skipping it, something in his gut tells him not to. And to think, after the divorce, Slade was hoping to never have to think about a Valentine’s Day again. He waits as Jason’s breathing deepens, and as he’s reasonably sure he won’t wake Jason up, he slides gently out of bed, steps into the hallway, and calls Billy.
The man picks up on the second ring.
“Either the world is ending,” he says, voice dry and amused, “or you’re about to ask me something very irritating.”
Slade closes his eye. “I need advice.”
There’s a pause, a faint clink of ice in glass. Wintergreen is somewhere warm, probably, with a drink he doesn’t need but will savor all the same. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day.” Slade tries to sound aloof, but if anyone can hear the petulant whine just sitting in the back of his throat, Billy can.
Billy laughs immediately, the soft wheezing of a man who has spent far too long finding Slade absolutely ridiculous. “Of course it is.”
“I need help, Billy, not commentary.” Slade huffs out a breath when Billy just hums, and tries again. “He hates the holiday, you know.”
“As I understand it, he hates most holidays. They remind him that other people had things like childhoods.”
“That isn’t helpful.”
“So, what are you looking for, here?”
“What do I get him?”
“You want to get a gift for a man that doesn’t like gifts?”
“I want to do something.” His eyes roam over the cracks in the wall, cataloging every line. “I want him to know he matters, without him feeling like it’s some transactional, performative bullshit.”
“Hell, Slade.” Billy takes another sip of his drink. “I was barely aware of what was popular with the youth back when the youth was us. I haven’t the slightest idea what they like now.”
“He’s not a child, Billy.”
“I know, I know. He’s a grown man, and one with twice the emotional bandwidth you had when you were his age. I was going to say that his generation would be impossible for me to shop for, not that you’re robbing the cradle. Even though you are.”
“So what do I do?”
“Just ask him, Slade.”
“That defeats the purpose.”
“Of course it does. So far as I can tell, romance largely means doing things the inefficient way.” Billy sighs. “You’re looking at this like a tactical problem, but there isn’t some magic, best solution. Just show up for him when he needs you.”
“That’s the least helpful advice I’ve ever heard from you.”
“No it isn’t. You’re just upset that it isn’t a cut and dry answer.”
Slade bites his lip, carefully considers the angles. Gifts can come with strings and expectations, grand gestures are traps, and nothing at all feels like neglect. “What do people like him want?”
“People like him? Do you mean the people who learned that wanting things is dangerous? He just wants to be seen, Slade.”
Slade doesn’t answer, thinking about Jason and his attention to detail, how he says he doesn’t care about the relationship he has with his family, and how he reacts anyway when they shut him out.
“I don’t know what that looks like. Seeing him.”
“That’s because you’re used to direct solutions, not emotional ones. Just get him something small, that shows him you thought about him. Nothing more.”
“That’s vague.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Billy says. “Or you won’t, and you’ll bother me about it all over again. Either way, I’ll be sitting here laughing at you.”
“Thanks,” Slade says, and the word almost feels strange on his tongue. He’s come a long way, since he started seeing Jason.
“Anytime. Now get back to your boy before he wakes up to find you gone.” There’s something a little too knowing in Billy’s voice, but he hangs up before Slade can overthink it.
— — — —
2.
Slade waits for Jason to go out on his patrol, and calls Roy. Roy is Jason’s best friend, who knows him better than anyone else ever could, Slade included. Surely he’ll know what to do. To his surprise, Roy actually answers on the third ring. The man had given Slade his number in case Jason ever needed him, and had promised to be extremely annoying about it if Slade abused it. Slade, already familiar with Jason and Dick’s dramatics, fully believed him.
“If this is about Jason, I don’t think he’s actually mad at you for anything right now. If this is about you, I don’t care.”
“It’s about Valentine’s Day.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Roy snorts out a laugh. “Oh my god, you’re actually serious.”
“Don’t start.”
“No, no, this is great. I love this for you. This is development. Are you calling all of Jason’s friends? Establishing some kind of council of emotionally competent people? Cause not to rain on the parade, but there’s not a lot of us. Or any of us. Maybe if you combined us, we’d make one solid person.”
“Just answer my questions.” Slade can feel a headache starting. This was a bad idea.
“Okay, okay.” Roy takes a breath, clearly trying to keep the laughter in. “What do you need?”
“What do I do?”
“Uh, honestly? Just spend time with him. He doesn’t like the holiday, and he won’t want you to spend money on shit for it, just cause some obnoxious pink sign told you to.”
“I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring a holiday where I’m supposed to tell him I love him.”
“So just tell him without the holiday. But trust me, no big present. He will hate feeling like a charity case.”
“But what might he want?”
“Time, my guy. He wants to sit on a roof, and not talk. Or he wants to talk about something mind-numbingly stupid without being judged. Or to sit down, eat junk food, and watch trash TV without being treated like he’s wasting your time when he does.”
“That’s just…every day, though.”
“Yeah.” Roy lets a little laugh, bitter and sad and a hundred emotions that Slade doesn’t have the context for. “Which is why turning it into a whole thing will mess it up.”
Slade frowns. “So I should ignore the day.”
“That’s not what I said. Jason deserves for someone to want to make an effort, so you’re already doing fine. Just. I don’t know. Sit with him, clean your weapons together, watch whichever period drama he’s into right now, and don’t call it Valentine’s Day. Call it…Saturday with snacks.”
“Saturday with snacks.”
“Trust me, he doesn’t want to feel like he has to be grateful about something. He has enough debt that he carries around in his head. He doesn’t need or want any more. And if you buy him something big, he’s gonna pretend he doesn’t hate it, and then turn around and bitch to me for a week, and so help me Slade, if I spend a week hearing about something that I specifically told you to avoid, I will personally bully you for the rest of your life.”
Slade ends the call, sighing as he sets his phone down. Spend time with him. Absolutely ridiculous. Of course he’s going to spend time with him.
(Roy’s advice, Slade knows, was good. And would probably be the best answer he’d get. But Slade never wants Jason to look back on their time together, and think that Slade gave him anything other than his best. Jason deserves everything Slade has to give, and Slade just needs to figure out how to make him believe that.)
— — — —
3.
Slade’s next call happens immediately. Rose picks up quickly.
“If this is about wanting to kill me, get in line.”
“No, this is about Jason. Does someone want to kill you? Do you need me to come help?”
“Uh, that’s actually worse. What did you do?”
“Rose.”
“I mean, someone probably does want to kill me, but there’s nobody actively trying right now, I don’t think. What’d you do to Jason?”
“I didn’t do anything. Yet.”
“Suspicious. Okay, shoot.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day.”
Rose laughs immediately, bright and loud, and Slade can’t even be upset about it. “You are so out of your depth right now.”
“Yeah. I was hoping you’d have advice.”
“Uh, Jason hates Valentine’s Day. You should know that.”
“I do. It just feels wrong to ignore it.”
“Just treat it like any other day. It’s a stupid holiday. He’ll appreciate you respecting his boundaries.”
“Technically, he hasn’t specified that I shouldn’t do anything.”
“Well, then do what you want. I vote you skip it.” There’s a pause. “Oh, Joey’s here with me. He said you should just get chocolate. Like regular chocolate, or maybe one of those chocolate roses. But not one of the stupid, obnoxious hearts.”
“Joey didn’t call the hearts obnoxious. Or stupid.” Joey has always been a romantic.
“No, I took creative liberty with that bit. Our show’s coming back on. Don’t mess this up!”
— — — —
4.
Slade expected a bit of resistance when he called Dick. The man was not happy to hear about Slade and Jason, but Jason had drawn his lines in the sand, and as Dick had phrased it, Slade “wasn’t important enough to be worth losing Jason”. But time had passed, and it had mostly settled, even if Dick sometimes looked at him like he was imagining taking out Slade’s other eye.
He didn’t expect the call to be answered immediately, nor for there to be background noise; papers rustlings and computer fans whirring softly.
“If you’re looking for Jason, he’s not dead. Actually just left the cave, so I imagine he’ll be home soon.”
“Good to know, but no.”
“What, then?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
There’s a whistle from the other end of the line. “You’re calling a bat for romantic advice?” Tim’s voice cuts through. “Bold strategy. Bad strategy, but bold.”
Slade sighs. “Red Robin.”
“Yep. Hello and all that. I’m stuck here with Nightwing and his endless optimism.”
“Hey,” Dick protests. “Don’t hate me for my good vibes.”
“Jason hates the holiday,” Slade interrupts, ignoring whatever banter was about to start. “He hates expensive gifts, and being put on the spot. I’m trying to avoid making him feel awkward.”
“Then do something practical,” Tim says. “Upgrade his gear or something. It doesn’t have to be emotional.”
“That’s not a gift,” Dick says immediately. “That’s just more work.”
“It’s useful,” Tim insists. “Jason appreciates usefulness.”
“That’s not terrible advice,” Slade says slowly, and he can practically hear Dick making a face in response.
“It’s also missing the point. Valentine’s Day isn’t about efficiency. It’s about showing someone you care about them.”
Tim scoffs. “You can care about someone by caring about what they do.”
“Sure, but I don’t think Jason needs someone else connecting with him through violence. Sometimes it feels like that’s the only reason most of us see him.” Dick trails off, voice a little sad, now. “Alfred would know. He’s the one Jason actually talks to. Otherwise, I think you know him better than us, now.”
It obviously hurts him to admit, if the wistful tone is anything to go by, and Slade politely doesn’t mention it.
“You’re outsourcing to the butler.”
“Yeah, but Alfred was always the one who was good at this stuff. He’s the one Jason likes. They cook. Maybe something with food? Something familiar.”
Slade listens to Tim and Dick for a few more minutes, cringing internally. They barely know him, really. Gear wasn’t a bad idea, and neither was Alfred, but they both missed the crux of the problem. How does he make Jason feel seen, and loved, without it being a demand to be seen and loved in turn?
— — — —
5.
Slade makes his last, desperate call as Jason showered after patrol. The sound of the water, knowing Jason was home okay, steadies something inside him.
“If you need bail money, I’m the last person you should be calling. I’m broke.” Stephanie answers.
“It’s not,” Slade says. “Though I’m offended you think any cop could arrest me. It’s about Jason.”
“I know Dick would love to arrest you. What happened to Jason?”
“Nothing happened. Valentine’s Day is coming up.”
There’s silence, and then a small, sympathetic sound from Stephanie. “Oh, no.”
Cassandra’s voice comes in, soft and quiet. “Holiday. He doesn’t like it.”
“Okay, so as much as we all know that he’s a big old romantic at heart, a big gesture would scare him off, I think.” Stephanie muses. “You want something small, that he can walk away from and come back to whenever he wants.”
“Quiet gifts,” Cassandra says. “Something he can keep. Books, maybe. They won’t go away.”
“Yeah, he does read a lot.” Stephanie agrees.
Slade considers this, thinking of Jason at night, reading from his old, worn paperbacks when the nightmares keep him up.
(He used to leave the room, trying to avoid waking Slade. It took Slade a long time to convince Jason that he’d rather have him stay there. Eventually he did, and now he’s graced with the sight sometimes, of Jason sitting in the bed, turning pages slowly, as though he’d wake up ghosts if he isn’t careful. He holds those books like they’re precious to him, and as much as he likes reading in general, Slade suspects that those books in particular are important for more than just the stories inside.)
“Books can be personal,” is what he says instead. “And everyone’s taste is different.”
“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Stephanie says confidently. “Just grab something popular. No pressure.”
“No pressure.” Slade repeats flatly.
“Yep! Something that says ‘I thought you might like this’. Not ‘I know you and your soul’. That’s a bit much for a holiday he hates, I think.”
Slade considers. Chocolate would melt. Gear would need to be used, and time demanded Jason’s presence. A book would wait patiently, nothing needed in return. But what if it’s one Jason hates?
“That’s almost good advice.”
“Thanks. I’m a veritable font of wisdom.”
— — — —
+1.
Slade leans against the counter, thinking over all the answers he’s gotten. They’re all good, true answers, but none of them are right. He looks over at Jason, asleep on the couch, one arm thrown across his face, covering his eyes like he could block out the world, and Slade feels his heart melt a little.
His phone vibrates, and a message comes through from a number that he’s never used. Jason put it in for emergencies, and so far, nothing has justified it.
Flowers are cheap enough that he won’t feel bad about accepting them. They won’t last long enough for him to think that you’re demanding any kind of permanence. And men only ever get flowers for their funerals. Let him see them for something happy, instead.
Slade mulls over the text from Bruce. Of all the people he called, all the people who knew Jason in bits and pieces, whatever fragments he’d offered them, Bruce wasn’t one of them. Bruce was usually too stubborn, or too late, too tangibly caught up in his own failures. And yet, here he was. A moment passes, and a second text comes through.
I’m happy he has someone who wants him to know how loved he is.
— — —
Jason raises an eyebrow as he looks at the bouquet, clearly fighting off a small smile.
“You’re lucky that Ivy didn’t see you with these. Was Valentine’s Day really worth the risk of pissing her off?”
Slade looks him in the eye. “Valentine’s Day, no. You, yes. The holiday might be a little dumb. But I’d be a fool to pass up an excuse to show you how important you are to me.”
“Valentine’s Day is completely ridiculous.” Jason takes the bouquet out of Slade’s hands, and kisses the older man on the cheek. “But these flowers really are pretty.”
Slade smirks a little. Success, then.