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The rooftops of the Bowery were quiet. Too quiet.
Jason Todd had learned to distrust quiet.
But tonight, he was too tired to care. Three consecutive nights of busting drug runners, two separate human trafficking rings, and one unfortunately timed encounter with Killer Croc had left him running on spite and the dregs of a gas station coffee he'd finished six hours ago.
His helmet felt heavier than usual. His bones ached. The familiar weight of his sidearms dug into his hips like a reminder that he should have been in bed an hour ago.
Instead, he was parked on a fire escape, watching the last of his patrol route dissolve into pre-dawn gray, and seriously considering whether anyone would notice if he just. Sat here. For a while.
Just five minutes, he told himself. Close your eyes for five minutes.
The helmet's internal HUD flickered a low-battery warning. He ignored it.
Behind him, the air shifted.
Not a sound—Jason would have caught a sound. It was something else. A presence. The faintest disturbance in the space between one breath and the next, like a curtain moving in a room with no windows.
He didn't turn. His body was too slow, his reactions dulled by exhaustion and the bone-deep certainty that he was safe here, which was stupid, because nowhere in Gotham was safe, but—
Warmth pressed against the cold curve of his helmet.
Not hard. Not rushed. A deliberate, soft press of lips to the painted metal over where his mouth is.
Jason's brain short-circuited.
The kiss lasted exactly two seconds. Maybe three. Long enough for his exhausted mind to register mouth, helmet, someone is kissing my helmet in that exact order, which made absolutely no sense, because who—
The warmth vanished.
Jason's body moved before his brain caught up. He straightened so fast his spine cracked, one hand already reaching for the person who had just—who had—
And slipped right through empty air.
"What the—"
A laugh. Bright and breathless and familiar, cutting through the pre-dawn quiet like a knife through silk.
Jason's head whipped around.
Night's End was already mid-leap, his red jacket catching the first thin light of sunrise as he launched himself from the fire escape to the neighboring building's ledge. His hat stayed perfectly in place, silver chain catching light. The black angular mask did nothing to hide the fact that he was grinning.
He landed in a crouch, turned, and stuck out his tongue.
Then he flipped backward over the ledge and disappeared onto the roof.
Jason stared at the empty space where the bastard had been.
His helmet was still warm.
What the fuck.
---
The comms were silent.
That should have been Jason's first warning.
He was already moving before he made the conscious decision to move. The motorcycle roared to life beneath him, tires screeching against asphalt as he tore out of the alley and onto the main street.
Above him, a flash of red disappeared over a roofline.
"Oh, you son of a bitch," Jason muttered, and gunned the engine.
The chase was absurd.
Night's End didn't run like a man being pursued. He ran like a cat who knew exactly how far the dog could reach and stayed just beyond it. He vaulted between buildings with an ease that made Jason's knees hurt just watching. Every time Jason thought he had an angle, a route, a way to cut him off—
Red jacket. Silver chain. A glimpse of mismatched eyes glancing back over one shoulder.
And that smile.
"You're supposed to be in Osaka!" Jason yelled, the helmet's external speakers carrying his voice across the gap between street level and rooftop.
Night's End's laugh drifted down like wind chimes. "Missed you too, love!"
Jason's face went hot under the helmet.
Love. He'd called him love. Like it was nothing. Like Jason wasn't currently committing approximately fourteen traffic violations trying to catch a vigilante who had just kissed his helmet and run away like some kind of—of—
He didn't have words for what this was.
That was the problem with Salix. Jason never had words.
---
On the Watchtower, Batman stared at the satellite feed with an expression that was either deep contemplation or profound resignation. It was hard to tell with the cowl.
"Should we...?" Nightwing gestured vaguely at the screen, where Red Hood was currently attempting to drift his motorcycle through a turn that was definitely not rated for that kind of maneuver.
"No."
"But he's—"
"Chasing Night's End through the Bowery at six in the morning," Batman said flatly. "I can see."
"Is he going to catch him?" Tim asked, not looking up from his own screen, where he was already pulling up traffic camera footage. For research. Purely for research.
"No."
"Should we tell him that?"
Batman was quiet for a long moment.
"No."
Jason did not catch him.
He got close. Close enough to see the way Salix's braid swung against his shoulder with every leap. Close enough to track the exact moment Salix landed on a fire escape and waited, just for a second, just long enough for Jason to skid to a stop below and look up.
Salix was perched on the railing like a bird, one leg swinging idly. His chest was barely moving. He wasn't even winded.
"That was a good chase," Salix said, almost approving. "You're getting faster."
"I'm going to kill you."
"No, you're not."
Jason's hands tightened on the handlebars. "I could."
"You could try." Salix tilted his head, and even through the mask, Jason could see the softness in his expression. The fondness. Like Jason was something precious instead of whatever the hell Jason actually was. "But you won't. Because then who would chase you?"
The question hung in the air between them.
Jason opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Salix smiled—small, private, just for him—and pushed off the railing.
"Get some sleep, Jay," he said, already fading into the shadows. "You look terrible."
And then he was gone.
Jason sat on his motorcycle in the middle of the street, engine rumbling, and tried to remember how breathing worked.
His helmet was still warm.
---
He didn't tell anyone.
He didn't have to.
When he dragged himself into the Cave twelve hours later, freshly showered and still vaguely haunted, Dick was already there. So was Tim. So was Damian, who was supposed to be in bed but was instead sitting on a crate with his arms crossed and an expression of intense disapproval.
"So," Dick said, with the kind of smile that meant he had been waiting for this moment all day. "Night's End."
Jason's eye twitched. "I don't want to talk about it."
"He kissed your helmet."
"It was a surprise attack. Psychological warfare. I'm fine."
"You sat on your motorcycle for six minutes in the middle of the street," Tim said, not looking up from his tablet. "I checked the traffic cameras. Six minutes and thirteen seconds. You didn't move."
"I was thinking."
"About what?"
Jason's face went red. "About strategy."
Damian made a sound of pure disgust. "Todd, you are the most pathetic creature I have ever witnessed."
"Shut up, demon brat."
"Father," Damian said, turning to where Bruce was pretending to review case files at the main computer, "surely you have something to say about this. Night's End is your associate. Your very close associate, if Alfred's comments about the guest room are any indication."
Bruce didn't look up. "Night's End is capable of making his own decisions."
"He kissed Todd's helmet and ran away."
"He does that."
Everyone stared.
Bruce finally raised his head, expression utterly blank. "He's done it to me before. It's a greeting."
"A greeting," Jason repeated, voice flat.
"He also steals left socks and leaves lotus petals in unexpected places. You'll get used to it."
"I don't want to get used to it."
"That's what I said," Bruce said, and returned to his case files.
---
Three thousand miles away, in a garden in Osaka, Salix Mikolao Sawako sat cross-legged on a stone bench and fed dried fish to a massive white creature that was definitely not a bird and definitely not a dinosaur and definitely should not exist.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: You're an asshole.
Salix smiled.
Salix: Missed you too, Jay. 💙
Unknown Number: That's not my name.
Salix: Would you prefer "My love"? 💙💙
Unknown Number: I'm blocking you.
Salix: You don't know how. 💙💙💙
There was no response.
Salix set the phone down, scratched Tostada behind the horn, and hummed quietly to himself.
The morning was beautiful. His city was safe. And somewhere in Gotham, Red Hood was probably still blushing under his helmet.
Perfect, Salix thought. Absolutely perfect.
---