Archive of Our Own

Jason had faced trained assassins with less apprehension than he displayed while rearranging the takeout containers on your kitchen counter.

He moved the cartons of noodles to the left, frowned at them, and moved them back. The dumplings received similar treatment before he decided their current location was unacceptable and carried them to the dining table instead. He returned three seconds later to retrieve them, nearly collided with you, and muttered something under his breath when you lifted your eyebrows.

You watched him place the dumplings beside the noodles for the third time. “Do the containers need to be tactically positioned?”

“They’re fine.”

“They were fine when you brought them in.”

“I know.”

“You’ve moved them six times.”

Jason looked down at the carton still clutched in one hand. “This one was blocking the plates.”

“The plates are in the cabinet.”

“That’s why I moved it.”

You leaned against the counter and folded your arms. Jason had been restless since he’d come home that afternoon, although restless wasn’t unusual enough to attract attention on its own. He had checked every window lock twice, replaced the batteries in a smoke detector that hadn’t started chirping, and decided the shelf above the television needed to be dusted immediately. His weapons had already been cleaned before he left the safehouse that morning, but you’d caught him inspecting one of his pistols again while standing beside the bed.

He hadn’t been this nervous before telling you he was the Red Hood.

He had been bruised when he’d done that, with a split lip and dried blood beneath his fingernails. He’d sat across from you at the small kitchen table in his old apartment and explained that the late nights, unexplained injuries, and increasingly creative lies had all come from the same source. He had expected you to leave before he reached the end. You’d known that because he’d placed himself between you and the door, not to block your exit, but to make sure you could reach it without passing too close to him.

You hadn’t left.

You also hadn’t asked for a costume or volunteered to sit behind a computer while he was out. Jason’s work remained Jason’s work. You knew enough to recognize the emergency channels programmed into the spare phone in your nightstand, and you knew which of his injuries could wait until morning. You knew where the first-aid supplies were stored in every apartment he used regularly and which members of his family were permitted to enter without warning. Beyond that, you had your own life, your own job, and a firm preference for evenings that didn’t involve gunfire.

Jason liked that you weren’t involved. He worried anyway.

Tonight, however, his anxiety had nothing to do with patrol routes or unsecured windows.

“You know,” you said, “most people would’ve just made a reservation.”

“Most restaurants don’t appreciate customers bringing battle-axes.”

“Then Artemis can leave hers in the car.”

Jason stared at you as though you had proposed asking Superman to leave his strength in the glove compartment.

“Right,” you said. “Sacred warrior weapon. Never out of reach. I remember.”

“It’s not that she’d refuse.”

“She would.”

“She might refuse.”

“Jason.”

“She’d refuse.”

You smiled and reached for the container in his hand. He surrendered it reluctantly, watching as you placed it beside the others without conducting another risk assessment.

Dinner had been his idea. Artemis and Bizarro were passing through Gotham after finishing a job several countries away, and Jason had decided this was the appropriate opportunity to introduce you. He’d mentioned both of them before, and you had seen photographs, although none had captured the full scale of Bizarro or the uncompromising severity Jason associated with Artemis.

You knew Artemis and Jason had dated. He had told you early in your relationship, before either of you had decided that what you were doing was serious enough to deserve a name.

He had brought it up twice more during the past week.

“I understand that you used to sleep with her,” you said.

Jason closed his eyes. “Could you not phrase it like that?”

“Is it inaccurate?”

“It’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is that we worked together. We were friends before anything happened, and we’re still friends now.”

“I know.”

“And it ended a while ago.”

“I know.”

“There’s nothing unresolved between us.”

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“She isn’t coming here to judge you.”

You tilted your head. “Was that something I should’ve been worried about?”

“No.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

“Because she can be intense.”

“So can you.”

“I’m charming.”

“You threatened a man with a tire iron last Tuesday.”

“He was trying to steal your catalytic converter.”

“You asked if he wanted to see how charming you could be.”

“He stopped, didn’t he?”

You stepped closer and caught the front of his shirt before he could retreat toward another household task. His hands settled automatically at your waist, and some of the tension finally left his shoulders when you rose onto your toes and kissed him.

Jason kissed you back with the familiar certainty that disappeared from nearly every other part of him when he was worried. One hand spread over your lower back while the other slid beneath the hem of your shirt, his palm warm against your side. He drew you closer until your hips met his, then chased your mouth when you pulled away.

“You’re nervous,” you said.

“I’m not.”

“You alphabetized the spice rack.”

“It was chaos.”

“You put paprika before oregano.”

Jason glanced toward the cabinet.

You tightened your fingers in his shirt before he could check. “Leave it.”

“I know the alphabet.”

“I believe you.”

“You’re the one who puts cumin on three different shelves.”

“Because you keep buying more.”

“That isn’t the issue.”

“The issue is that you think I’m going to meet Artemis, discover you once had a relationship with a beautiful seven-foot Amazon, and react badly.”

“She’s six-four.”

“That correction didn’t help you.”

His mouth flattened. You kissed the corner of it before continuing.

“I’m not upset that you dated someone before me. I’m also not going to pick a fight with a woman carrying a battle-axe because she touched your penis several years ago.”

Jason made a strangled noise. “Jesus Christ.”

“Although I reserve the right to judge her taste.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much.”

The buzzer sounded before he could defend himself.

Jason went still beneath your hands.

You patted his chest. “Try to act natural.”

“I’m acting natural.”

“You look like you’re about to disarm a bomb.”

“I’d rather disarm a bomb.”

The buzzer sounded again, followed by a knock powerful enough to rattle something in the hallway.

Jason sighed. “Bizarro.”

He crossed the apartment and opened the door.

Bizarro had to duck beneath the frame. He wore jeans, heavy boots, and a black jacket that strained across his shoulders. A pair of sunglasses concealed his eyes despite the late hour, although they were slightly crooked, as though he had put them on in a hurry. He carried a paper bag against his chest with extreme care.

Artemis stood behind him with one hand resting on the haft of the battle-axe strapped across her back. Jason hadn’t exaggerated her height. She towered over him in heeled boots, her red hair falling around broad shoulders and a sleeveless black shirt revealing the muscles in her arms. There was a thin streak of dried blood along one forearm, although the skin beneath it appeared unbroken. She held herself slightly stiffly on that side, but you assumed the blood belonged to someone else.

Her attention moved immediately past Jason and landed on you.

Jason shifted aside. “Hey.”

Artemis looked at him.

He cleared his throat. “Come in.”

Bizarro stepped through first and nearly smacked his head on the light fixture. You moved forward before Jason could begin whatever painfully formal introduction he had rehearsed.

“You must be Bizarro.”

The sunglasses turned toward you. Bizarro glanced at Jason, who nodded.

“Bizarro bring dessert,” he announced.

He held out the paper bag.

You accepted it with both hands. “Then you’re already my favorite.”

Bizarro smiled widely.

Jason closed the door behind Artemis. “Great. Good start.”

Artemis entered without taking her eyes from you. Up close, she was even more imposing, but her expression held more curiosity than hostility. Jason hovered at her shoulder as though he expected to intervene if either of you made a sudden movement.

“Artemis,” he began, “this is—”

“His girlfriend,” Artemis said.

You offered your hand. “That’s me.”

She looked down at it before clasping your forearm instead. Her grip was firm without becoming painful.

“Artemis of Bana-Mighdall.”

“I know. Jason talks about you.”

Jason’s head turned sharply. “I do?”

Artemis released your arm. “Only flattering things, I assume.”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

You glanced at Jason. “He said you stabbed him once.”

“He deserved it.”

“He left that part out.”

“He usually does.”

Jason looked between you. “I’m standing right here.”

Artemis’s mouth curved slightly. “We noticed.”

Bizarro noticed the takeout on the counter and made an appreciative sound. The momentary distraction gave Jason enough time to usher everyone toward the table, where he had arranged four mismatched place settings and enough food to feed twice that number.

Bizarro sat carefully, testing the chair beneath him before allowing it to take his full weight. Artemis rested her axe against the wall within easy reach. Jason’s gaze followed the weapon, then moved toward you as though checking whether its presence had alarmed you.

You passed Artemis the noodles.

He relaxed by a fraction.

Dinner began with Bizarro telling you about the dessert he had selected. It was a chocolate cake from a bakery across town, chosen because the woman behind the counter had assured him it was the best thing they sold. He recounted the conversation in careful detail, including the bakery’s closing time, the number of cakes in the display case, and the argument between two customers over who had been waiting longer.

Artemis ate while he spoke, occasionally correcting the sequence of events. Jason watched all three of you so closely that he almost poured soy sauce into his water.

You caught the bottle before he tipped it.

“Natural,” you reminded him.

Artemis’s eyes moved from the bottle to Jason’s face. “Is he always like this?”

“Like what?” Jason asked.

“Nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“He reorganized the kitchen before you came.”

Jason set the soy sauce down. “I cleaned.”

“He alphabetized the spices incorrectly.”

“I made one mistake.”

“You put paprika before oregano.”

Artemis stared at him for several seconds. “Perhaps the pit damaged more than we realized.”

Bizarro nodded solemnly. “Bizarro like girlfriend.”

Jason leaned back in his chair. “I hate all of you.”

“You’ve known me for twenty minutes,” you told Bizarro.

“Bizarro learn quickly.”

Artemis laughed. It wasn’t the restrained acknowledgment you had expected from her. The sound was sudden and warm, filling the apartment until even Jason’s offended expression softened. He looked at her, then at you, and you could almost see him recalculating the evening.

He had prepared himself for tension. He hadn’t considered how little effort it would take for the two of you to settle into the same rhythm, especially when Jason himself provided such easy material.

The conversation moved naturally from his nerves to his inability to follow a recipe without changing it.

“He says the measurements are suggestions,” you told Artemis.

“They are.”

“You added half a bottle of whiskey to a sauce that required two tablespoons.”

“It cooked off.”

“The dish caught fire.”

“That was supposed to happen.”

“The curtains caught fire.”

“That wasn’t.”

Artemis took a sip of water. “He once prepared stew in a helmet.”

Jason pointed his fork at her. “We were stranded.”

“We had a pot.”

“The helmet heated faster.”

“The paint melted.”

“That explain why it tasted weird,” Bizarro said.

Jason turned toward him. “You told me it was good.”

“Bizarro was being supportive.”

You covered your mouth, but the laugh escaped anyway. Artemis leaned toward you and lowered her voice without making any effort to prevent Jason from hearing. “He is surprisingly sensitive about his cooking.”

“He sulked for two days after I told him his biscuits were dense.”

“They weren’t dense,” Jason said.

“They could’ve stopped a bullet.”

“That’s useful in Gotham.”

“You threw one at a rat,” you said.

“It worked.”

Artemis’s expression became approving. “Perhaps his cooking has tactical merit.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t praise.”

Jason continued eating, but the corner of his mouth had begun to twitch.

You understood why he had been worried. Artemis belonged to a part of his life that you knew existed but rarely witnessed directly. She had fought beside him, trusted him with her life, and seen versions of him that you would never entirely know. The distinction didn’t threaten you, although you suspected Jason had convinced himself it might.

He had spent too long around people who treated affection as territory. Even now, he sometimes expected every relationship in his life to demand something from the others.

Artemis didn’t appear interested in demanding anything.

When Jason left the table and crossed to the kitchen counter for more napkins, Artemis watched him for a moment before turning toward you.

“He spoke of you often,” she said.

Jason froze with one hand on the drawer.

You looked toward him. “Did he?”

“He did.”

“Artemis.”

“He said your apartment had better water pressure than his.”

You smiled. “That’s romantic.”

“He also said you make him sleep after missions.”

Jason opened the wrong drawer, closed it, and opened another. “I don’t need anyone to make me sleep.”

“You once remained awake for seventy-two hours because you believed someone was following us,” Artemis said.

“Someone was following us.”

“It was a goat.”

“It was a suspicious goat.”

Bizarro lifted his head. “Goat was working for enemy?”

Jason found the napkins and returned to the table. “We never proved it wasn’t.”

You accepted the napkin he handed you. “I’m learning so much tonight.”

“You’re learning lies.”

Artemis rested one elbow on the table. “Would you like to know how he acquired the scar beneath his left arm?”

Jason’s expression changed immediately. “No.”

“Yes,” you said.

“He attempted to jump from a moving truck onto a helicopter.”

“That sounds plausible.”

“The helicopter had not yet arrived.”

You looked at Jason.

“It was supposed to be there.”

“He jumped anyway.”

“There was another truck.”

“There was a tree.”

Jason jabbed a finger toward Artemis. “You told me to jump.”

“I told you to wait.”

“You said, ‘Now.’”

“I was speaking to Bizarro.”

“Bizarro waited,” Bizarro said.

Jason looked betrayed. “You never told me that.”

“You did not ask.”

Artemis began describing the rest of the mission. Jason interrupted whenever he believed she had exaggerated, which was often, although Bizarro confirmed enough details to make his objections increasingly ineffective. By the time she reached the part where Jason had landed in a drainage ditch and spent the remainder of the operation smelling like stagnant water, your stomach hurt from laughing.

Jason endured it with the grim patience of a man who knew retaliation would only make things worse.

Then Artemis asked how the two of you had met.

He straightened. “We don’t have to—”

“He broke into my apartment,” you said.

Artemis looked delighted.

“I had a key,” Jason protested.

“You had stolen my spare key.”

“I borrowed it.”

“You copied it.”

“For emergencies.”

“You were bleeding on my bathroom floor.”

“It was an emergency.”

Artemis looked at him. “You entered her home without permission?”

“She was out.”

“That is generally when entering without permission becomes easier.”

“I needed somewhere safe.”

“You had three safehouses.”

“Two were compromised.”

“And the third?”

Jason hesitated.

You answered for him. “The third was farther away.”

Artemis’s gaze returned to you. “What did you do?”

“I made him clean the blood off the tile.”

“She stitched me up first.”

“I put a towel under you first. I wanted my security deposit back.”

Bizarro leaned toward Jason. “This is love story?”

“Apparently.”

You reached beneath the table and rested a hand on Jason’s thigh. His fingers closed around yours almost immediately, the gesture hidden from everyone except Artemis, whose gaze dipped briefly before returning to your face.

You expected amusement. Instead, something in her expression softened.

Jason had spoken about Artemis with affection even when he was trying to explain why you shouldn’t feel threatened by her. Their relationship had ended, but the care hadn’t. You could see it in the way she watched him and in the ease with which she knew which stories would embarrass him without causing harm.

You liked her for that before you knew anything else. The realization must have shown, because Artemis gave you a small nod across the table.

Then she shifted in her chair, and her expression tightened.

It lasted less than a second, but Jason noticed. His attention dropped toward her side with the practiced awareness of someone accustomed to recognizing concealed injuries.

A dark patch had begun spreading through her shirt near her ribs, almost hidden beneath the fall of her hair.

Jason set down his fork. “You’re bleeding.”

Artemis looked down. “It is a graze.”

“That doesn’t make it less bloody.”

You pushed your chair back. “How long ago were you injured?”

“Several hours.”

“Six,” Bizarro said.

Artemis looked at him. “No one asked you.”

“Artemis was going to lie.”

“I was going to estimate.”

“Bad man had bad aim.”

“Fortunately,” you said, already crossing toward the cabinet where you kept the first-aid supplies. “Did anyone actually look at it?”

“Bizarro did,” Artemis said.

“Bizarro stop bleeding.”

“You pressed your entire hand against my ribs.”

“Hand was right size.”

Jason leaned back in his chair. “That’s generally how pressure works.”

“You were not the one being crushed,” Artemis said.

“And after that?” you asked.

Bizarro pointed toward the spreading stain. “Put gauze under shirt.”

“It appears to have moved,” Artemis admitted.

You returned with the kit and placed it on the kitchen counter. “Sit up here.”

Artemis glanced at the counter and then at you.

“Please,” you added.

She rose without argument and settled onto the edge. Jason watched the exchange with an expression that suggested he had never seen Artemis follow a medical instruction on the first attempt.

You opened the kit. “Take off your shirt.”

Her eyebrows rose.

Jason straightened. “Okay.”

You turned toward him. “Don’t make this weird.”

“I’m not making anything weird.”

“You said ‘okay’ like that.”

“Like what?”

Artemis reached for the hem of her shirt. “Perhaps he should leave.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “This is my girlfriend’s apartment.”

“It is my injury.”

“It’s my girlfriend.”

You looked between them. “I’m going to need both of you to stop deciding who owns what before I start charging for medical care.”

Bizarro began gathering the empty containers from the table. “Bizarro can leave.”

“You’re the only one behaving,” you told him. “You can stay.”

He smiled.

Artemis pulled the shirt over her head. She wore a dark compression garment beneath it, torn along one side where the bullet had grazed her. A thick pad of gauze had been tucked against the wound, but it had slipped out of place and bunched near her waist. Dried blood covered the surrounding skin, and a thin fresh line had begun running from the graze.

You peeled away the gauze and examined the injury. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but the makeshift dressing had done little beyond absorbing the blood. Artemis remained still while you cleaned the skin around it, although the antiseptic earned a slight tightening around her mouth.

“You are very practical,” Artemis observed.

“I date him.”

“That would require adaptation.”

“You two know I can hear you, right?” Jason asked.

“You make that difficult to forget.” Artemis turned her attention back to you. “You have done this before.”

“Jason gets stabbed a lot.”

“I do not get stabbed a lot.”

“You got stabbed last month.”

“That was one time.”

“And in May.”

“That barely counted.”

“The knife was still in you when you came home.”

Artemis glanced at him. “Was it the curved blade?”

Jason didn’t answer.

She sighed. “I told him not to pursue that man alone.”

“He said the same thing when I asked why it happened.”

“He lies poorly when injured.”

“He lies poorly when healthy.”

“You always know?”

“Usually.”

Jason folded his arms. “This feels hostile.”

Artemis didn’t look away from you. “Does he still insist he is capable of stitching his own back?”

“He tried once.”

“It is anatomically impossible.”

“That didn’t stop him.”

“I had a mirror.”

“You had an infection,” you said.

Artemis shook her head with grave disappointment. “He was always reckless.”

“You jumped from a plane without a parachute,” Jason said.

“I knew Bizarro would catch me.”

“Bizarro almost missed.”

“Bizarro did not miss,” Bizarro said.

“You took out a radio tower.”

“Tower was in bad place.”

You pressed a clean dressing over Artemis’s side and secured it. “It’ll hold, but you should have it checked properly.”

“She won’t,” Jason said.

Artemis looked at you. “He is correct.”

“I know. That’s why I said should.”

Her mouth curved again. “You are far less fragile than he suggested.”

Jason’s head snapped toward her. “I never said she was fragile.”

“You behaved as though introducing us required diplomatic negotiations.”

“Because you say things like that.”

“What did you believe would happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“That is not an answer.”

Jason’s gaze moved toward you. He hesitated before sitting on the chair nearest the counter, his elbows braced on his knees. “I thought it might be uncomfortable.”

“For who?” you asked.

“You.”

“Because you dated her?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Artemis folded her arms carefully, avoiding the bandage. “Do you believe I am incapable of meeting a woman without treating her as a rival?”

“No.”

“Do you believe she would challenge me for your affection?”

Jason’s mouth tightened. “When you put it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“It sounded stupid before she put it like that,” you said.

“Thanks.”

You stepped between his knees and wiped a smear of sauce from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. His hands settled on your hips, holding you gently while he looked up at you.

“You told me about Artemis,” you reminded him. “I knew you cared about her.”

“I do.”

“I also knew it wasn’t the same way you care about me.”

Artemis made a thoughtful sound. “It was never particularly romantic.”

Jason looked around you. “We dated.”

“We fought together, slept together, and argued about your inability to follow instructions.”

“That sounds like dating.”

“It sounds like our usual work with fewer clothes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Jason caught the effort and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking loudly.”

Artemis slid from the counter. “He was very attractive when silent.”

You turned toward her. “I haven’t seen that yet.”

“You probably never will.”

“I can hear both of you.”

“That seems to be upsetting you,” Artemis said.

Bizarro returned from the kitchen carrying the bakery bag. “Bizarro saved cake.”

Jason pointed toward the living room. “You can stay.”

Artemis retrieved her torn shirt but stopped when she saw the blood and damaged fabric. You disappeared into the bedroom and returned with one of Jason’s old shirts. She accepted it, examined the faded Gotham Knights logo, and pulled it over her head.

The hem barely reached the waistband of her pants.

Jason stared. “That’s mine.”

“It’s hers now,” you said.

Artemis adjusted the sleeves. “Your girlfriend gave it to me.”

“You’ve known each other for an hour.”

“She tended my wound.”

“I’ve patched you up before.”

“You complained.”

“You bit me once.”

“You pressed too hard.”

“You were bleeding.”

“You lacked finesse.”

You returned the medical supplies to the cabinet. “I believe her.”

“Of course you do.”

The four of you moved into the living room for dessert. Bizarro placed the cake on the coffee table and sliced off some pieces while Artemis sat beside you on the sofa. Jason chose the chair across from you, apparently deciding that physical distance offered his best chance of surviving the remainder of the evening.

Artemis took out her phone. “Would you like to see what he wore as Robin?”

Jason lowered his fork. “No.”

“Yes,” you said.

Artemis turned the screen toward you.

Jason was younger than you had ever seen him, although the expression on his face was unmistakable. His arms were folded across a brightly colored uniform, a black domino mask covering his eyes and his dark hair curling across his forehead while Batman stood several feet behind him. The green shorts were even more offensive than Artemis had suggested.

“Oh,” you said softly.

Jason reached for the phone. Artemis moved it out of range.

“Put that away.”

“You were adorable.”

“I was armed.”

“You had pixie boots.”

“They were tactical.”

Artemis enlarged the image. “His legs were thinner than my forearms.”

“I was twelve.”

“You were tiny.”

“I hate this conversation.”

Bizarro handed Jason the largest piece of cake. “Jason is still tiny.”

Jason stared at him. “You’re eight feet tall. Everyone is tiny.”

You held out your phone to Artemis. “Send it to me.”

“You absolutely do not need that.”

Artemis took your phone, entered her number, and sent herself a message before returning it. Your screen lit up almost immediately with the photograph.

Jason stared at both of you. “That happened too fast. Where did you even get that picture?”

“Roy sent it to me,” Artemis said.

“Roy is dead to me.”

Artemis took her plate from Bizarro. “You could use it to remind him of his humble beginnings.”

“I remember my beginnings.”

“Do the shorts come in your current size?” you asked.

Jason pointed his fork at you. “This relationship is over.”

Artemis looked at you. “Then you are free this weekend.”

You paused with a bite of cake halfway to your mouth.

Jason lowered the fork. “Excuse me?”

“She is pleasant company, capable under pressure, and skilled at treating injuries.”

You swallowed. “I also have better water pressure.”

“A valuable quality.”

Jason looked between you. “What’s happening?”

Artemis shrugged. “If your relationship has ended, I see no reason she should also lose access to your friends.”

“It didn’t end.”

“You said it was over.”

“I was making a joke.”

“Was it funny?”

“It wasn’t meant for you.”

You took another bite of cake. “I’m available Saturday.”

Jason turned toward you. “You’re not helping.”

“I don’t know. Artemis seems to think I’m very helpful.”

“You should train with me sometime,” Artemis said.

You glanced at her. “I could watch.”

“You could learn.”

Jason’s expression became alarmed. “Learn what?”

“Combat.”

“No.”

You and Artemis looked at him. Jason realized his mistake immediately.

Artemis set down her plate. “No?”

“I mean, she can do whatever she wants.”

“Correct.”

“I just don’t think she needs weapons training.”

“She dates you.”

“That isn’t an argument.”

“It has already made medical training necessary.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. I should start with a knife.”

Artemis nodded. “A sensible progression.”

Jason closed his eyes. Bizarro offered him another piece of cake.

The photograph remained safely stored on your phone.

By the time dessert was nearly gone, Jason had begun to understand the full consequences of introducing you.

“I wanted you to get along,” he said.

“We do.”

“You’ve made plans.”

“That usually happens when people get along.”

“Plans without me.”

Artemis looked at him from the opposite end of the sofa. “Would you like to join us?”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“We haven’t decided.”

“Then how do you know you want me there?”

“We don’t.”

You leaned against Artemis’s shoulder, mostly because Jason’s reaction made it worth doing. “Maybe we’ll discuss you.”

“I assumed that.”

“Nothing cruel,” Artemis assured him.

“That assurance means nothing from you.”

“She speaks very highly of you.”

Jason looked at you. “She called me tiny.”

“She called twelve-year-old you tiny.”

“That was still me.”

Artemis considered him. “You have grown adequately.”

“Adequately?”

“You are no longer thinner than my forearms.”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me tonight.”

You unlocked your phone when a notification appeared. Artemis had already started a new message thread with you and Bizarro. 

The first image she sent was a photograph of Jason asleep against Bizarro’s shoulder in the back of a transport plane. His mouth was open, and a strip of gauze covered one eyebrow. Artemis sat on his other side, apparently taking the picture.

You laughed.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “What did she send you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re looking directly at me.”

“You look comfortable.”

He reached for the phone. You held it against your chest.

“Artemis.”

She had already sent another photograph. This one showed Jason standing in a muddy river with water reaching his waist. His hair was plastered across his face, and he held a boot in one hand while glaring at someone beyond the frame.

You turned the screen away before he could see.

“I’m revoking your access to my girlfriend.”

Artemis picked up her own phone. “You do not control her.”

“I know that.”

“You phrased it poorly.”

“I’m having a difficult evening.”

“You introduced us.”

“That was clearly a mistake.”

Bizarro sat on the floor with his back against the sofa. “Bizarro think it is good.”

“Of course you do.”

“Jason’s girlfriend is Artemis’s friend. Artemis is Jason’s friend. Everyone is friend.”

“That sounds nice,” you said.

“It sounds suspicious,” Jason muttered.

Artemis sent a third picture.

Jason heard the notification and lunged.

You twisted away, laughing as he caught you around the middle. Artemis lifted both feet and planted them against his side, shoving him backward without disturbing her plate. Jason landed against the arm of the sofa with you still trapped in his arms.

He buried his face against your neck. “I regret everything.”

“You were right to be nervous.”

“I knew it.”

“You were worried about the wrong thing.”

His mouth moved against your skin. “I’m starting to realize that.”

Artemis watched the two of you with open amusement. “If he becomes unbearable, you may call me.”

Jason lifted his head. “For emotional support?”

“No.”

You met Artemis’s gaze over his shoulder. She smiled.

You smiled back. “Good to know.”

Jason stared at you. “Why are you saying it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re considering your options.”

Artemis raised her fork. You tapped yours against it.

Jason looked toward Bizarro for help, but Bizarro was already eating the last piece of cake.

By the time Artemis and Bizarro left sometime after midnight, she had renamed the group chat Jason Todd Incident Reports.

Jason wasn’t included.

He discovered this the next morning while standing in your kitchen, watching you smile at your phone.

“What now?”

You locked the screen. “Nothing.”

“Artemis sent you something.”

“She was asking whether I’m free next Thursday.”

“For what?”

“Dinner.”

“Am I invited?”

You kissed his cheek as you passed him. “She didn’t mention you.”

Jason followed you into the hallway. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

“You wanted us to be friends.”

“I wanted polite conversation. Maybe occasional birthday messages.”

“You should’ve specified.”

“You wouldn’t have listened.”

“Probably not.”

He caught your hand and pulled you back against him. His arms closed around your waist, and his chin settled on your shoulder while you opened the cabinet in search of a clean mug.

For all his complaints, he had been softer since the night before. The remaining tension had left him once Artemis hugged you goodbye and told you she expected to see you again soon. Jason had watched the exchange with a complicated expression, part resignation and part relief.

You leaned back against his chest. “You know she isn’t trying to steal me.”

“I know.”

“She’s teasing you.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His hold tightened.

“I know,” he said again, quieter this time.

You turned in his arms. “Then why do you look worried?”

“Because you have her number.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“She has years of material.”

“Also reasonable.”

“You’re going to encourage her.”

“Almost definitely.”

Jason sighed and pressed his forehead against yours. “I should’ve introduced you to Roy first.”

“Artemis already gave me his number.”

He went completely still.

You kissed him before he could react.

For several seconds, he forgot to be offended. His hands moved beneath your shirt, warm against your waist, and he backed you against the cabinet with enough purpose to suggest he intended to reclaim the rest of the morning.

Then your phone buzzed.

Jason broke the kiss and glared toward your pocket.

You checked the message.

Artemis had sent another photograph. Jason was wearing an inflatable pool ring shaped like a pink flamingo, one hand raised toward the camera in a gesture that hadn’t been intended for polite company.

You turned the screen toward him.

His expression became distant. “How many pictures does she have?”

“She says there are folders.”

“Folders?”

“One is titled ‘Hubris.’”

Jason released you and reached for the jacket hanging beside the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To destroy her phone.”

“She backed everything up.”

He stopped.

You slipped your phone into your pocket and wrapped your arms around him from behind. Jason looked over his shoulder, suspicion narrowing his eyes when he saw your smile.

“You think this is funny.”

“I think you’re adorable.”

“I’m a crime lord.”

“You own a neon pink flamingo pool float.”

“It isn’t mine.”

“Artemis says you named it Felipe.”

Jason closed his eyes.

You pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder.

He had worried that history would make the evening difficult, that affection had to be divided carefully, and that meeting someone who had once known him so intimately would force you to measure yourself against her.

Instead, Artemis had taken one look at the woman sharing his life and decided she wanted you in hers too.

Jason might spend the next several years regretting how efficiently she had found a partner in tormenting him.

He would have to survive it.

After all, he was the one who had introduced you.