Barbara wheels into Jason's apartment with silence burnt into her tongue and a tracker on her glasses. The smell of smoke and ash sit on the walls and waft from the kitchen, and it shouldn't, but it comforts Barbara a bit (because she only smells this when there is fire, and she has only encountered fire when someone burnt something in the kitchen or as Batgirl, back when she thought that she was invincible, bold and vivacious).
"Fuck," she dimly hears Jason say and there's the sound of steam coming from a pan before there's a clattering noise and Jason pops his head through the door connecting the kitchen to the living room of his apartment. "Babs?"
"Jason," Her throat still feels tight and awkward, "Dick said that you haven't been going to therapy?"
Another crash and Jason's head disappears for a second as he clutches his throat and unleashes a steady stream of swear words that both impresses and worries Barbara. "That asshole!" Jason finishes off, harsh and grating, the word snarled and ripping from his throat.
"I'll take that as confirmation," Barbara says.
"Fuck you," Jason slams the door shut, and there are more sounds of clattering and drawers banging open as the tap water starts to run again. "I'm taking my fucking meds, aren't I? I'm exercising and everything, can't you just fuck off or... fuck!"
Barbara waits silently, waiting for the water to stop before she asks, "Did you drop the burnt pan on your foot?"
The door creaks open and Jason very slowly, intently, sticks up his middle finger through the tiny crack in the doorway.
"You need help?" Barbara asks.
Jason lets loose a few more curse words.
"Saying that to a girl in a wheelchair?" Barbara moves forward, "Talk about rude." She opens the door and frowns at the sight of a slightly charred spot on the floor, the pan shoved into the sink and filled to the brim with water as Jason pulls bandages out of his first aid kit. His socks, stained dark red, sit on the floor and the skin on top of his foot is peeled, blood welling up in droplets.
"Go away," Jason snarls.
"Been having a bad couple of days?" Barbara is sympathetic, "This why you missed therapy?" ...to an extent.
Jason finishes bandaging his foot, wincing as he finishes up and attempts to put the peeled skin back over to varying degrees of success. "I wanted to go," he mumbles, "But it was just really far away." At Barbara's thoughtful silence, he bristles, "I know, I sound like a five-year-old. Just drop it, okay? I'll go next week."
Barbara taps two fingers against the arm of her wheelchair, "Would it help if Alfred drove you there and back?" she asks thoughtfully, "I know that the thought of driving can sometimes take up a lot of energy. Then you just have to take the elevator down, yeah?"
Jason shoves his hands in his pockets, looking at his foot as he mutters, "I take the stairs."
Right.
Because Jason is claustrophobic.
Barbara feels like a Grade A jerk.
"Right," Barbara exhales, "So that's a no-go?"
"No, I mean, it's a good idea," Jason exhales roughly, and Barbara knows that it took a lot for him to admit that. She'd be proud, but that's Dick's job, not hers. Her job is to get shit done. Dick can be the soft one. "I can make it down the stairs. Probably. But Alfred's already got a lot to do."
Barbara taps two fingers on the arm of her wheelchair, humming for a moment before she asks, "Then how about someone else?"
Jason squints suspiciously at her, "Like who?"
Barbara shrugs. Her shirt shifts on her shoulders, a bright, glaring canary yellow with a bleeding computer and Digital Hacker on it that Dick got her as a joke. "Whoever you trust to drive you? I dunno. Take your pick. Steph, Tim, Dick... there are plenty of people."
Jason's features twist, flashing in irritation, "I can take care of myself."
"Yeah, obviously," Barbara's scowl sinks deeper into her skin, sitting there, fixed upon her lips, and she could not get rid of it if she tried at that moment. "Because that's why you've been avoiding therapy and why you've started to self-destruct."
"I'm not... I'm not..." Jason blusters, face reddening as he stares at his toe.
Oh yeah.
Sure.
Barbara can finish his attempt at a sentence, the mangled bits that he couldn't choke out.
"You can't say it, can you," she says.
Harsh.
Not cruel, though.
Jason stares at his toe, Adam's apple bobbing. "I fucking hate it," he closes his eyes, "I know it's better for me. I know it. I actually like this therapist, for once," his laughter is strangled, choked, "Every time that I've gone to this therapist's, I've felt better. But I'm just so tired all the time and I just can't make myself do it."
"You're going to have to," Barbara isn't Dick. She won't make platitudes, won't say something like that's okay but. She's sharp, to the point, "If you don't go, you're going to spiral."
Jason's hand flies to his hair and it fists there, tugging, "I know," he mutters.
Barbara crosses her arms over her chest, "If you know, then do something about it."
"I will," Jason says past the lump in his throat.
Barbara watches him with clear, sharp eyes, and then she says, "Okay. Finish cleaning up your toe and then we can go out to eat something, okay?"
Jason laughs, "You trying to get me out in the sun?"
"Yeah," Barbara tilts her head to the side, "Problem, princess?"
"None, shining knight," Jason grins at her, crooked but genuine. "Are we eating Chinese?"
"We'll see," Barbara hums.
Jason laughs.
(And of course, they end up eating Chinese.)
Jason drops by Barbara's apartment with her well-worn copy of See You in the Cosmos clutched in a tight grip.
It's the middle of June, but he wears a faux leather jacket anyway, black and shiny, sleeves dipping just past his wrists when straightened, a shiny silver zipper and a cigarette between his lips. The zipper of his jacket clanks against the chain on his jeans when he walks, and Barbara's mostly thankful that he hasn't broken into his jewelry set yet.
"Steven Spielberg called," Barbara snarks as he comes in, "He wants the costumes for his remake of West Side Story back."
"Hardy har har," Jason rolls his eyes at her, "I brought back your book."
"I can see that," Barbara smiles a bit at him, "Why not fully commit to the role? Get your ears pierced, three black studs right along the top of your left. Get the real punk vibe, beat people up with metal on your knuckles."
Jason pouts at her, "Is this about me smoking? Look, I'm sorry for smoking in your very lovely no smoking apartment. Stop ragging on me. I got enough of that from you when I was a teenager."
"Good times," Barbara says fondly, and gestures for Jason to come into her apartment.
He closes the door behind him, a comfortable little clack as it shuts, wood against wood.
"How'd you like the book?" Barbara asks as she wheels up to her bookshelf, dark chestnut wood sharply contrasting with brightly coloured spines.
"It was good," Jason says quietly as he slides off his shoes, dark grey sneakers with soles so worn that Bruce would have thrown them out two years ago. "When they were getting drunk, and Alex was sitting outside and then Terra doesn't mention it until a few chapters later... that was good. It almost made me cry."
Barbara shoots Jason a knowing smile, "It was that good, hm?"
"Solid 8/10," Jason nods, "Got anything else for me?"
Barbara hums as she pages through the spines, "Have you read Rules for Stealing Stars by Corey Ann Haydu yet?"
"No," Jason tilts his head to the side, "What's it about?"
"Escapism and it's flaws," Barbara catches sight of it's dark cover and pulls it out, flipping through the pages, the nostalgic smell of strawberry ice cream and hot summer sidewalks, everyone else too worried about the heat to go outside, wafting through the air for a brief, soon gone moment. "It's been compared to the writing of Wendy Mass, but it's a bit darker. A bit more detached, if you know what I mean."
"I'll check it out," Jason holds out a hand and Barbara smiles.
"Won't you stay for a while?" She asks, wheeling away with the book in her lap, "Just a little while. I've been missing you for company. Been sore for it a while, really."
"This is blackmail," Jason pouts.
Barbara peeks out from behind her bookshelf and gives Jason an appraising stare, "If you didn't want to see me, you wouldn't have come to me for my books," she says, and Jason cannot deny that.
"At least feed me," he says.
Barbara laughs at him as she pulls a platter out of the fridge, "Lucky for you, I have a few snacks ready. Palacsinta, I've got whipped cream and strawberries in the fridge."
"Man, do I even need it?" Jason is practically drooling as he looks at the crepes that Barbara pulls out, filled with heavy cream and dusted with powdered sugar. "It looks sweet enough."
"True," Barbara hums, "I was saving it for my cheat day, but since you're here," she winks at Jason, "I think that I can make an exception."
Jason grins at her and kisses Barbara on the cheek, "You're the best, Babs," he says, clapping his hands together as she hands him a fork and knife. "It looks amazing."
"It tastes amazing, too," Barbara hums, "I've been working on perfecting this recipe for a while with Damian."
"The demon brat?" Jason snorts.
"Surprisingly, he does a good job in the kitchen," Barbara hums, "Dick tricked him into thinking it would be good for espionage. Damian uses is as a front now, but we all know he just finds it relaxing."
"Of course," The edge of Jason's lips quirk up, "And you?"
Barbara pats her wheelchair, "This tempts me to get complacent and focus too much on my knowledge instead of skill sets. I want to avoid that."
"Top of your game, as always," Jason says admiringly.
Barbara shrugs, "I try. How does it taste?"
Jason takes a bite, "Awful. I should take the whole plate off your hands so that you don't have to suffer."
Barbara swats his arm, "You could if you wanted. I can make these anytime."
Jason hums and takes another bite, "Teach me how to make these?"
Barbara smiles at him, "If you've got the time."
"For these?" Jason melts into his food, blissful in it's sweetness, "I have all the time in the world."
It's a quiet night.
Okay.
Fine.
It hadn't been a quiet night.
But after Jason had just taken down the drug cartel with Dick and Damian like a total bad-ass?
Oh yeah.
It's a quiet night.
He deserves the right to say that.
"Thanks for the info, O," He taps his comms as he scales onto a rooftop. Jason sits there, red hood still over his head, dark despite the moonlight tracing it's edges, thumbs tracing his Kevlar vest as he smiles at the relatively peaceful quiet. "It did us well."
"Good to know," Barbara's tired but satisfied voice answers.
"I wasn't really sure if I should believe you, to be honest," Jason tilts his head back and closes his eyes, "I mean, a stuffed teddy bear franchise that's been around for a decade just to cover a relatively small time drug cartel? That's levels of crazy that only Gotham would reach. And I like teddy bears, y'know? But you were right."
"Of course I was," Barbara's voice starts to seep in a bit of smugness now, pride pulling at the corners of her lips, "I'm always right."
"Yeah, you're right," Jason barks out a laugh, "It's just. Gotham's nuts, you know? The outside world, it's not nearly this... this nuts. Metropolis, shit, they don't have to deal with nutty guys dressed in all kinds of weird costumes."
"I don't know," Barbara hums into his ear, "I think that Central City could probably give us a run for our money."
"True, true," Jason sighs. "The world's nuts. Still. You ever think of getting out of here? Just for a while. Go somewhere nice. Like Tahiti."
"Tahiti is a magical place," Barbara snickers, "But seriously, Hood? You think I could do that? Just leave?"
"Why not?" Jason's gaze sweeps over the city's dark outline, faded lights and cobblestone streets slick with blood, "You're not exactly B. Not bound to this city in any way."
"There's always trouble, wherever you go," Barbara sounds immeasurably tired, "And, you know. Not to sound like Nightwing or anything, but. There's always good that needs to be done."
"Cheesy," Jason says.
"But true," He can just imagine Barbara shrugging.
Jason sighs, "You're right. Feel up to milkshakes?"
"If you buy them for me?" Barbara laughs, "Always."
"You're just using me for my money!" Jason pouts, putting on a mock falsetto voice.
"You've caught me!" Barbara plays along, "I'm just a rotten old gold digger."
They laugh in unison, and swinging through the streets of Gotham, Jason thinks the city's not all bad with someone like Babs in it.