DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics.

You would think, after all the times I'd been rendered unconscious in my life, I would be use to the disorientation that came with regaining it. The heavy, unresponsive appendages; the roaring pulse thundering behind my eardrums; the nausea and foul taste of bile lingering at the back of my throat; and the aches and pain covering almost every point of my body.

I may be intimately familiar with all of that, but I will never get use to it.

It takes several minutes for my mind to clear enough that I can begin taking stock of myself and the situation.

I am actually, miraculously, on my feet. Not quite as much of a miracle as I thought as I become aware of the weights around my wrists. My arms are stretched out to the side, my elbow bent at a ninety-degree angle and I have lost all feeling in my hands. I try to move them, expecting and dreading what I'll find: the rattle of chains confirm my suspicions.

Opening my eyes, I'm relieved to view my surroundings through the polarized lenses of my mask. The secret identity is still intact at least. I glance to the side, wanting to visual corroboration that I am indeed chained and shackled to the wall.

Yup, there they are. Thick metal shackles and chains less than a foot long securing me to the brick wall behind me.

Oh, and the piece-de-resistance, the layers of duct tape over my mouth.

Way to go, Grayson, you've gone and gotten yourself kidnapped.

Again.

If it wasn't so damn humiliating, and I will admit a tad alarming, I would find it amusing. This makes… eight times so far this year. Still, it's a long way from my record of eleven abductions in three months. Who was it again? Penguin, Ivy, twice as Dick, no three times, Two-Face, Penguin again, Two Face, Two Face – seriously, twice in a weekend was pushing it even for me!

Focus!

Just work the lock-pick out of the seam of my glove and I'll be out of this in no time. Just press the thumb against it and-

It's not there.

I look at the minute stitching on the side of my left hand index finger and sure enough, there's a tear.

Seriously? How the hell could they find it? It's less than a millimeter in widths and only an inch long. There's no way they should have been able to find it!

Not unless they knew where to look.

I can name the number of people who would know on one hand and only one with the balls to do something like this.

Again.

Fine, he wants to play this game, I'll play. And I'll kick his ass just like last time.

Taking a minute to look around, I realize I'm no where familiar. The room is wide open, all red brick walls and support columns, and one wall of large windows showing the unmistakable view of Gotham Bay. Probably the upper most floor of one of the numerous warehouses along the docks.

It's sparsely furnished. There's a table on the opposite side of the loft, guns and ammunition and other weapons covering its entire surface. A mini-fridge is in the corner near the table and the freight elevator that's currently on a lower level. A large bed is, shockingly, made on the wall opposite the windows.

I notice the wiring across the walls and rafters over head. I see a few cameras and one bolted to the side of one support column is pointed directly at me. The little red LED light is blinking.

Bastard's probably watching.

I look directly at the camera lens, fix it with an annoyed stare, make a fist with my right hand and flick up my middle finger.

I swear I can hear him laughing.

Less than a minute later the elevator has whirred to life, ascended, and he is lifting the wooden gate. "Really, Dicky-bird, what would Alfred say of such behavior?"

The crimson helmet hides his expressions, but there is no mistaking the amusement in the voice of the Red Hood. Jason Todd. My brother.

He hasn't changed much since I last saw him in New York. The same swagger as he walks across the room toward me and I don't think he owns any other pants. The dark denim is worn, comfortable, and hugging his legs perfectly from ass to ankle. The tight dark grey turtleneck beneath the dark brown leather jacket accentuates his muscled torso as much as I remembered it did.

Not that I think about it that often. Or, you know, ever.

He's standing in front of me now. Through the opaque lenses on his helmet I can feel his eyes appraising me and I level a glare at him. I 'Mmpph' him an asshole and jerk my chin upward. He chuckles, but gets the message.

"Gaaaah-d damn it, Jason!" I yell as he rips the tape, and what feels like several layers of skin, off my face. "What the hell?"

His shrugs, folding his arms over his chest, "Am I not allowed to just pop in to see my favorite big brother?"

Yeah, no sarcasm there…

"And to do that you had to knock me unconscious and chain and gag me in your hideout?" I reached with a chained hand, my fingertips brushing the lump that was the focal point for the pain in my head. "And what the hell did you use? You weren't on that roof with me, I know that."

"Three blocks over," he answers without hesitating and damn it, he's bragging! "Beanbag cannon."

I sigh and lean back against the wall. "So why, Jason? What grand scheme have you got this time to get your revenge on Bruce? And take off that damn helmet! You sound like a cheap Darth Vader wannabe!"

The fist to the gut was truly unexpected. I would have doubled over with the pain to the solar plexus, but – well, chained to the wall.

"You think this is about him?" He hisses and steps right up to me, his left hand braced on the wall beside my head. "It's not, not this time."

I want to talk to him, to calm him down before he gets into a rage, but I'm still trying to breathe. I always seem to forget just how bloody hard he can hit.

"It's about you, Dicky." His Glock is now in his hand and the cool metal barrel is pressing into the tender spot at my temple. "How it's always been you."

I know I'm wincing at the pressure, and the thought that Jason might actually pull the trigger, but I don't care that I'm showing weakness. I've seen what a pissed off Red Hood can do, and I like my brains inside my skull and not splattered across the bricks behind me.

"How," I manage to gasp.

"I was never good enough!" He snaps through the helmet. "No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried or how much I practiced, I was never good enough! I was never you!"

"Jason-"

"Do you know," he interrupts me, "how often I heard your name in the first week alone?" He starts moving the barrel of the gun slowly from my temple, caressing along my jaw-line as he continues talking. "Dick did it this way, Dick does it like that; Dick got it on his first try; Dick, Dick, Dicky!"

"Jay, y-"

The side of the gun is pressed painfully against my lips, stopping me from what I was going to say. "He was always comparing me to you, Dicky."

The words are barely a whisper, but I can't think about them as I fight to suppress a shudder when he begins sliding the tip of the weapon downward. It moves lightly over my chin and down my throat. I swallow instinctively as it briefly touches my Adam's apple and I almost miss the hitch of his breath as it continues down my collarbone.

"Jason," I speak again but I'm rapidly losing my concentration to the sensation of the gun tracing the lines of my pectorals and abdominal muscles through the fabric of my suit. I swallow when his weaponless hand moves from the wall and cups the side of my face, his thumb rubbing the gun-oil that had been transferred to my lips.

His touch – damn it! – it's like fire and ice at the same time. I have to close my eyes against it, which only heightens it. His palm against my cheek, his thumb moving over my lips before pressing gently against them

I should bite, should fight whatever this new torture he has devised for me, but there's a warmness rushing through my veins. I don't want it, but I don't want it to go away.

"You were always his favorite," he's speaking again, and for a moment I'm too lost in the feeling of the gun sliding over hips and pelvis, grazing the arousal growing between my legs.

He's leaning in so close now. His body is pressed up against mine, pinning me to the wall as well as any chains. I can sense his head leaning in, the brush of his cool helmet against my face so I can imagine his lips against my ears.

"Or maybe," his voice changes; no longer breathy or teasing, it's hard and biting, "he just like the way you moved. I bet that flexibility of yours came in mighty handy."

It's cruel, and disgusting, and I growl as my eyes snap open. "It sure does."

Gripping the chains in my fists, I lift my weight off the floor and bring my legs up and around quickly. Before Jason can react, I have them wrapped around his midsection and squeezing. Hard.

I hear the breath being expelled from his lungs and feel his ribs giving beneath the pressure. His hand moves from my face to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head backward. I squeeze harder.

"Di-"he's trying to gasp for air, but I snarl at him.

I imagine he's going quite blue in the face right about now.

Asshole.

His knees buckle beneath him and the added weight brings new searing pain to my wrists as my hands start to slip down the chain. My arms are starting to shake with the effort of staying aloft, and I suddenly feel the gun barrel digging into my thigh.

Damn it.

The bullet tears through the muscle and out the other side. I'm crying out at the explosion of pain and the vice-like grip on Jason's body releases on its own.

The Red Hood falls to the floor, deep and ragged gasps echoing inside his helmet before he reaches up and tears it off. The scarlet domino mask isn't looking at me, and I'm grateful for that.

I'm hanging from the chains now, by leg unwilling to support me now. Chin to my chest, panting to regain my own breath, I see the bloody wound in my leg. It's off to the side, away from anything vital and already the blood is slowing, the pain subsiding to a throb.

"Goddamn it, Dick!" Jason wheezes, fingering tentatively at his lower ribcage. "What the fuck was that?"

I struggle to my feet again, keeping all my weight off my injured leg, and leaned back against the wall. I'm tired, in more ways than one. "What are you doing, Jason?" I watch him get up off the floor and keep his distance from me this time. "You kidnap me, chain me up, practically molest me-"

"Didn't hear you protesting," he mumbles like a petulant child. I'm going to ignore that.

"- and shoot me when I fight back. So tell me, little brother, what's the point of this?"

He looks confused, uncertain, but is moving purposefully. A second later the tape is secured back in place over my mouth and as he walks away that's when I realize it.

He doesn't know.

Jason sits on the edge of his bed, a hand running through his hair and down his face – such a Bruce-like gesture that it causes me to smile under the gag. The silence is heavy around us, and I find my eyes closing of their own accord.

I'm not sure if it's minutes, or hours, but when I finally hear him get off the bed and I open my eyes, the sun is just coloring the horizon of Gotham Bay with the first light of morning. His gun has been left on bed as he walks back to me and stops a couple feet away. He stares at me for another moment before reaching for the tape and pulling it gently off this time.

Before I can speak he is sealing my mouth closed again, this time with his own. I know my eyes are wide beneath my mask, but when his tongue flicks against my lips I feel myself responding. My mouth opens; my eyes close, and suddenly our tongues are rubbing against one another.

His hands cup either side of my face, his body once more pressing up against my own. I jerk against the shackles and chains, my arms instinctively wanting to wrap around the man and pulling him closer. But Jason's the one in control, and he knows it.

I can't stop the moan I make when he finally breaks the kiss, his hands dropping to my shoulders and his forehead resting on mine. We are both are panting to regain our breath.

I recover first. I meet his eyes through the masks and smirk. "If you wanted to do that, you didn't have to kidnap me to do it."

He snorts in amusement. "I didn't know. I just… I saw you on patrol and I couldn't… I didn't know, not until just now."

Jason kisses me again, his mouth tentative and almost tender. It is several minutes before he stops, leaving us both as breathless as the first time. He glances over at the windows and the brightening sky. "Damn it."

I know what he's thinking and agree, "Yeah."

"He'll be here soon."

"If he's not already."

"Damn," Jason sighed. "He's gonna kill me, isn't he?"

It's my turn to snort in delight. "Why, for kidnapping me or for shooting me?"

He hesitates, resting his head to my shoulder, before answering, "Losing the keys to the chains."

It's really not funny, but I can't help it and start chuckling. "If you start now you might make it to Bludhaven before he catches up to you."

He chuckles with me, but sobers a moment later.

So do I. "It might not be a bad idea for you to not be here when he does get here."

"There's nothing here that would link this place to me," he nods. "You'd be okay with this?"

"Not like I'm going anywhere. Just make it look convincing."

He sighs, kisses me breathless again, and then replaces the duct tape for a third time. He plants a light kiss to the tape before retrieving his fun from the bed. "Meet me, tonight on the roofs."

Unable to answer I nod. He doesn't say where but we both know we'll find each other.

The butt of the pistol strikes my temple and I feel my body go numb. The world is out of focus and the darkness is racing in. As I'm falling into the all-too familiar state of unconsciousness I feel his lips on my forehead and his voice whispering in my ear.

"It's always been you."