There is evidence Jason still has only one working kidney, despite his exposure to the Lazarus Pit. During treatment for a gunshot wound to his right shoulder, I observed a heavier Kevlar insert in his jacket. It is noticeably larger than the one on the left side. And in studying his eating habits, he still maintains the strict low-sodium diet he began when the right kidney was removed at age thirteen, after the incident with Two-Face. Whether this is merely due to habit or a continued medical necessity, I am not sure.

I also suspect Jason injured one of his hips recently. When he arrived tonight to have dinner with me, there was a marked decrease in mobility on the right side. He remained standing as long as possible and only sat after I left the room. Will update when more information is available.

Update: Upon further examination after a recent soft-tissue injury to his left hip, I ordered an MRI of the right side. (Jason was aware and consented to the procedure.) There is evidence of a torn acetabular labrum and while it is healing, it will need to be monitored in case arthroscopic repair is required. When I asked what happened, he refused to answer, saying only that he "slipped in the shower". Physiotherapy exercises were given for strengthening and rehabilitation.

The stage of healing indicates it happened approximately four weeks ago, near the time Tim was exposed to Scarecrow's new fear toxin. Damian saw Tim stumble and fall from the four-story building on which they'd taken refuge, but when he rushed to help, Tim was safely on the ground with Jason tending to him. Damian assumed Tim was conscious and caught himself, but I suspect Jason caught him as Tim has no recollection of the fall. Their grapple lines aren't designed to slow such a shortened descent, especially when there is added weight to the line. Jason likely tried and was unable to effectively utilize his grapple, with his legs and hips taking the brunt of the fall. I haven't seen him since to confirm if this is what happened; he's been avoiding us again. It is late-April, after all.

Note: Jason requested we refrain from giving him pain medication unless he asks for it. When I asked if he specifically meant NSAID's (to try and confirm his having one kidney), he said it applied to all pain medication. I suspect it has more to do with possible hallucinations and a fear of being vulnerable than protecting his remaining kidney. He prefers to be in pain and aware of his surroundings than to be comfortable and lack control of the situation.

"Nice work today. Another two or three weeks, that hip will be almost as good as new."

"Thanks. I really appreciate your help."

Jason climbed off the treatment table and held out his hand. Jamie, his physical therapist, grinned and shook it. He turned to leave when she stopped him, gently grabbing his bicep.

"I know we've talked about it before, but I want to reiterate that taking some ibuprofen or naproxen could really help, even in the short-term. You've built up a lot of strength and mobility since you started therapy, but in addition to ice, over-the-counter pain medication can help with inflammation."

"I don't notice much pain or soreness anymore, but I'll remember that."

"Sure, you will," she replied, shaking her head with a smile as she typed a few notes into his chart. "I've heard that before."

"So have I," he grinned. "See you next week."

Jason left the clinic and headed back to his apartment in Old Gotham, one he kept so his family would stop trying to find his others. This one resembled a permanent home more than he cared to admit, but he had another two or three places throughout the city squared away in case he needed them. But they were smaller and not as well-furnished; almost his entire book collection was here, in addition to a better kitchen, the more thorough first aid kit, and of course, his insanely comfortable bed.

He let himself in, kicking the door shut behind him with a tired sigh. Mid-morning sun spilled across his living room, filling it with a cheerful glow, and he collapsed on the couch. It was a gorgeous late-summer morning despite the increasing humidity, and he considered taking advantage of it. A local theatre company was holding a production in a park not far from his place later that afternoon, and it would be a great reason to get outside for a while. He could use the sun and fresh air.

As he settled against the couch cushions and let the sun sink into his bones, he felt his eyelids growing heavy. But before he could fall asleep, his stomach growled, and he remembered he hadn't eaten since the end of his patrol much earlier that morning. He hauled himself to his feet and wandered into the kitchen. There was some leftover chicken piccata in the fridge; he used Alfred's recipe and it turned out better than he thought it would.

After that, he planned to read a little while before taking a long nap.

As usual, when he woke up and got out of bed, his first few steps were stiff and awkward. He fell asleep on his right side, the side that bothered him the most, and he slept so hard he hadn't moved at all. With a wince, he leaned against his dresser and gently worked his leg back and forth, then side to side, to get everything moving. After he first injured it several years ago, it would have taken the better part of an hour to be able to walk normally after getting out of bed. Now, after extensive physical therapy, it took only a few minutes.

Still, it sucked it took any time at all, considering he was only in his early twenties. He had the distinct feeling Alfred moved faster than he did in the mornings. It was worth it, though, catching Tim before he hit pavement at full speed from a rooftop, nearly unconscious after a heavy dose of fear toxin.

Besides- he had the muscle mass to help absorb the impact; Tim likely would be been seriously injured, if not killed, by that fall. All in all, he was more than happy to deal with the pain of recovery than to lose someone else. He preferred having a bum hip to a dead brother.

Once he could walk without any stiffness, he made his way to the kitchen. The clock on the microwave read six-thirty; he'd slept eight hours and could have slept longer. He checked the alarm on his phone and swore under his breath. It was set for three a.m., not p.m.

Todd, you're an idiot.

He frowned. The voice in his head sounded way too much like Damian for his liking, and he vowed to spend less time with the kid. The last thing he wanted was any of them being the voice in his head. But since it was Tuesday, he had to get ready for softball. Their first game started at 7:30, so he only had an hour to eat again and get to the field.

Turning back toward his bedroom, he went to change clothes. He wanted to get to the field early to warm up; the team they played tonight was the second-best in their league, and his own team, sitting atop the rankings in first place, had their reputation to defend. They won it all last summer and were on pace to do it again. And after physical therapy that morning, he had full clearance to push himself as hard as he wanted, both in the outfield and running the bases.

That poor excuse of a team from Bludhaven was going down.

Three and a half hours later Jason stumbled back into his apartment, dropping his bag next to the door, his bat hitting the floor with a metallic clunk. He was sweaty, covered in dirt and grass stains, and his hip was sore, but he honestly hadn't felt that good in a long time. He batted 3-4 with five RBI, a stolen base, and a spectacular diving catch out in left field. And they beat the Bludhaven Brawlers 12-5, clinching the top spot in the playoffs for the second year in a row.

The rest of his team was still out celebrating at the bar near the field, but he couldn't stay out too late. He left after two beers and a burger, telling them he had plans with family, since he promised to meet Tim and Stephanie on patrol later. During the game Tim sent him an e-mail, but before he even considered opening the encrypted message, first he was going to take a long, hot shower.

After showering and throwing his disgusting clothes in the wash, Jason settled on the couch with his laptop and a large ice pack over his hip. Sure enough, the e-mail from Tim included new coordinates for their meetup in the Bowery that night after Stephanie had come across some new intel from Leslie after she'd treated the guy at her clinic. Before logging off the cave server, though, he saw a notification in the corner of the screen. The hacking lessons from Tim had apparently paid off; he'd gotten into his file seemingly without anyone noticing and set up an alert for any change in the file's contents.

Shifting so he was sitting more upright, he opened his file and scrolled down to the bottom, where the newest information was displayed. Below Alfred's previous entry concerning his request he not be given pain meds unless he asked was a short paragraph- only five sentences- and his eyes widened as he read.

Based on blood-type, tissue-typing and cross-matching, there are two potential kidney donors in the family. Among the immediate family, Dick is the only compatible donor and further testing of his own kidney function is necessary. He is not aware of this and wouldn't be informed unless the need arises. The other match is Stephanie and she has gone on record stating she would be happy to donate. She does not know who the recipient may be and did not ask.

Jason closed his file and went back to the log of who last edited the entry. The timestamp was from the main computer in the cave at four-thirty-eight that very morning. And based on the writing style, the fact Alfred was out of the country, and no one else would have access to see or edit this, it had to have been Bruce.

On one hand, he was incredibly weirded out and a little pissed off at his privacy being violated like that. Whether or not he wanted to be given pain medication or needed a kidney was no one's business. But as quickly as the anger flared, it disappeared as he remembered Dick didn't even know, and Stephanie agreed without hesitation or knowledge of who might need it.

In the grand scheme of things, the only thing Bruce had done, really, was let Jason know he had options if he ever needed or wanted them. There was no interference, no confrontation or awkward discussion, and as the one who frequently had to make important and urgent decisions about their medical care, it made sense for Bruce to be aware of stuff like this. So, weirded out as he was, he realized it was Bruce's way of reaching out and showing he cared. And considering Jason longed for confirmation of that for years now, that he belonged and was part of their family, this was as close to Bruce actually telling him he did as he'd ever get.

The ice pack was almost room temperature now, and it was time to get ready for patrol, anyway, so he logged out, closing his laptop and putting it on the coffee table. He tossed the ice pack into the sink as he passed through the kitchen, debating whether to wear the full body armor beneath his jacket tonight, or to wear the lighter but less-armored vest to try and stay cool. It was still ridiculously hot and humid, even though it was nearly eleven p.m. Despite their plans tonight consisting mostly of recon and surveillance work, he wasn't sure he wanted to risk not having enough body armor when facing a potential arms deal.

He stood in front of his "work closet", the one with the biometric locks, staring at his gear, his jacket in one hand and full body armor in the other. His vest was on the bed behind him, next to the helmet, and the longer he stood there holding his jacket, the more he felt like something was off. He ditched the vest on the bed and put the jacket on, frowning at how light it felt. He ran his hands across his lower back, feeling both Kevlar inserts right where they should be.

Well, this is weird.

Both armor plates were there, and the right side was still larger than the left side, as it should be. So, if everything was still there, why did it feel so different?

Jason shrugged out of the jacket and turned it inside out, opening the inside pockets that held the armor. He expected to see the same charcoal grey Kevlar plates he added to the jacket over a year ago, but instead he found two black plates of the same size, but they weighed considerably less. Not only was the color different, but the shiny Wayne Enterprises logo stood out prominently.

"How the hell?" he muttered, dropping the plates on the bed and immediately picking up the vest, opening the pockets. Like his jacket, the plates had been replaced with the same material. He had a feeling if he checked any other pieces of his gear, the armor plating was switched out in those, too.

He sat on the corner of the bed, stunned and a little irritated. How and when had Bruce been here to swap everything out? He'd been home all day, save for his physical therapy appointment that morning and softball. Despite not telling anyone about either, he had a feeling Bruce knew, because of course he did. And Jason knew Bruce wouldn't chance coming in while Jason was home.

It dawned on him a moment later Bruce mentioned having an appointment with Leslie this morning while they were on patrol last night. Four nights earlier, a carjacker tried to run over Batman while attempting to flee the scene, and Bruce had a few contusions Leslie wanted to check over. Considering how close Jason lived to Leslie's clinic, he realized how easily Bruce could have stopped in before his appointment while Jason was at physical therapy.

Once upon a time he would have been royally pissed at the intrusion, but now he was more irritated at the fact Bruce got past his security than he was at Bruce being there in the first place. Sure, he was the World's Greatest Detective, but getting past a lock that required a retinal scan, voice print verification and a 20-digit passcode was just showing off.

Jason had plans to tend to Alfred's garden tomorrow but decided he would show up a little earlier than he initially planned. If Bruce was going to be that subtle and creepy about showing his affection, Jason realized he could return the favor.

Two can play at that game.

Bruce came home after an afternoon of meetings with the budget committees craving a strong cup of coffee, something to eat, and a few hours of uninterrupted quiet. He felt a massive tension headache coming on and knew if he didn't get out in front of it, patrol tonight would be tough.

As expected, the house was quiet as he made his way through the entrance hall toward the kitchen. Something felt off, however. He could smell food. More specifically, something sweet- like the scent you'd notice in a bakery. It didn't make sense, however. Damian was likely outside somewhere with Titus and Tim was having dinner with friends. Neither of them did a lot of cooking, though when Damian did, it certainly wasn't anything sweet. Dick didn't bake. Stephanie wasn't here.

That left Jason.

Bruce walked into the kitchen to see his favorite vanilla bean scones cooling on a rack on the counter by the oven, a small stack of plates next to them. There was also a fresh pot of coffee brewing and his favorite mug was waiting for him. And the Red Hood's jacket draped over a chair at the island.

He smiled, draping his suit jacket over the chair next to Jason's, putting his briefcase down on the floor. Apparently Jason noticed the armor upgrades. Bruce unbuttoned and rolled up his shirt sleeves, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee. He closed his eyes and took the first sip, sighing in contentment. Jason made some of the best coffee he'd ever tasted, and he couldn't wait to enjoy a scone or two with it.

But before he could help himself to one, he heard a noise outside the kitchen window. Bruce turned to the large window above the sink that overlooked Alfred's garden in the backyard. He spotted Jason kneeling in a row of carrots, pulling weeds. Unlike Alfred, Jason didn't wear gardening gloves and his hands were covered in dirt. He was wearing one of Bruce's old Gotham Knights t-shirts and a pair of his shorts, both of which fit Jason better than Bruce cared to admit. Bruce often forgot Jason was nearly as built as he was, though he wasn't quite as tall as Bruce.

Bruce grinned into his coffee as Jason swiped at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of dirt behind. His baseball cap was turned backwards to keep his thick, unruly hair out of his eyes, and he looked how Bruce used to picture when they weren't getting along, and he wouldn't see Jason for months. He looked relaxed, happy and content.

As he turned to grab a scone while they were still warm, he saw Damian appear from around the side of the house with two bottles of water. Damian asked Jason something, what it was, Bruce couldn't tell since he couldn't see Damian's lips to read them. Jason pointed at something and Damian went to pick up the garden hose. He handed it to Jason, and Jason gave him the hoe, gesturing toward a row of squash plants that needed tending to. Damian's expression turned serious as he watched Jason demonstrate how to cut the weeds out with the hoe, and Bruce put his coffee cup down, forgetting about the scones altogether.

There was a considerable pile of weeds at the head of the garden and it was clear Jason had been out there most of the afternoon. His cheeks and hose were a little pink, as were his arms, and Bruce was about to go look for some sunscreen when he noticed Jason grin devilishly and aim the hose at Damian. He turned the nozzle all the way open, completely soaking Damian, who turned around with an absolute murderous scowl on his face. Jason sprayed him again before Damian's scowl turned to laughter, and he darted toward a pail of water Jason had sitting at the end of the row of squash, presumably for them to wash their hands. He picked it up and took off after Jason, who easily dashed out of the garden and out of range of the pail. Based on the way Jason was moving and changing direction, his hip wasn't too bothersome.

Bruce was tempted to join them, but he knew Alfred would have a conniption if he found out Bruce joined a water fight in the Saville Row suit he was wearing. Plus, with Damian home for the summer, he needed time alone with his brothers, time to be a kid. And from the looks of it, Jason was benefitting from it, too. He took a sip of coffee and picked up a scone.

Jason walked past the window with Damian over his shoulder, both of them absolutely drenched and laughing. Damian was trying to wriggle from Jason's grasp, but there was no way he was going anywhere until Jason allowed it. He stopped when he noticed Bruce standing there.

Jason looked at the scone in Bruce's hand, then made a show of looking over his shoulder at the leather jacket hanging on the chair. When he glanced up at Bruce, there was a softness in his eyes Bruce hadn't seen in quite some time, and he nodded, his cheeks somehow turning a brighter shade of pink.

Thank you.

Bruce held up the still-warm scone and nodded in return.

You're welcome.

Jason shifted Damian, holding his legs more securely, and took off in the direction of the pool. He could hear Damian yelling as they went.

"So help me, Todd, if you throw me into the pool, you will die a second time. Do you hear me?"

Bruce nearly choked on his scone.

It seemed Jason had been around so much this summer, Damian had taken after him and started making the morbid jokes that made Bruce cringe. He shook his head and took a second scone, making his way upstairs to change. If that was the result of them spending time together, he would have to find a way to deal with it.

He planned to work in his office a bit before dinner, but he wanted to change clothes first, and he put the scone and coffee mug on his desk. Upon opening his closet, he was greeted with an airhorn and a burst of confetti and he nearly fell to the floor, his hand on his chest. He sat on the end of the bed for a moment, willing his breathing to return to normal, and felt a smile tug at his lips. There was a note taped to the airhorn canister.

"Payback's fun, right? Next time, just knock. You can stay for coffee or something."

He read the note again before carefully folding it and turning toward his nightstand. His eyes were definitely not misty, and he certainly wasn't feeling like he finally had his son back. He opened the bottom drawer of the nightstand and removed the lid of the box he kept there. He read Jason's note one more time before adding it to the collection of notes from his kids.

Coffee.

He'd like that.