Chapter IV

"Necessary Masks"

He was almost out the door when he felt a hand touch the back of his neck and a low voice with far too much humor in it carry to him despite the volume of the music.

"Hey, Jay. Fancy meeting you here."

He stopped his feet. There was no point now. There was no pressure in the hand pressed against his spine, but as if there were, his head dropped. Not with shame, never with shame, but with exhaustion. Already. He went ahead and prepared for it because it would come. It always did.

"Well, golly, Dick. What a coincidence. You and me. In Gotham. Amazing. Now that it's been noted, and spoken of. By us. How about…" he lifted a shoulder, not quite begging, but like he might be willing to beg. But Dick didn't seem interested.

"Don't even think about it, Jay. You're going to sit," he gestured to a cluster of empty high tables near them. "You're going to talk."

"Or what," he snapped, because he always did. Dick would take note if he were too measured, and Jason didn't need a suspicious Dick Grayson. "You'll tell Daddy?"

"Yes. Yes, Jason. I will. That's what happens. You're not really supposed to be here."

"Well, pot meet kettle, neither are you."

Dick smirked, "I'm not often here, but I'm also not banned from the city limits, Jaybird. Try again. You here to cause trouble?" He looked around at all the very, very vulnerable kids. No way Dick suspected he'd do something here of all places. Jason would never. "Or…"

"Fuck no. Following a lead. Lead came into town. Any luck, lead will walk right back out. Sooner the better."

"You didn't call."

Jason rolled his eyes, "Oh golly gee, Boy Wonder, I can't imagine why that is."

"He has rules, you broke th-"

"I'm hardly the only one," Jason snapped before Dick could even finish the admonishment.

"No. No you're not. But Jason, you know full well you're the one who does it the most. And with the least regret. And you know it hurts him more when you do it than when someone like…" a quick smile, "…someone not his does it."

"His.Bullshit. Sounds like something he should work through on his own time. I don't have it in me to manage his expectations of me and my own, Dick. I am who I am. Of all of us, you should get that. I can be as good as I can be, and I am; I have my line and my values. But the fact that they don't match up with his is just the way it is. He isn't god, and his rules, like it or not, aren't my law."

Dick almost laughed, and Jason knew enough of the older man's relationship with Batman to recognize the touch of bitterness in it. "Here? They kind of are."

"Well. That's an interesting delusion he's convinced himself of over the last couple of years of crouching at the top of buildings looking down at the rest of us, isn't it? That he's the one who makes the rules. That it's his city, to do with as he wishes. Might be so now, sure. But it might not always be that way. He outlived me the first time, Dickie, but he might not do it again."

Jason wanted to cackle as Dick Grayson's spine stiffened and a touch of horror darkened his strikingly blue eyes. He could see shadows there that were memories of threats and violence that Jason hadn't visited upon the family in years. Good to know how thin a barrier there was between their hesitant care for him, which he did know was there, and their fear of him, which was equally never questioned.

It hurt a little. But it was also fair. His actions were his own. He couldn't deny them.

"I'm not here to hurt him, Dick. Not here to hurt you, either. Or the brats." He paused, but added, "Or the girls, if you need that promise. Though, I feel that's unnecessary. I think it's obvious I like them all better than the rest of you. I wasn't lying. I had a job. For some cursed reason, my job walked its way into Gotham. With any luck, I'll have him out of here this week, and turned into the suit who hired me to pick him up."

Dick blinked, "Suit?"

"Yeah. Roy and I made friends with a government busybody a while ago. Sometimes finds freelancers useful. Pays well, and is always on the up and up with me, so I generally say yes when a job comes my way from that direction. We didn't know the perp would go to ground in Gotham. He wasn't anywhere near Gotham last we had him. He was in South America. If he'd been a Gotham native or known Gotham operative, my employer would have sent the job elsewhere."

"Maybe he still should," Dick muttered; though, all of the tension had slipped from him. The man was relaxed, and curiosity had bled back into his piercing gaze.

Jason snorted. "The suit doesn't like me enough to keep me on the job unless there is no one else on the roster capable. I'm on base for a reason. Being in Gotham… not pleasant. I'll admit that. But it's where the job is, so I'm keeping my head down and getting my shit done."

Dick looked him over, assessing, and if Jason read him right – and Dick wasn't always easy to read, he just pretended to be – he was going to back off. "You still have my number?"

"….Yeah."

"Same thing applies, then. Always has, Jay. Lots of things have changed, but not the most important ones. B's still terrible at talking, and I'm still here. Use the number if you need help. Or just use the number, period. Let me know how you are. Someone needs to be able to keep up with you."

Not reacting to that wasn't the easiest bit of acting he'd ever done in his life, but Jason thought he managed to at least fake nonchalance. But he'd never been as good an actor as Dick, and never been as good at reading people, either. Dick would know.

The older man smiled and lifted a hand to press to his cheek. "He's …displeased, Jay. But he won't be unhappy forever. He never is. He's too … lost for that. So are you. Try to be not upset at the same time for a little longer when you finally both get there again, yeah?"

"No promises," he grumbled.

Dick let out another one of those glorious laughs, again, and was about to turn and leave, when Jason stopped him. "Hey! Wait. Um… Ivy…"

"What?" The non sequitur brought a confusion to Dick's face that was almost comical.

"Don't make a big deal about it, don't read into it, this is my shit, leave it alone," Jason glared at the man like it would do any good. "But… Ivy. If she were in New York, could she … feel the desecration of plants in Gotham?"

"Could she…" Dick bit his lip. He was thinking about it. Jason groaned; there was no way to keep him from thinking about it. "I think, honestly, if she wanted she could feel the desecration of plants anywhere in the world. I think, for her sanity—"

"Sanity?" he snorted.

"Pot, kettle," Dick sing-songed. Jason bristled. "For her sanity, she keeps to a more localized region. But she always seems to know what's happening in Gotham. She came and beat the ever-loving crap out of Killer Moth a few years ago when he used some of Firefly's weaponry to burn down a section of forest. Thing is, I'm pretty sure she was taking part in a rather violent anti-logging protest in the northwest at the time and wasn't near enough to know he was doing anything of the sort through any of the usual means."

The northwest and Gotham was significantly farther than New York and Gotham. And a random stretch of forest wasn't a park Poison Ivy had specifically declared as her territory.

"Thanks, Dick. That helps."

"Jason, if you go to Ivy for help on this when I-"

"No, no, it's just a hunch. Leave off. You can go now. You've been very helpful! You can go home and bask in the feeling of helpfulness!" He flashed a rare shit-eating grin because, seriously, Dick probably would go home and be genuinely happy he'd been able to help him, and finally made for the exit.

Fleeing from Dick was easier said than done. Jason couldn't trust him not to follow where he wasn't wanted. Not to lead Tim to his pleasant middle-class vacation rental apartment. So Jason didn't return to Terrance's vacation. Instead, he went for one of his less-liked Gotham aliases.

Gram Greene. Ex-con. Two short stays in Blackgate for possession. Early release for good behavior, aka rolling on a higher up. In his case, the – at the time – mysterious drug lord, Red Hood. Which was why Gram did time for simple possession and not possession with intent to sell. It was also why he revolved in and out of the jail with barely a taste of the shitty Blackgate air on his tongue when Jason set the cover up years ago, with Talia's help.

Gram and Gram's shitty dive apartment were once very useful. It was obviously less so now that he couldn't claim Gotham as home, and it was more important to keep a buffer between him and the Bats.

Besides, this wasn't one of the places he had taken Arty and Biz. If they came to Gotham looking for him, they wouldn't look for him at the apartment of Gram Greene. And they wouldn't try to use it as a hideout of their own, either. It was safe to torch. Literally or metaphorically.

He was deep in the slums before he dragged himself into a warehouse basement. He hadn't caught sight of a tail, but that didn't mean Dick wasn't there. He could be a silly bastard, but there was a reason Nightwing could stand next to Superman and be taken seriously.

Jason tried not to be so bitter about Bruce's treatment of him over the last few years that he made the mistake of underestimating how truly gifted his peers were. Tried not to be an actual idiot. Not all the time, at least.

Too many people –villains and heroes both – looked at the bunch of kids Batman gathered, saw sidekicks, and assumed lesser-than. Jason knew better. He sat in the basement apartment in the dark for an hour and waited for Dick, or anyone, to trip the alarms he had around the place. But there was nothing.

For now, Dick was letting him do his job. Trusting him.

Which wasn't nothing.

X0000X

Getting in contact with Dr. Pamela Isley was not easy.

Jason was uncomfortable with the idea of leaving Gotham while the killer was within the city limits, but he had no direct contact information for the woman. And there was something … inherently demeaning about setting up a sockpuppet fan MomoGraph account to try and get her attention that way.

But the only other form of contact he could establish would be Battleworth to Waller to Harley to Ivy, and that would assume any of those women giving enough of a shit to pass along a message. And Waller couldn't fucking stand him. And would expect something in return. Which, since Jason wasn't particularly fond of her either, wasn't a favor he was eager to give out.

But if social media contact didn't work, he wouldn't have much of a choice.

He weighed the pros and cons of making the account alias female, knowing Ivy's prejudices, and instead went for gender-neutral. All animals and scenery and food and books, many of the images were unused discards from Terrance's blog. He backdated the account a year, spacing out the images like he was not particularly interested in keeping up with the site, but wanted to keep a hand in.

And then he sent a message to both Harley and Ivy. Because there was a possibility that even if Ivy didn't pay attention, Harley would. It was clear she was significantly more invested in the chaos of social media fame.

If a man chose to slaughter a child in Gotham Central Park, would you know? Would you act?

Would Dr. Isley step in to avenge the murder of a child, killed on the soil of Gotham Central Park?

Jason considered vague, cryptic, and nonsensical. He considered mundane. But then he decided there was no point. He needed her attention. And if there was one thing Jason had learned in his life, the best way to get someone's attention was to be direct, loud, and completely, unignorably harsh.

He didn't attach any pictures he had, though. And he had considered that. So he wasn't entirely given over to vulgarity.

He closed the app, leaned back against the couch and covered his eyes with his arm. Now he had to wait. For Pam or Harley or the bartender. Or the motion detectors in the park. For someone or something to give him the information he needed to take the next step.

Jason hated waiting. But he also couldn't go outside and do any recon or canvas locals since bloody Nightwing would probably be everywhere. With his near-metahuman ability to be a giant pain in his neck. It made him want to scream. It made him want to shoot something.

Instead he stretched and gathered what he could from his dry goods to make a fairly credible vegetarian curry. He turned on an audio copy of Wuthering Heights to play as he cooked, to fill the empty place with the sound of something other than the rats in roof and to try and distract him from his nerves.

He hated having nothing to do. But he was at a ... not a dead end, but he had a lot of information with not enough focus. Walking around the city because he was twitchy wouldn't do him any good.

Tonight he would rest. He would wait for Poison Ivy to get back with him. And when the sun was high enough for all Bats and Birds to be in bed, he'd check the park, again.

It was a good plan. A solid plan.

He still very much wanted to shoot something.

But he didn't. And Jason counted that as a win.

XXXX0000XXXX

Author's Note: So I'm obviously ignoring Ric. I try to keep up on rumors and solicits, so I knew Ric was coming not long after I started, suspected Roy was going to get hit with HiC, etc etc. Lobdell taking over Percy's book was a shock, but not one that changes the fact that I'm ignoring that bit of it at the moment. Always a possibility that storyline will work out to something amazing, but I'm not holding my breath. With Roy and Bruce, just assume pre last issue. I just can't even deal with it I'm so over the way Lobdell treats Bruce and Jason's relationship.

Sorry this took so long. Between breaking my ankle and issues with government paperwork that have had me stressed AF... let's just say it has been a HARD month. Now we move into almost-November and actual-November, the hardest month of my working year... so this isn't going to get any faster, but I'll do my best, I promise. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!