AN: A few people wondered if Kitty's 'roach overlord' thing would stick, and it occurs to me that while everyone else will receive an extra ass-kicking, Jason Todd…might not. Not for that. And you know he'd do it, because he can get away with it and isn't above a little guilt-tripping to keep it that way.

Sticking this here because it directly pertains to 'Overlord'.

Guest-Oh, he won't. He really, really won't. -)

Drawkill Vear-Poor Batman. One day, his Rogues Gallery will spontaneously turn into nice, non-criminal people...and he'll panic about it.

Jason's done a good job of staying under the radar lately. Now, that's mostly because he managed to crack his wrist, but it's fine. He's fine. He'll be back out in another day or two. (You don't fuck with the wrist. He'll ignore a lot of injuries, but wrists are important. They determine whether or not you plummet to your death.)

Right now, though, he's hearing some interesting things.

He'd stepped out for a drink-really, that's all, a drink and this particular bar's homemade pretzels-and…overheard things.

"…yeah, guess Penguin did it too, got two broken fingers."

Penguin? What? Cobblepot's been quiet lately.

He inches a few seats closer to the men, dragging his pretzels with him.

"Yeah, wonder if Richardson'll give him two more for laughin'."

Um. Unless there's been a huge falling-out, he's pretty sure Richardson and Cobblepot don't hate each other.

"I dunno, man, all I know, is I'm not sayin' nothin'."

"Pussy."

"Fuck you. I like my fingers. Like my balls, for that matter."

Jason has never been more lost. Did something happen? He doesn't remember seeing anything on the news…or hearing anything major elsewhere.

He pulls out his phone and scrolls frantically through the internet, looking for some sort of help.

Nothing.

Well. He knows people. And he's curious, now.

Time for a little snooping.

Dove Marquis is his favorite henchperson. That's what she is, she can deny it all she wants. But she's his favorite one, because she doesn't try to shoot at him or run*. Just gives him a dirty look (a little like Alfred's) and grumbles, "Boss is in Arkham, go away."

"Aww, it's like you think I only want one thing."

"I got three hours 'til opening, scram."

"Actually, I have a question."

"No."

"Word on the street's that your boss got two broken fingers last time."

"Uh-huh."

"What the hell happened?"

"None'ya, so go away."

"Dove. C'mon. Please?" He pauses. "Warn ya next time the Bat's on his way."

She looks torn between rubbing her face and murdering him, and decides on neither.

"You keep quiet." she says at last. "I didn't tell you, and if you get beaten to a bloody pulp, it's your own fault."

Ohhh. This sounds good already.

He mimes a zipper (which probably looks horror-movie with his mask, oops) and takes a seat at the bar.

"Okay."

"I don't know everything, but Nygma said that last time they got caught, Richardson nailed the Bat with a canister of Raid and called him Roach Overlord." What. "It's been getting around. A bit. She's not too happy, but Batman's taken a bit of personal offense to it. Y'know."

Roach. Overlord.

This is golden, Midas-touched-it golden. It's all he can do not to clap like a kid at a party. Bless that little psycho, she's just given him the best present of his life.

(Still a little psycho, though. Short jokes do not need to be met with attempted murder, Richardson, god.)

"So there you go. Now get out, I'm busy and you don't sound old enough to order anything."

Hey! One, his fake ID is impeccable, and two, he does so sound old enough. So there. He takes it back, Marquis is not his favorite henchperson anymore.

"I'm old enough!"

"Kiddo, don't lie. Go get a juice box and go home. S'past your bedtime."

"I don't want anything here, anyway."

Too late, he thinks he might have proved her point.

Oh well. Bruce's birthday's coming up. He has to place an order on Cafepress.

Bruce isn't expecting Alfred to come downstairs with a white envelope with 'Cafepress' written on it in green.

"What's that, Alfred?"

"It was in the mailbox, sir. Might I suggest…opening it?"

He runs it through three tests to make sure there's no bombs (or anything else) before carefully cracking it open.

It's a shirt. A plain t-shirt, smells a little like the printing press it came from. He frowns. Did Dick send him something? Usually Dick mentions these things, but…

He shakes it out. And now he knows who did this.

The shirt is black, with white letters proclaiming 'ROACH OVERLORD'.

Alfred raises one eyebrow but says nothing. Bruce sighs, counts to ten, and plucks a slip of paper from the box. It's one of those 'include a message' things.

Happy birthday, old man! You won't begrudge your poor, lost Robin a little fun, would you?-J.

"Sir?"

Bruce is torn between finding somebody acceptable to punch and going after Jason in earnest.

"Jason sent me a birthday gift." he grinds out. Alfred does that smile-that's-not-a-smile and pats his arm.

"How very nice."

Yes. It is. Or it would be, if he didn't know full well that Jay's going to latch onto this until one of them dies. He can just see it-shirts, car decals, water bottles…between this and the random 'wish you were here!' postcards with Arkham on them, he's set.

"Sir…"

"Alfred?"

"Am I…missing something? Master Jason's sense of humor is a little…unusual, however…"

"It's complicated." He rubs his face. "That's all."

Alfred knows, he thinks miserably. Alfred knows all, and is taking pity and not mentioning anything.

Well. At least Jason didn't send him a crowbar. That's…he'll take it.

But he's not wearing this damn shirt, and that's final.

THE END

*Jason also has some more personal history with Dove-she found him in an alley when he was about ten and let him come hang out in one of Penguin's not-yet-operational buildings while they got it set up ('Everybody Wants to Rule the World', Cigarette Smoke and Snark, Wattpad & Ao3).