The Ship Has NOT Sailed

It started innocuously enough.

Jason had been in his favourite used bookstore, grabbing a few books for his new safehouse. It didn't and would never have the library that his main safehouse had, but he didn't like having no books. If he did go down with an injury, he'd need something to read while he recovered.

If he had gone a half hour earlier like he had wanted, he could have avoided the whole thing. But Mrs. Dunfield had needed a hand with her groceries, and then she'd insisted on having him taste test all of the baking she'd done for her grandkids' visit this evening. So he'd gotten to the bookstore a half hour later than he'd expected, and ran into Cass.

He hadn't had much interaction with his quite-unquote "sister". None actually. No interaction. He knew what she looked like though, thanks to extensive hacking of the Batcomputer and Barbara actually letting him hack the Batcomputer with little more than gentle chastisement. And she looked torn between Sense and Sensibility and Wuthering Heights.

On one hand, he could totally sneak out and come back to his bookstore in a few hours. There was a cheap diner down the street he'd wanted to reacquaint himself with anyways. On the other hand, no one should have to read Wuthering Heights.

He walked up behind her, making sure to make enough noise to let her know he was there. Again, he'd never met Cass, but he knew that sneaking up on her was a terrible idea. Reaching over her shoulder, Jason poked at Sense and Sensibility. "That one."

She turned around, giving him a quick once over. He knew what she could do and she wondered how much she had read off of him in that one glance. Enough to know he wasn't really in a killing rage kind of mood apparently. She slid Wuthering Heights back into its place, dropping the hand carrying Sense and Sensibility to her side. "Thanks."

Jason nodded, going back to his own book shopping. And even though he'd made sure she knew he was there, she didn't seem to want to extend the same courtesy to him. Four aisles over, he turned around having plucked a Japanese copy of the Tale of Genji from the shelves to find Cass directly behind him. "Holy fucking-!" His hand clawed at where his holster would be, if he had it on him, which he didn't. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry." She didn't look sorry, but he could be biased. Batman was never fucking sorry, so why would anyone associated with him be? Yeah, probably biased. "What are you getting?"

"Hm?" He looked down at the book in his hands, stroking a thumb over the battered cover. "Oh, Tale of Genji. I've read it in English already, but I wanted to give the original lan- hey! No, why are you following me?" Jason glared at her, clutching his book to his chest and hiding the cover. "You've got your book. Leave me alone."

Cass didn't move forward, although it looked like she wanted to. Instead, she stayed a few feet away and swayed on the spot a little. "You suggested this one. I wanted to suggest one too." She held out a copy of Percy Jackson and the Olympians. "Steph gave me this when I was learning to read. It's a good book."

"I know. I've read it." After he'd moved into the manor, and once Bruce found out that he liked to read, Bruce had bought every single book series that a preteen boy might find interesting. Most of them he hadn't particularly taken to, and had gotten donated to various homeless shelters. Jason had liked the Percy Jackson series though.

Cass frowned and walked away, returning a moment later with another book. "This is the next book in the series." The Sea of Monsters was shoved into Jason's face.

"Read that one too. All five books." And Jason didn't really like the smile that crept over Cass's face at that.

Deciding it was well past time to beat a hasty retreat, he waited until she'd disappeared into another bookshelf and made for the cashier. He was just pulling out his wallet to pay when someone poked his back with the top of a book. With a sigh, he turned around.

Without preamble, Cass dropped a stack of five books onto the counter. "He'll take these too," she said to the cashier. At Jason's weary nod, the cashier started typing in the prices. To Jason, Cass said, "This is the next series. They're also good."

Jason picked up one of the books the cashier was finished with, giving the back cover a skim. "If you insist." He put it back on the pile.

"They really are good sir." The cashier moved all of Jason's books into a bag. "My favourites are the Magnus Chase books, but Heroes of Olympus is so good. That'll be $45.75 sir."

Jason handed over some cash, thanked the cashier and walked out. He'd barely gotten half a block when he felt the distinctive press of a book in his spine. Again. "What?"

Cass poked him with Sense and Sensibility again, this time in the arm. "I'm hungry. Take me to lunch."

"What? No. Get your own food."

She frowned at him. "I don't know the area. Take me to lunch little brother!"

"I'm not your little brother."

"Yes, you are."

Jason glared down at her. "I'm bigger than you."

Cass smiled wide. "I'm older. Now let's go!"

"Fine!" Clearly, she wasn't going to give up. Better to indulge her and bolt when she least expected it. "But you're paying." The five extra books had taken pretty much all of his cash, and he wasn't going back to his safehouse for more, not with her following him. He really didn't want to have to move again.

She smiled and nodded, and followed him into the run down diner he'd been planning on going to for lunch. He ordered his usual burger and fries, and she had the same.

It ended up being a pleasant lunch. They'd talked about books they'd read, and Cass's difficulties with reading. Jason made a note to get an audio book version of Sense and Sensibility later, so she could read and listen at the same time. It might help. Surprisingly, she hadn't mentioned their nightly activities or Jason's less-than-moral ways of dealing with crooks. And after Cass finished her food and dropped some cash on the table, she'd smiled and said she'd see him later tonight.

He changed his patrol route for the evening, but she still managed to find him within the hour. That patrol was one of the best he'd had in years. Luckily, they didn't run into anyone that didn't deserve to keep breathing, because that would have put a damper on their burgeoning relationship. But it was a good evening, and Jason ended up picking up a few moves from her. Around three in the morning, they stopped for chili dogs, and went home.

The next morning, Jason left his apartment. He had to go to the grocery store for some cat food for the cat that sometimes visited his fire escape. He walked down the stairs, said hello to Mrs. Dunfield and Mrs. Nardovino, helped the super with the sink in Mr. O'Neil's apartment, and then made for the lobby. He was just opening the heavy wooden door when Andy shouted out, "Pete, no!" Too late. The door swung open and he was blinded by lights and deafened by shouting.

"Sir, what's your connection to Cassandra Wayne?"

"What's your name?"

"Are you her boyfriend?"

"Can you validate the rumors of a relationship between Cassandra and Timothy?"

SLAM.

Jason leaned against the door, trying to get his breathing under control. Slowly, that indescribable feeling that felt similar to an adrenaline rush but not quite settled down, until it was just a humming under his skin. "Andy," he choked out, "why is there a crowd of people outside the door?"

The doorman looked through the peephole at the crowd. "They've been there for hours. Here," he passed Jason one of Gotham's many rags. "Front page."

Jason grabbed the paper, the Gotham Inquirer, and stared at it with a sinking feeling in his gut. Above the center fold was a picture of him and Cass at the restaurant, taken from across the street, and the words, "GOTHAM'S PRINCESS: LOVE AFFAIR?!"

Under the fold was a picture of the president (the caption directing readers to an article on page four, praising his latest screw up), a couple pictures of celebrities and their latest fashion faux pas, and a few lines of summary for the article with Jason's face on it. "Cassandra Wayne, daughter of the Prince of Gotham Bruce Wayne, was seen at Greasy Steve's on 49th yesterday afternoon. Our intrepid reporters got close enough to hear Wayne say, "See you tonight," to our mystery man. Has this man stolen the elusive Wayne's heart? Find out more on page 2!"

Jason crumpled the paper in his hands. "Fuck my life." The door behind him jumped as someone slammed into it. Either a "reporter" trying to break it down, or someone getting shoved into it. He stepped away from the door. It was a good door, very solid, but he was suddenly wary of whether it would hold or not. "Please tell me you called the cops?"

"Aye. Five minutes ago." Andy cracked open the door enough for him to stick his head out and yell, "If you blighters break my door, I'm taking it out of all of your hides!" Then he slammed and locked it. "Come on. The cops will get them away from the door, but they'll be a waiting to ambush you. I'll sneak you out the back."

"Thanks Andy." He was already planning how to get back into his apartment. So far, his best idea was to use the fire escape. He really hoped the paparazzi didn't think of that and wait at the bottom.

Jason got to the store unhindered, but in the line up, the lady behind him kept staring. He ended up paying way too much for his cat food and vegetables, and left without taking his change or his receipt. He was halfway across the parking lot when a Prius pulled up beside him and a paparazzi leaned out of the back window and shoved a recorder in his face. "Sir, what's your name? What's the nature of your relationship with Cassandra Wayne? How long have you been sleeping together?"

"Fuck off." He cursed the sun. If it was dark, he could have bolted into an alley and grappled to a rooftop.

The paparazzi smiled at him like he was a roast she was about to carve. "Sir, it really is in your best interests to answer."

Maybe he could outrun the Prius... "No it's not. Because if I answer, then I'll get swarmed by even more scum nuggets like you. You can quote me on that by the way. 'Paparazzi are scum nuggets who don't understand simple things like go away'."

"How would you describe the sex? Her dance recital last month suggests she is quite... limber."

Jason stared incredulously at the lady. How could she say things like that about Cass? And of course, if he said nothing, her stupid paper would print whatever they wanted and just say that he had declined to comment. "Fine. In order, my name is Steve Trevor, our relationship is strictly platonic, we've been sleeping together for negative a million years and I would describe the sex as nonexistent."

He was saved from further questions by finding a crack between buildings too small for the Prius and ducking into that. His peace lasted all of ten minutes when another paparazzi ran up behind him, huffing, puffing, but still managing to wheeze out his questions. "What's your name and how are you affiliated to the Wayne family?"

"Jim Olsen. I'm their pet hamster." Another building gap, this one barely wide enough to accommodate Jason's shoulder and definitely wouldn't fit the man's bulk.

A block from his apartment, another one asked him his name, age, occupation, and relationship to Cass. "Rip Hunter. I'm forty-seven, I work as a salmon delivery boy and I literally met her yesterday."

He ended up climbing the fire escape on the building behind his, then jumping onto his roof and climbing back down to his window. After disabling his security, he grabbed a metal bowl and filled it, leaving it on the fire escape.

With a sigh, he threw himself onto the couch. "It would be a bad thing to stab the paparazzi. It would be a bad thing to stab the paparazzi. It would be a bad thing to stab the paparazzi." Nope. He still wasn't convinced. And unfortunately, he couldn't just hide out in his apartment for the next two weeks either. He had a stupid dinner appointment with Tim to discuss some ideas he'd had about where Wayne Enterprises charity foundation could put their resources next. Also, he had an idea for a way to make Bat-quality body armor more cheaply, so that Wayne R&D could produce it for soldiers in hot spots. And this was the only break in Tim's schedule for the next month and a half, unless he wanted to chat with Red Robin on patrol.

Sigh. No. He could barely stand to have dinner with Tim. Having a conversation with Red Robin would be unbearable. Plus, if Red Hood tried to speak to Red Robin without the witnesses and cameras a restaurant provided, Nightwing would swoop down with all the force of an overzealous older brother.

Stab a guy one time, and suddenly no one trusts you.

Couldn't blame them really.

Anyways. He had less than half an hour to be out his door, if he wanted to be on time. Hm. Better make it ten minutes, what with all the press trying to track him down. He pulled on one of his million white t shirts (Costco sold them by the gallon), and his nicest leather jacket and headed out.

He ended up being five minutes late. Tim gave him an annoyed look. "I only have an hour for this Jason. And you know that."

"Shaddup. It's not even my fault." He grabbed the menu and ordered the salmon and a tea when the waiter asked. "I had lunch with Cass yesterday, and now every paparazzo in Gotham thinks I'm her lover."

"Ew." Tim winced a bit, which was basically how Jason felt. Was Cass a beautiful girl? Absolutely. Would Jason ever sleep with her? No. She was his sister. Only technically, sure, but that was enough for him.

"No kidding. Hopefully it'll drop off in a few days."

"Yeah." Tim eyed Jason thoughtfully. "Jason, you do know this is the most expensive restaurant in Gotham, right?"

"I do. Which is why you're footing the bill."

Tim nodded, because Jason had let Tim pick the place on the condition that Tim footed the bill. Security for Tim, free food for Jason. Win win. "Yeah, but a leather jacket Jason? Really?"

"What?" He looked down at his jacket, knowing for a fact that it wasn't suited to a fancy restaurant like this. He gave him a look that hopefully looked both offended and confused. "This is my nice one. There aren't even any bloodstains in it!"

With a long suffering sigh, Tim gave up on the subject. "Right. So. Wayne Charities."

For some reason, Jason was surprised when his neighbour slid a copy of the Gotham Enquirer under his door with the headline, "CASSANDRA AND TIMOTHY WAYNE: FIGHTING OVER THE SAME MAN?!"

The next few weeks were torture, but one he strangely enjoyed. He moved safehouses three times, but the paparazzi kept finding him. How, he didn't know. Every safehouse was leased under a different name. He continued giving a different name to each and every paparazzo who asked for it. One of them got wise to his games and asked for his real name no fewer than six times. So he gave her six different names.

His explanations of his relationship to the Waynes also got more convoluted. "I am the guy they hire when they need someone paintballed." "I was conceived out of wedlock by Bruce and a Hungarian supermodel." "I am a clone of Tim who was force grown too old and way more handsome." "I once told Bruce that he was an asshole, and now his kids keep asking for my autograph."

Eventually he realized that any pictures of him were unpublishable, thanks to his extremely monotone wardrobe. Costco's gallon jug of t shirts meant he had a lot of identical white t shirts. That combined with him wearing his favourite jacket every day meant that there was no way to prove the pictures were recent, so the magazines couldn't publish them.

They did publish every interview with him, although they left out the parts where the interviews were conducted wile he was trying to outrun their cars. Four or five of the writers got into massive Twitter flame wars with each other over whether his name was Marcus or Clark. One was absolutely positive that it was Alvin, because no one would ever claim a name that dumb as an alias. Jason had taken great pleasure in sending the Tweet to Tim.

He had been sitting in the corner booth of a cafe, studiously ignoring everyone around him and keeping his face shoved firmly in his book, when he heard footsteps approach him. "If you like having thumbs, you'll leave me alone."

The laugh that answered him was disturbingly familiar. "Bet you I can talk to you and still keep all my digits."

Jason shrugged, refusing to give Dick the satisfaction of looking at him. "Bet you you can't. You might keep your thumbs, sure, but I'm sure I could get a toe or three." He flipped a page.

Dick's index finger hooked over the top of his book, tugging it down so Jason had no choice but to look at him. "So I hear you've been having some difficulty with the press." He sat down. An eager waitress sidled up, filling Dick's coffee cup and refilling Jason's.

"Really? Well that only took three weeks for you to figure out. Are you sure you're the world's second greatest detective?" Jason put his book down beside him and took a sip of coffee. "Sounds like you need practice."

"You know we don't read that stuff." Dick took a sip of his own, grimaced, then added three packs of sugar. "Just every once in a while when we need a good laugh."

"This is the best coffee in the city, why are you ruining it like that?"

"It's bitter." Dick said that like it explained everything.

Jason just rolled his eyes and took another sip of his coffee. "Yes, that's normally how coffee tastes. Doofus." He looked over at his book, tapping the cover. "Did you have a reason for coming here, or are you just living up to your name?"

"Nice, very original." Dick swirled his spoon in his mug. "Just came by to tell you that it should stop, or at least slow down. Bruce owns most of the rags in Gotham, and he's asked them, and I quote, 'to leave that poor boy alone'. There's a few independents who might keep at it, but they don't have the resources that the others do. And once they get word of Tim Wayne's latest fashion disaster, they'll forget about you."

"I'll be old news, huh? Well, that's at least familiar." Before Dick could give his usual stream of objections ("It wasn't like that." "Tim didn't replace you." "Blah blah, I'm a dick, blah."), Jason asked, "Aren't fashion disasters your department?"

"You haven't seen Tim outside of a suit, clearly." Dick tugged out his phone, opening his gallery. "Not only does his taste rival mine, but if he gets tired enough, his ability to be self conscious about what he wears vanishes."

"I can see that." Jason flipped through a few of the pictures. These were cringe-worthy. He sent a few to himself before Dick could stop him.

"Ha, now I have your phone number," Dick said as he snatched back his phone. He went to the contacts page, saving the new number as "Jay~", followed by a knife emoji, a smiley face, and a chick.

"Correction," Jason pulled his phone out and forwarded the pictures to another one of his phones, "you have one of my phone numbers." He flipped the phone over, pulled out the SIM, and slid the phone over to Dick. "Thanks for getting the press off my back. You've got the bill, right?" Grabbing his book, he slid out of the booth and out the door.

The next morning, there was a magazine on his kitchen counter, with a note on it. Last one, promise.

GRAYSON TO GET MARRIED? The mystery man who has been eluding our distinguished reporters was seen at Bien Brew yesterday with Gotham's most contested bachelor. He was seen sliding a distinctly box-like object towards Grayson (28), and then fleeing from the premises. Have we just witnessed a proposal hit and run? Find out on page 3!

Jason wrinkled his nose in distaste, then shoved the magazine into the garbage.

AN: Man, those paparazzos don't know when to quit. Poor Jason.

For Gen Batfam Week's prompt Paparazzi.