Author's Note: Recent review presented an idea I couldn't help but use and attempt to pass off as my own. Jason and Bruce hammer out the finer parts of the plan. Jason gets a surprise. Bruce improvises. Enjoy.
Crunch Time
When I get down to the operations centre in the cave, I can see the big guy has swapped his fancy suit for a burgundy crew-neck sweater and a pair of slate-coloured slacks, proving once again that he thinks ugly is a fashion statement and not just disgusting. Once I'm within ear shot of his command chair, he wastes no time in opening the conversation with his usual charm.
"You are twenty-three minutes late."
"There was a long line at the bathroom. Nice outfit. Gucci?" I say grabbing the other chair and wheeling it next to his. He glances over his shoulder at me, obviously unimpressed with my guess.
"This isn't Gucci. I thought Alfred had educated you on this facet of high society." In response to this I tug at my workout sweats.
"Do I look like a guy who likes designer clothes?"
"You have a fully stocked wardrobe of such clothes upstairs."
"Which I never wear unless you make me. Half of them still have tags."
"I suppose this is what happens when we allow you to stay out of mainstream schooling." He remarks obviously thinking if I went to a high school that I'd be more self-conscious of what I was wearing and make a bigger effort, but he's wrong: I just like being lazy sometimes. I cut to the chase.
"The point is your outfit is ugly as hell." If Bruce is stung at all by the criticism, it doesn't register on his face. He elects to offer me an amused smile, something I actually think suits him.
"Yes I thought you were being sarcastic. Would you like to sit down and begin work now?"
Once I sit down and promise to keep my mouth shut for the next three minutes, the big man outlines his draft for the scheme he's going to fund with about two-hundred million dollars of money, roughly the same amount he got ripped off at when Al bought that sweater that looks like it's painted on. Bruce informs me that the next possible opportunity for Two-Tone to strike with a crime that is directly related to the number two is three weeks from now with the Janus exhibit held in the Financial District. Because this affords us some time, the big guy takes his in describing the premise of our 'undercover' op.
Bruce's basic idea is to offer the key members of the juvenile gang a kind of work-placed apprenticeship working for a department of Wayne Enterprises that deals with trade skills like welding, construction or metalwork because none of the kids are currently in school and seem good with their hands. To avoid complications with transport to and from their new places of work, the big guy wants to house them in some of the new apartment buildings he's financing in Park Row. Those parts of the scheme are easy to put into action. Then things get harder.
"We need them to go to group counselling to build some kind of trust with other human beings. Now if it's just them in a room with a counsellor or therapist, I doubt any of them will want to talk. So I'm going to need you to go with them into these group sessions and kick off proceedings. Once you talk, they'll talk and once they talk I have every confidence they will look to you for advice and guidance and begin to confide in you. I estimate a time frame for this to be no longer than two weeks. That would mean only four total counselling sessions of one hour each. What do you say?" I literally can't respond for almost thirty seconds because I'm that shocked at his suggestion. When I do finally reply, I sound incredibly pissed.
"You want me to go in a room with a bunch of strangers and bear my soul? Are you deluded?" I snap.
"Jason…"
"No. I won't do it. You know I can't lie convincingly enough to fool kids like that."
"So don't lie. Tell them the truth."
"You want me to tell them I prostituted myself too? Maybe I should describe how it felt as well because we all know I'd love to talk about that."
"Jason we need to find Harvey as soon as possible. His compulsions are not as overwhelming as Joker or Edward Nigma's and that means we have this amount of time to build the right foundations to take him down safely and without sustaining any more casualties."
"Why can't we just beat the shit out of people until we find him?" I don't realise I've stood up until Bruce sits me back down with hands on both shoulders. I am so uncomfortable right now that even the cave is starting to feel claustrophobic.
"Because one thing Harvey is that Joker and Riddler aren't is paranoid. If he senses the net closing too quickly he will act rashly and he will murder innocent people. If we give him space, he will relax and take his time to build funds and orchestrate his plan. He will strike when we want him to if we just lull into a false sense of security. Then we can use his compulsions against him to bring Dent in before he strike. I need you to do this for me."
Bruce knows I let perverts fuck me for food and shelter, but he doesn't KNOW. He can't know because even though I've been living here for almost four years, I have still never talked about it seriously. And it's not just because I'm embarrassed or ashamed or even disgusted by what I had to do: it's because I don't want him knowing the whole story. He knows enough for us to understand one another and why I sometimes act as I do, but that's all. I can be his Robin as things stand between us right now and I can do the job well. If I talk, I don't know how I'll come out at the end. Keeping my mouth shut on the past makes me strong and because I don't even recognise myself in the mirror anymore, I can con myself into thinking that twelve-year-old kid who once blew a guy for five bucks was just somebody I knew. If I tell people that story, if I told Bruce that story, I don't know how I'd feel.
"You can ask me to do anything else but that." I tell him.
"This is the only way it'll work."
"I can't do this, Bruce. Let's just squeeze some guys for information."
"Jason, you can do this." He tells me with genuine and absolute confidence in what he's just had the balls to say out loud. His hands are still on my shoulders, but I don't feel trapped by them like I usually do when he corners me like this. It's like he wants me to trust him on this and I do want to trust him, but I know him a little too well. I shrug his hands off and pop the obvious question when you're dealing with Bruce and intimacy.
"You're not going to eavesdrop are you?"
"Of course not." He informs me. I consider the plan again and then dismiss it again.
"What if I need my secrets? What if letting them out means I can no longer protect myself?" I ask him seriously. I'm strong because I live in denial and I'm tough because I don't accept that I am capable of being weak. If I talk somehow Bruce will find out. I don't want that. The big guy doesn't hesitate in putting one of his massive hands back on my shoulder.
"Jason, I think you misunderstood me: you don't have to go into detail about any sexual abuse or crimes you may have committed in the past. I believe just mentioning them is enough to start the wheels in motion. You don't have to bear your soul. I would never ask you to do something so traumatic with strangers when you will not even confide in Alfred or myself about what happened. You just need to outline the basics. Okay?" He says squeezing my shoulder in a way that I weirdly like. I nod in relief and everything around us seems to push way back out in the aftermath.
"Don't freak me out like that again. Okay we're good to go on that front. How about the holes in this idea of yours? Can we run through those real quick?"
I know the big guy isn't one to leave any stone unturned when constructing plans like this, but it's not insulting just to check. Plus, this way he can see how engaged I am in what's going on and how eager I am to see it succeed. So I ask how many other kids he is going to offer places to. He says thirty or so. I ask him if they're all going to attend therapy sessions too. He says yes but we'll segregate and split them down in our favour. I ask him whether or not the placement scheme is going to end when we have the intelligence we need. He says it will last past Two-face's arrest. I make sure that when we have the information I no longer have to attend therapy sessions. He assures me I don't. I go on and ask about twelve or thirteen more questions to do with legitimacy of the scheme and how much press coverage he's going to let it have. He answers them all pretty well and I'm happy to go ahead with it. We spend another hour reviewing case files and reports on our primary targets in relaxed silence.
"I'm going to start prepping for patrol." I tell him when the clock runs past seven and I know dusk has come and gone. He considers something before nodding.
"I'll come with you."
The big man has been sitting on the bench for the last two weeks to concentrate on finding Two-Face. Even though I'm stoked to be able to patrol solo in the city and work without his scrutiny or bitching on my methods, it hasn't felt right knowing he wasn't in the city at the same time and was in fact brooding in the cave like a hermit. Despite him being a pain in the ass and as grim as a guy with chronic piles and an allergy to rubber rings, I guess I kind of missed him recently. It's lame and something I thought I'd forced out of my system, but I still want him to hang around with me from time to time, pay me some degree of attention too. So when we suit up and head out, it feels good. I don't let on in any way that I feel like that, but I know that's only because it wouldn't be given back. We pull up the car in Crime Alley and take to the rooftops from there shortly after eight.
Tonight we follow my route around the city that leaves The Narrows until last and starts in The Bowery. The way I figure it, The Narrows are full of the biggest and baddest scumbags in the city and you need to be at your best. But if you start there, fight your ass off and overcome the odds, you're going to burn out long before you finish the patrol and maybe some asshole with a quick hook or a high-quality baseball bat is going to get lucky. So by saving it until last, I can pace myself until the final sprint. Bruce might not agree, but for some reason he's letting me run the show and I'm already suspicious as to why.
After a four-hour stint and fifteen intercepted crimes ranging from theft to attempted murder, we're on the roof of Ace Chemicals. By now he knows I suspect something. So we stop and I eyeball him for a good two or three minutes. He tries to convey innocence with his posture and body language, but I just give him a look and expression that tells him straight-away to cut the bullshit and get to the point.
"I'm hired a tutor for you." He informs me. I just stare at him some more before I can think of anything remotely intelligent to say back.
"Why? Al does a great job and you haven't once suggested a tutor in the four years I've been living here."
"That's only because I could not find anybody besides Alfred who could possibly control you or make you listen to them. Now someone has volunteered and I believe you will be very receptive to them."
"Who is it?" I say already getting disturbing images of skeletal Victorian schoolmasters from old films and overweight matrons in bad-fitting clothes. He smiles.
"They would prefer to introduce themselves to you when they stop by. They'll arrive in the afternoon after the press conference with the media. I want you to give it a chance before you dismiss it."
"You could've told me you were going to do this."
"And have you say no immediately? Your grades are slipping and Alfred is becoming more like a companion than a teacher with you nowadays. It is time to step things up and move on."
"Is this really a good time to be doing this? Can't it wait until we've brought down Two-Face?"
"I have already let it go on for long enough already. According to your most recent tests, your GPA has slipped from 4.0 to 3.5 across all subjects. A tutor will help remedy such issues by being able to give you and your studies their full and undivided attention. Please don't argue with me on the matter."
"I won't but I'm stretched to the wire already with patrols, volunteering to be your rabbit at a greyhound track and now being tutored by a total stranger whilst trying to do the other two things you want."
"You can handle it just fine. I have every confidence in you. Let's get back to patrolling."
I spend the remainder of the night being pissed off, bitching at Al for almost an hour about Bruce being an asshole, eating the old man's brownies to make me feel better and then sleeping like I'm training to earn a spot on the coveted national narcoleptic team. When I wake up it's not by someone calling my name but by somebody's hand violently shaking my shoulder. Unlike Bruce, whose instinctive reaction to danger is to put them in a choke hold, I jump in shock before scrambling back from the threat because I'm in bed and so disorientated by being jolted to consciousness that the room seems to spin around me. When I regain my sense of perspective on the situation I'm bewildered. At the side of bed is a gorgeous and nicely stacked redhead in a blouse, pencil skirt and glasses. Her eyes are green, I can see teeth because she's smiling and she gives off a weirdly powerful vibe just by standing there.
"Wow. You know, Bruce said you were well-built for a kid, but this is something else." She says in something between surprise and amusement. I glance down to make sure my boys aren't on display and am thankful to find I grabbed the sheets when I did my impression of an uncoordinated hamster in a very small cage. The other saving grace is my teenage hormones haven't decided now would be the perfect time to pitch a tent. So I kind of relax a little bit.
"Yeah I guess I'm pretty buff even for a guy who likes to work-out by smashing thugs teeth in on a nightly basis." I reply already clued in on the obvious fact she knows who I and Bruce really are. Her smile widens.
"And I think it's so cute that a big tough guy like you likes to sleep butt-naked and hump his pillows." She offers mockingly. I have to smirk at that. She's got balls leading straight into that from what I gave her. I like her already. But I'm winning this little showdown no matter what. I shrug.
"Okay I tried that once last summer and I ended up with friction burns. I was just hugging my pillow, alright?" I explain whilst pulling more sheets over my legs. She nods and gives me an exaggerated wink like she's being discreet in a silent movie.
"Of course you were Jay, of course you were." Alright, alright: battle lines have been drawn here. Time to return fire with my own risqué commentary.
"Oh, I'm sorry miss I-wear-a-sports- bra- even-when-I'm-tutoring- a-teenage-boy, but just who the hell are you? Play fair."
"Not bad. He said you had a quick mouth too. I'm Barbara Gordon and I'm awesome." She says affecting the voice of royalty to declare her last statement. I roll my eyes.
"Yeah I used to introduce myself with that line too but that was only because it was obviously true: I've got no proof you're not telling lies here."
"How about the line 'I used to be Batgirl and I was awesomer than Dick'?" She retorts already fully aware of deliberately using made-up words in some crazy effort to curry my favour and catch me out on my grammatical skills like I'm five. She probably is better than Ponytail but then again so is Al and Bruce and even my old grade school teacher who used to sneak into the girls locker room during Phys Ed: it's not a hard thing to do.
"There is no such word as 'awesomer' in this language or any other." I say. She nods in what looks like approval.
"And Alfred said you weren't just a chunk of mouth and muscle: HE said you had brains too." Oh really? That's nice of him. Since we're talking about my many attributes, I indicate one of other prize assets with an open hand.
"You wanna see my ass too?" She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head.
"I've already been exposed to that particular pleasure."
"It's hot right?"
"Not as hot as mine I'm afraid." She's completely wrong – my butt is a work of art – but I nod my head and pretend to agree.
"Yeah. Al's got a better ass than mine too."
"Al's got a better ass than all of us."
"Ahem." Al says whilst clearing his throat from the doorway. "As engrossing a subject as my posterior is, I really must curtail your little tête à tête for the good of my health: the choking aroma of your teenage hormones and female perfume really is quite overwhelming…Master Jason. I must apologize, Miss Gordon, but Master Jason is due downstairs in twenty minutes to have his breakfast before the press conference which he will now be attending." Barbara looks at me and grins.
"Looks like your mommy wants you hang out with daddy today. Is she going to help you put your underwear on as well or can you do that all by yourself?" She whispers mockingly. I think she's trying to get under my skin but then again, this is her first time meeting me: I don't do subtlety.
"Are you offering? I didn't know you were an escort as well as a bitch." I declare in as loud a voice as possible to momentarily render her speechless. I look at Al and see him shaking his head in disapproval while trying to desperately hide his amusement at Barbara's reaction to the real Jason Todd and not the file Bruce gave her to study. I look back at her and grin. "This means I've won. But stick around and maybe you'll get another shot. Towel please Al." The old man passes me a towel from my drawers before I slip it round my waist and then wander out the room doing my other animal impression of a strutting peacock.
When I get downstairs half-an-hour later, dressed in nothing but my jogging pants and fading bruises, Bruce is less than pleased.
"You are eleven minutes late. The press conference starts in less than an hour and you are not even dressed yet."
"Yeah sorry. I would've been down here sooner but I needed a few minutes to recover from the stalker who was watching me sleep." I respond whilst grabbing a fresh cup of OJ and perching myself on the kitchen countertop. Bruce nods in understanding.
"I apologize. I should've told you Barbara was coming early. She turned up quite unexpectedly." Whatever you asshole. You told her to come early to try and catch me off-guard and give her a chance to get some leverage over me. Nice try, but not even close. I drink my juice and return the nod.
"You look nice today. What is that, a twelve-thousand dollar suit?" I inquire gesturing to the custom-made and immaculately tailored suit the big man is wearing to go with the perfectly pressed French shirt and Japanese silk necktie he's sporting beneath it. Bruce corrects me.
"This is a five-thousand dollar suit that a purchased from a local tailor in The Narrows. He was very gifted and it is one of my favourites. I am wearing it because it is an important occasion regardless of what motives are behind its development. I expect you to make a similar effort."
"Sure thing. I'll just slip on my tails, top hat and gloves for this press conference I begged you not to make me go to." I say to make the big man's entire face stiffen with restrained anger. I don't know why but I'd really like him to snap right now. I guess I'm still pissed off at him for the tutor and the group therapy set-up I've been forced into accepting. He looks like he just might explode until he doesn't. Instead he wandered over from the coffee pot, stands an inch in front of me and puts a hand on the side of my cheek.
"I understand you're angry with me for some of the decisions I've forced upon you in recent days, but it is only with your best interests in mind. " He tells me with sincerity and eyes that only speak of patience. His huge hand rubs my ear lobe and majority of my left cheek simultaneously as he cements his stance with my rebellious streak as being understanding. "I do love you Jason. Honestly, I do. I know I am loath to say such things for fear of alienating you, but I am very fond of you. If it helps I am sorry for being harsh. We are a team and I should've consulted you. In future I will do so. Right now however, I need you to support me in this operation. We need it to work and snare Dent. For it to work you know I need you. None of this will work without you. You know that right?" He asks, stopping his hand so that the majority of his palm has embedded itself in my hair. I'm not twelve either and this isn't really good enough.
"Why do you always wait until it's almost too fucking late to do anything? I told you a month ago, right after Eddie that I'm a tough little shit but I don't mind a hug every now and then. Fast forward five weeks and this is the most affection you've shown since scumbags almost cracked my head open like a soft-boiled egg. You say you love me? How about proving it at SOME point in this partnership?" I reply in a deliberate and cold tone of voice. Bruce's facial expression doesn't change and he doesn't take his hand away either. Instead he shifts his hand's position until it's clamped in my armpit. His other one mirrors the action on my other armpit. Before I can begin to understand what he's planning, the guy effortlessly lifts me up off the countertop like I'm a sack of feathers and holds me above the ground for several moments. It's all damned impressive stuff, but I don't know what he's trying to prove exactly until he presses me against his chest with the same ease and hugs me tightly.
I have no moves from here and I can't engineer an escape. He holds me in absolute silence for almost a minute like I'm a teddy bear that just happens to weigh one-hundred and sixty-five pounds. Then he takes away an arm to stroke my hair whilst his other arm bears my full weight without any visible strain. Again there's silence. Eventually, after almost three minutes of hugging and hair-stroking, the big guy sets me down on the floor again. He knows exactly how to play me so what I say next and how he replies aren't surprises at all.
"Look I'll make you a deal: I'll go put a suit on if you promise never to something that weird again. Okay?"
"That was the effect I was going for. I'll meet you outside in twenty minutes."