Chapter 12 of What's Up, Danger?: I Knew You Were Trouble

2:30 PM, Wednesday—Wayne Manor

Jason's arm snapped forward, striking the punching bag with his fist. The bag jerked with each one of Jason's sharp hits. Above, the suspension chain clinked softly with each impact. The skin on his knuckles was red and raw, just on the edge of tearing open. As usual, he pushed through the discomfort.

He tried to focus on the bag, blocking out everything else. He tried not to overthink but, in the process of that, overthought.

It was just asking a question, it shouldn't be this hard. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, dry and parched.

On the other side of the open room, Dick moved through a series of dynamic stretches to warm up his joints and muscles before he approached a pair of rings dangling from the ceiling.

Dick suspended himself between the gymnastic rings hanging from the ceiling and pushed himself up. He squeezed the birch wood rings, making sure his grip was firm. Keeping his hands at his sides, he bent his arms down and lowered his body until his chest was lined up with his hands. He felt the tendons in his triceps burn as he held himself there for the count of 'one one-thousand" before pushing himself back up.

He remembered when he first came to the manor and unintentionally terrorized Alfred by swinging from the chandeliers after he settled in. Sometimes from his arms, other times with his legs hooked over the support sockets. Bruce hastily installed gymnastic rings and uneven bars into the gym after that. It only slightly deterred chandelier-swinging mishaps.

You could take the acrobat out of the circus, but you couldn't take the circus out of the acrobat.

Several thuds in quick succession pulled Dick of his self-absorbed trance.

Jason's explosive strikes sounded like gunshots. His sneakers squeaked on the floor as he bounced lightly from foot to foot.

Dick dipped his body between the rings again and counted.

The tension in the room was palpable. The air was full of loud grunts and heavy breathing.

It was unusual for both of them to be occupying the gym at the same time. Dick understood that Jason hopped in and out of the manor at odd hours specifically to avoid its occupants and other frequent guests. Jason liked keeping distance between himself and the others.

So the fact that he was here at the same time as him and in the same place as him was…strange.

And obviously intentional.

He heard from Alfred that Jason had sustained another injury in the field, but he hadn't seen him in person since Babs had dragged him out to lunch with them (and he still had no idea how she managed to pull that off). From taking cursory glances at Jason's stance as he showed the punching bag no mercy, he noted that he favored his left leg.

More disconcerting though was that Jason would peek in his direction every few minutes. At first, Dick thought Jason was simply agitated with his presence in the gym due to the sheen of intensity in the younger man's eyes and surly posture. Then again, that's how Jason usually was.

However, after almost thirty minutes of sneaking glances and fidgeting, Dick realized Jason wanted to talk but didn't know how to start the conversation.

So, it fell to Dick to initiate the interaction before Jason got frustrated with himself and stormed off. Little steps.

Dick dismounted from the rings with a flip, landed with ease, and sighed. "Are you just here to check out my butt or is there something that you want?"

He hoped the joke would dissolve some of the tension and disarm him, but he was self-aware to know that he did have a fantastic ass.

Jason stilled and held the punching bag between both of his hands. He rolled his eyes and scoffed indignantly, "You wish."

"Well, what's up?" Dick reached for a gym towel and wiped the sweat off of his face. He slung the towel around his neck, his hands holding the ends. "The staring is creepy, even by our standards."

Jason's lips formed a hard line. Words bubbled upon his tongue and died just as fast. Asking for help shouldn't be this hard. He certainly hadn't balked when he asked Babs for favors, but this was different. Sometimes, he was too prideful and stubborn.

Dick saw that Jason was wound up, shoulders hunched and eyebrows pinched together. Perhaps if he loosened him up a bit, then he could get to the heart of the matter.

"Do you want to talk, or do you want to spare?" Dick gestured to the blue mat in the center of the gym.

There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere.

A bemused noise escaped Jason's throat, liking the idea. "Sure, it's your funeral."

It wasn't every day he was offered the opportunity to punch Dick and get away with it scot-free.

Dick shrugged confidently and tossed the towel onto a bench by the wall. "We'll see about that."

Grinning broadly, Jason cracked his knuckles as he sauntered over to the mat.

Feet on the mat, they circled each other once slowly before Jaso charged forward.

Dick had almost forgotten how fast Jason was. The speed of Jason's first punch took him by surprise, but he managed to side-step out of the way.

Jason was all muscle and scarred skin, well above Dick's weight class. With almost forty to fifty more pounds on his frame—from the bulging biceps and triceps under the faded red sleeveless hoodie to the way his navy blue sweatpants contoured his broad thighs with jutting quadriceps. Jason was built for brawling; a far cry from the scrawny hoodlum he had been when he first arrived at the manor.

Dick's body was leaner, taut muscle pulled over his athletic frame. He didn't have the mass Jason did, but that made him a smaller target, giving him a slight edge.

Jason's fists flew by him, whiffing air. Dick dodged, his body twisting and swerving to avoid the blows. It was supposed to be just a friendly sparring match, but Jason was really trying to hit him.

Then Jason suddenly ducked down, dropping to the floor and sweeping his leg out in an attempt to knock Dick off of his feet. It was a dirty change in tactics, but Dick didn't expect Jason to fight fair.

Dick anticipated the leg sweep and moved just in time, picking up his leg and swinging it back behind him.

Jason took the opportunity that Dick was off balance to lunge forward and seized him around the waist, his fingers dug into the fabric of his sweatpants. Using the lower center of gravity, he pushed Dick back to the edge of the mat.

Dick used his weight and momentum like a pendulum, kicking off the ground and gripping Jason around the shoulders. He swung a completely wide-eyed and shocked Jason over his shoulder and slammed into the mat on his back, shaking the room and causing the equipment mounted on the wall to rattle.

Awe faded from Jason's expression and his expression darkened. Retaliating, he kicked a foot out, slamming the flat of his foot into Dick's shin. The strike knocked Dick off his feet, bringing him to the floor. Jason quickly maneuvered to lock his arms behind him.

An elbow to his chest knocked the wind out of him and Jason wheezed, collapsing on his back. The two men lay on the mat, arms and legs spread out and their breath ragged from exertion.

Dick rubbed his shin, the skin was tender and the burst vessels were already swelling and starting to bruise.

"I almost had you, Mr. Bony Elbow," Jason sneered, smiling to himself as he stared at the ceiling.

Dick heaved a sigh. "Yeah. Keyword: almost, Little—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Jason warned. He sat up, sweat trickled down the side of his face and his jaw. The brooding aura returned. "I need a favor."

Dick straightened himself upright. "A favor?"

All of this trouble because he wanted to ask for a favor? Dick tried not to chuckle at the roundabout way he had to take just to get Jason to talk.

Hell must have frozen over because Jason Peter Todd hardly ever asked him for favors.

"You could've opened with that instead of trying to throw me."

"Throwing you is more fun," Jason countered, smug.

Dick rested his forearms on his knees, sitting casually. "What do you need?"

Jason breathed out of his nose and rubbed his forehead. He twisted towards him, pushing down the burning sensation in his throat. "It's for a case"—he didn't want to mention which case and the specifics—"Obviously, I'm not as popular as you are with the League, but I need to talk to someone who knows a thing or two about occult items and for them to take a look at something for me."

Dick went quiet for a moment and took in Jason's hunched posture, a sign that he was nervous and just waiting for Dick to say no. Of course, he had questions about what and why and a whirlwind of other thoughts about Jason's request, but he wanted to have a little faith and trust in the former crime lord that this was for a good cause.

Eventually, Dick smiled. The corners of his eyes crinkled. "I'll see what I can do."

There were some nights where 'work' took Jason past Sabine's apartment. He noticed that she often left her blinds open while many other Gothamites left their blinds permanently closed. Maybe she felt a sense of privacy because her studio apartment was four floors up, or maybe she liked the way the lit-up windows of skyscrapers brightened the city skyline like a thousand fireflies in the distance.

For whatever reason it was, it made keeping an eye on her easier.

Just in case anything else happens, or so he convinced himself.

He had a mini-heart attack one night when he had grappled to a roof and saw her on the hardwood floor. A second, closer look revealed that she was laying next to her cat, stretching her limbs out like him and cooing at him. Weirdo.

Most nights, she either sat at the small square table next to her kitchenette studying with a thick textbook open and her laptop or rested on the couch by the window reading. She always had a mug of tea or coffee within arm's reach. It was too cold and rainy for her to spend time on the roof with winter looming around the corner.

Jason began to wonder if she had any hobbies outside of school work and reading, she certainly kept to herself.

One night, her blinds were drawn up completely. She was on the couch with her legs outstretched in front of her and a book in her lap. After a minute, she moodily snapped the book shut, crawled across the couch cushions, and threw open her window.

"You know I can see you, right?" she all but yelled across the gap and single lane road between buildings, an edge of irritation lacing her words. Weirdo.

He stared at her, one of his legs propped up on the roof's ledge. His red helmet shined in the moonlight like a goddamn attention-grabbing beacon. Aw, crap.

Her eyes met the slits of his helmet in a long conflicted stare. After a notable pause, she sighed wearily and got up from the couch, tossing the book onto the coffee table.

Sabine left the window wide open—an open invitation to come inside—as she shuffled towards the kitchen.

Tempted, Jason took a moment to consider.

He fired his grappling hook across the gap, the four-prong claw wrapped around the railing of the fire escape above her window. With a running leap, he swung across the street. The wind screamed around his body and rippled the flaps of his jacket as if he had wings. With a loud clatter, he slammed into the metal grating and went over the railing, somersaulting forward to break his fall and catch himself.

Sabine winced at the obnoxious orchestra of noise he caused outside her window. How overly theatrical of him.

He squatted down on the metal grate by her open window, his weight balanced on his toes. Jason slanted his head to the side and ducked it under the frame, but didn't enter.

Sabine looked comfortable wearing a slate grey crew neck, black leggings covered in cat hair, and fuzzy slippers. The blue lock of hair on the left side of her face had faded a bit from washing, but the fading made it brighter, turning it from turquoise to aqua.

Peering into her apartment, he saw that she had made some headway in putting things away since his last visit. Other things she had rearranged or moved.

The black mug with the yellow Batman symbol sat on the coffee table, taunting him.

A framed photo on the wall that he hadn't noticed before caught his attention. It was a photo of Sabine—much younger, judging by the roundness of her face, her pigtails, and the two taller figures behind her. One of whom he recognized as Nicholas Song from her file. Next to Nicholas was a woman he didn't recognize. Beside Sabine was a small boy who had similar facial features, most noticeably the same dark hair and eyes, but also shared features with the older woman in the photo. Behind them were tall pine trees and a large pitched tent, signs they were on a camping trip.

His vision shifted to the framed photograph next to it, noticing another but more recent photo of Sabine and her father. His hair was gray and wrinkles were etched into his forehead and around his mouth. Nicholas's arm slung over her shoulder as she held up a padded degree holder in her hands. He looked proud and happy. The tassel on her graduation cap was skewed to the left.

There were no photos of her mother, Olivia.

Sabine's voice, in the form of a question, cut through his thoughts. "Do you want a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"What?" Red Hood asked although he heard her perfectly well. It took him a moment to process her words. Being offered a sandwich on patrol was a new one for him, and he'd had some pretty strange things happen to him. "Why?"

"You…do eat, right?" Sabine continued, side-eyeing him suspiciously. "There's a human mouth and everything under that bucket, right?" She imagined a gaping maw full of razor teeth, but he was human from what she could tell. Just a guy in a suit with a bucket on his head. Even he must get hungry sometimes.

"Uh, sure," he drummed his gloved hands on the sill, still not coming inside.

Instead, he stayed by the window and watched her movements. With his jacket sleeves pushed up, he felt the circulating heat from the vents in the building warming up his bare forearms before dissipating into the night air.

There was an assortment of food out on her countertop: a half-stick of butter, sharp cheddar cheese slices, and a loaf of white bread. It looked like she was preparing to cook anyway.

At the stove, with her profile facing him, she asked, "So, did you find out anything about the book? Anything useful?"

So that's what she wanted to talk about.

He hadn't made much headway with the case, so he supplied her with a simple and short reply, "Still working on it."

She made a miffed sound and quickly raised and lowered her eyebrows, but didn't question further.

The burner was on low heat as she slathered butter onto two slices of bread. The orange and blue flames licked the bottom of the pan. With the pan heated, she placed the slices of bread on it and they quietly sizzled. The studio was filled with the smell of buttery toast. Then she stacked two cheese slices on one of the pieces of bread, using the second piece to cover it.

Alfred always used shredded cheese. So did Jason. To each their own.

Grabbing a spatula, she flipped the bread carefully, letting both sides turn golden brown. Melted cheese dribbled down the sides of the sandwich.

CEO dashed over to Sabine's legs and nuzzled her shins, meowing loudly for a crumb of cheese. Momentarily putting down the spatula, she ripped off a tiny fragment of cheddar from a slice in the bag and pinched it between her fingers for him to take. His greedy mouth snatched the piece and ran off, eating it in the small space between her bed and the closet.

Sabine removed the sandwich from the pan and made a second one before placing them both on the cutting board next to her stovetop.

She reached for a serrated knife. "Are you a diagonal or horizontal person?"

"Well, I prefer to be vertical," he joked as he put his weight on his forearms and leaned onto the window sill. It was amusing, watching her cook. She seemed more at ease around him, albeit annoyed.

She lowered the jagged blade horizontally over the grilled cheese, threatening to cut it.

"Diagonal," he asserted before adding politely, "please."

Sabine nodded and cut through the crust and cheesy goodness, dividing the sandwich into two triangular halves. She cut the second sandwich diagonally as well.

She rummaged around in a drawer, looking for plastic sandwich bags. "By the way, I'm going home for a week for Thanksgiving. So if you see someone in my apartment, don't worry. It's my friend, Tamara, stopping by to feed CEO and clean his litter box."

The last thing she wanted was for him to assume her cat sitter was breaking in if he was going to continue to pop by from time-to-time. How do you even begin to explain to someone, 'oh, don't worry if you see that Red Hood guy outside my place, he just likes to lurk'?

"Thanks for the heads up," he grumbled, half-listening, his eyes focused on the grilled cheese.

Sabine bagged the sandwich for him and glided her fingers along the seal, closing it.

She walked back over to the window and handed it to him as if it were an olive branch that conveyed 'I don't particularly like you but I get that you're just trying to do your job'.

"Really?" he scoffed, tilting his chin down to look at her. "No brown bag?" Beneath the helmet, Sabine couldn't see his coy smile. He just had to poke the bear because it was what he did, and because civilians weren't usually nice to him, much less cooking for him.

Sabine cleared her throat audibly. "If you don't want it, I'll give it to the cat."

"No, no, I'll take it," he floundered, his jest backfiring. He put a hand over his reanimated heart. "I'll savor every bite. Promise."

She clicked her tongue as he accepted the tasty peace offering. He knew he was growing on her. Like mold.

Twenty minutes later, Jason plopped down on the ledge next to his favorite gargoyle that adorned the gutter of an old cathedral. The hideous and beautiful stone beast with its mouth twisted open in a perpetual scream and giant wings unfurled as if about to take flight at any moment wasn't much of a talker, but they were good silent company.

He unlocked the mechanism in the back of his helmet, took it off, and set it to the side, revealing the red domino mask he wore underneath, and opened the sandwich bag. Steam from the heat of the sandwich fogged up the plastic.

He took a large bite, chewing on the toasted bread and cheese before swallowing. It wasn't warm anymore so it didn't have the fresh-off-the-grill taste and the gooey melted cheese didn't string from his lips to the bread. But it still tasted good.

The next night, Jason slipped off his helmet after unlocking the mechanism in the back, unleashing his unruly flop of hair. Sweat peppered his brow and he shook his head like he was a wet dog, sending droplets flying at Roy.

Roy raised his hands and grimaced as droplets splattered him. "Ew! Why?"

He smirked, taking pleasure in Roy's disgust. "What? It gets sweaty under there."

Roy leaned forward and sniffed him before recoiling. He plugged his nose with his index finger and thumb. "And smelly too apparently."

Jason laughed, a full-belly laugh, not hollow or sarcastic. "It's musk and it's natural," he insisted.

Roy grunted, unimpressed. "Uh-huh, sure."

Jason took stock of where they were, both of them still reeling with leftover adrenaline after stopping a shipment of weapons from leaving Gotham Harbor. Roy's solution had been to blow up the crates and Jason, feeling reckless, agreed, which resulted in a large fire on the dock. The Gotham City Fire Department currently had their hands busy getting that under control. Even from over a mile away, Jason could see the dark plume of smoke billowing up towards the sky.

No one had been hurt though.

Well…no one who mattered, Jason thought as he patted the blood spatters on his jacket, smearing them. Maybe he should carry one of those stain remover pens with him.

They were close to Gotham Heights, in a pocket of the city that was mostly low-rise apartment buildings crammed together and mom and pop shops.

They went from rooftop to rooftop. Jason turned off the communicator in his ear after Oracle tried to hail him a couple of times. He didn't want to be scolded for how he handled the situation on the dock tonight. He and Roy had done good work, despite the fiery aftermath. Results were results, and there would be fewer weapons on the streets thanks to them.

Passing Sabine's apartment building was an old habit now, he didn't even realize that they were straight across from it until something unusual caught his attention.

The light in her studio was off, the blinds were up in both street-facing windows. Shapes and shadows were visible through the glass. A lone candle flickered on her nightstand.

Through the dimness and the orange glow from the dancing flame, Jason saw Sabine in her pajamas. The thin strap of her camisole halfway down her arm as she breathed steadily. She was sleeping peacefully on her side, facing the window. Her arms were bent, hands tucked under her head like a pillow.

It would have been a completely normal sight if it weren't for the unsettling fact that her body wasn't resting gently on the mattress.

Her body hovered a foot above her crumpled bed sheets and pillows.

Hovered.

The scene he witnessed was straight out of an eerie B-rated horror film—flame in the candle almost burnt down to the wick and a suspended body and everything.

What the hell?

Roy knelt on the ledge next to him, squinting. "Is…is that girl floating?"

Jason blinked several times in disbelief. He tried to stay composed to prevent his mouth from dropping open.

The two men exchanged confused looks with their eyebrows raised above their domino masks.

Roy picked up on his friend's speechlessness. "Do you know her?"

He flicked his head back and forth between Jason and the sight they saw through the window.

Jason's jaw tightly clenched, his shoulders tensed. His brain was in overdrive, thinking a mile-a-minute for an explanation—any explanation—and none of them good.

Mouth dry and eyes glassy behind the mask, he finally said, "I really don't."

A/N: Trying to move the timeline in this story along a little bit because only a month or a month-and-a-half has passed in story world time. ?

Thanks for reading!-and thank you for the comments/reviews and kudos!