A/N: Late night bedroom confessionals are back, baby!
"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope." Persuasion, Jane Austen
Chapter 34 of What's Up, Danger?: You Are the Sun and I Am Just the Planets
Sabine was home.
Home.
Back in her cramped studio apartment in Gotham, with the tiny kitchenette, second hand furniture, and the orderly chaos of her belongings.
It took the better part of thirty minutes for that to sink in after her dad had dropped her off and helped her carry her luggage and CEO's carrier up the four flights of steps to her unit.
She'd hugged her dad goodbye and he'd given her an extra squeeze.
Sabine couldn't feel the same strange comforting tide of magic back in her studio apartment. The building's foundations didn't pulse and hum with their own primordial heartbeat. The rooms and hallways didn't shift around as if sentient.
Instead, underneath all the grimy pollution and subdued city sounds, a sinister buzzing thrummed in her body, rubbing her the wrong way. She felt it, like a fly traversing a path up her spine that she couldn't swat away. Anxiety clawed at her, acknowledging her supernatural senses meant she couldn't continue to blindly ignore the invisible malice that oozed through the Gotham streets.
Sabine took a grounding breath and tried not to overstress her nervous system. Just like at the House, she knew she'd eventually grow accustomed to the unnatural way Gotham bristled along her senses and poked at her brain.
CEO made a mad dash toward the bed as soon as she opened his carrier, kneading the cozy covers and then snuggling into a ball of fur on top of them. She was sure he'd gained weight from the way his little tummy pouch swayed, proof he'd been spoiled rotten with treats. Whoever Jason's mysterious pet taking acquaintance was would surely be disappointed with this development.
She let the hinkypunk out of her backpack next. The little wisp enjoyed hiding in tight, dark enclosures when it wasn't being a chaotic ball of energy. It surged forward, excited to explore its new surroundings.
CEO's eyes dilated, black pupils swallowing his yellow irises. His tail swished to and fro, intently watching the hinkypunk, still nameless, bounce around the floor.
She lifted a window, propping it open with a book and letting some brisk cold air flurry in through the gap, banishing some of the pent up stuffiness and staleness in the air.
The city noises amplified, no longer muffled through the glass pane; the bumping bass of music from a nearby dive bar, car exhaust, the wind carrying both whooping and laughter up from the street below.
Sabine fished a candle out from the shelf under her coffee table and snapped her fingers. A flame burst to life over her pointer and she lowered it to the candle's wick until it caught.
And, for a while, she just stood there, hypnotized by the hallowed glow and dance of the flame. Almost as if she didn't believe that she had the guts to come back after everything the city took from her.
It would've been easy, a small and bleak voice whispered in the back of her mind, to stay in New Brunswick and do nothing.
The dreary thought willed some life into her limbs again, reminding her what she needed to do. She set the candle down on the table and rummaged around in her pencil cases and backpack, looking for any marker or pen with a thick nib.
Constantine had said he'd help her set up the wards to protect her apartment, but she didn't want to wait. The dread that filled her wouldn't let her just waffle around patiently and wait for someone else to do what needed to be done.
At the bottom of one of her plastic pencil cases, Sabine found a black sharpie with a fat chisel tip and her hand closed around the cool aluminum tube.
Yes, Constantine and the multiple tomes she read had emphasize that blood was best because the greater the sacrifice, the more power was charged into the warding—an idea that she still struggled to come to terms with, and one she didn't trust herself not to make a complete fucking mess of. What if she cut too deep and nicked an artery?
Holding the marker tube in one hand, she ripped off the cap and stared at the walls. She could conceal some of the smaller sigils under her posters and prints, and maybe hide a few larger ones under her area rugs.
She pulled a chair over to one of her walls, stood up on it, and took down a large framed music tour poster.
With a clear mind and clear intentions, she placed the tip to the surface. The first line was the hardest to draw and her hand wobbled a bit. She cursed, the lines needed to be precise, confident. There wasn't room for doubt if this was going to work.
But it came back to her like muscle memory with the second stroke. She didn't even need to check the photo album in her phone to know she was drawing the barrier ward correctly. The curves, straight lines, and angles all came flooding back to her. No wonder Constantine had drilled them into her. He'd wanted the knowledge to be reflexive, as simple as breathing.
Sabine even dragged her bed away from the wall—praying her neighbors below wouldn't complain about the noise—and kicked up the orange shag rug under it, revealing the floorboards she planned to vandalize.
She was absolutely not getting her deposit back now.
Propped up on an arranged throne of pillows and his legs stretched out, Jason read idly in bed with the well-loved book, The Three Musketeers, held open between his hands. Cover worn and spine cracked, the yellowish pages were nearly falling out from numerous rereadings. It was one of the only books he bothered to retrieve from the library at the manor.
Retrieved, as in stole. Because some things didn't change no matter how much time passed.
He turned a page and sank further into the pillows. Vivid scenes and images scrolled through his head as he devoured the familiar passages.
His sense of calm was fractured in an instant by a shudder of air in the room that threw out colorful sparks, bright and overwhelming like a rainbow of light on an acid trip.
Jason, who was sure and steady in any gun fight, was temporarily engulfed in a web of panic.
He lifted an arm to shield his eyes and the book dropped from his hands to the carpeted floor with a thud. Blindly, his hand groped towards his nightstand drawer where he kept a—
He damn near stopped breathing when the magical light ebbed away, revealing Sabine's figure, body curled in sleep, like a holy afterimage burned into his retinas.
For ten, fifteen, twenty seconds, he didn't dare move, terrified to break the strange spell that had fallen over the room.
Sabine appeared like magic—because she was magic.
His brain rebooted, coming back online slowly. He breathed, too heavily, out of his nostrils like he'd been holding it in for too long. The crushing grip of panic faded.
Jason's entire chest cavity ignited with heat at the sight of her. She was here, a tangible dream given solid form and gilded by the diffused glow of the lamp on his nightstand. Looking too perfect, too innocent, too magical, to be touched by his bloody hands.
The thin strap of her tank top had slipped down one of her shoulders like fucking sin incarnate. The slightly disheveled garment revealed a little too much skin and the delicate linework and grayscale shading of the tattoo below her collarbones.
Mums wreathed around a skull, he observed while he swallowed a thousand fucking feelings. He remembered when he first met her as Jason, not Red Hood, back in the elevator. He'd noticed the tattoo then, peeking out from her shirt collar, and wondered what it was.
Jason tore his eyes away because he was seeing too much and wasn't proud of the way his abdomen clenched when a jolt of arousal bulldozed through him.
Sabine rolled over and a soft exhale escaped her parted lips. She didn't even stir when he shifted away and slid out of bed.
His feet ferried him to the living room before he even realized what the hell he was doing. He'd left her alone and asleep in his bed.
This was not at all how his night off was supposed to go.
Rooted there, surrounded by hundreds of teeming shadows and the knife-thin slits of red and blue neon that sieved in through the blinds, Jason felt like he was losing his mind with every second that he was away from her. Half-delighted and half-insane.
His forehead creased, he rubbed a hand over it and cursed. Magic was bullshit, wonderful bullshit if it had brought her back to him.
Exploding with nerves, he slipped soundlessly back into the bedroom. He halted in the doorway for a moment long enough to drink in her silhouette wreathed in the soft lighting.
He considered bashing his skull against the frame, just once, to test if this was real.
Drawn to her like a cat to curiosity, Jason approached the bed and gently sat down on the edge. The mattress dipped. Heart beating wildly, he watched her. Part of him worried that she'd vanished as suddenly as she appeared if he did anything more than breathe next to her.
Finally, he summoned movement into his body. He leaned over and closed the gap between them. Carefully—so, so fucking carefully—he hooked a finger around the wayward strap and eased it back up her shoulder. Her modesty, and his sanity, restored.
The gentle movement, featherlight and ticklish, brought her back from the dreamy sleep state as if she at last sensed something was awfully amiss.
Sabine's eyes flickered open and she was greeted by the blurry sight of his face and broad shoulders eclipsing everything else in the room; a whole skyline of Jason.
The expression on her face was stuck between shock and familiarity, rendering her speechless. Her eyes darted over the light and shadows that played over the angular planes of his face, from the white fringe of hair that bloomed at his widow's peak to the silvery scar over his lip to his green eyes that glimmered at her like gemstones.
Jason braced his forearm on a pillow, framing her head, and leaned low. He didn't know what possessed him to do so. A smirk pulled at his mouth as devastating sweetness shone through on his face in the low light.
"Welcome back," he said, lazy and warm, "Stringbean."
The breath from his words skipped over her face and her chest tightened at the deep resonance of his voice. She could feel the bulk of his large frame hovering over her, trying not to crush her. The proximity made her feel tiny.
Head against the sheets, her eyes hardened with clarity as the last tendrils of sleepiness retreated from her foggy brain.
Time didn't seem real as they stayed motionless, just the two of them, staring into one another's eyes.
Sabine finally sucked in a breath and shifted her restless legs a bit, "Um, hi."
Jason's expression faltered, realizing that maybe, just maybe, he was a little too close to her. The desire to be near her was an ache that he could barely stand. He swallowed hard and reluctantly peeled away, giving her space.
She disentangled from the sheets and scrabbled over to the furthest side of the bed. "Shit—I'm sorry, I don't know how this happened. I know we—," she stammered, breath coming out unevenly in panicked spurts, "—we talked about this. Boundaries. Sorry."
Sabine faced the wall and dragged her hands down her face, embarrassed as hell.
His mouth felt dry and he realized that he needed to coax her out of her shell.
"Sabine."
The soft and caring sound of her name drew her eyes back to him, a pull she couldn't ignore. It reminded her so much of the endearing way he'd say it during phone calls over the past two weeks, talking to her, comforting her. The tightness in her muscles slowly seeped out of her and her jaw unclenched.
Jason was on his feet, pulling a black cable knit sweater over his head. He gave her an encouraging look and shuffled over to the door, beckoning her to follow.
"C'mon, I believe I owe you some chocolate chip cookies."
Flicking the lights on in the kitchen, Jason began to make tea to show that her presence wasn't another imposition.
As they waited for the water to boil, he turned on the oven, preheating it. Gradually, the cold and tidy space filled up with warmth.
He grabbed the tub of cookie dough out of the freezer and scooped several generous globs onto a baking tray.
She sat on one of the stools by the breakfast bar, one foot tucked under her. Chin sitting between her palms, she watched as Jason bustled around behind the counter and her anxiety slowly melted away.
"It's too late for coffee," he reasoned after the kettle screamed.
Sabine didn't complain and chimed in, "That's never stopped us before."
Jason grinned crookedly at her as he poured her a cup, added a hint of lemon and sugar, and pushed it into her hands. "True."
She lifted the sloshing mug to her lips and blew on the tea, scenting the notes of bergamot and citrus. The easy movement made his borrowed red and black flannel slip down her shoulders—he couldn't just let her wander around his apartment in only a camisole and sleep shorts. The baggy shirt pooled around her elbows and he cursed Gotham's fall and winter for holding the lovely view of her shoulders and collarbones hostage from him for so long.
The moment was two-fold, a dagger lodged through his reanimated heart, overhead kitchen lights bright enough for him to finally glimpse the partially healed cuts on her skin—matching slashes of puckered skin through her bottom lip and eyebrow, and the newly formed scar on her arm that peeked out from under the sleeve.
A muscle in his jaw jumped when he clenched it down, hard. Jason prepared a cup of tea for himself and tried to slam down the wisps of anger that threatened to surge up his sternum.
He rounded the marble counter and claimed the stool beside her, sitting down with his feet hooked around the footrest, pissed off at whoever put her in harm's way. Probably Constantine. He was going to break that man's goddam bones with his bare hands and throw his body into the bay.
"So," Jason began, hands flexing to relieve the pestering itch to hunt down Constantine at that very moment and use him for target practice, "How'd you get here? I mean, I know it's magic fuckery. But…what happened?"
Sabine stilled, mug clutched between her fidgety hands. "Umm," she avoided his curious gaze, looking anywhere in the kitchen but at him, "I'm not sure."
One minute, she'd been in bed, covers pulled up to her chest and snuggled back against her pillows. Lights off and the extinguished scent of the bourbon pumpkin candle still wafting through the air, her apartment was dark save for the harsh artificial glow of her computer screen. She was barely able to keep her eyelids open as the brightness of the screen assaulted her eyes. Laptop perched on top of her thighs, she navigated through the dense syllabi her professors had posted online and mentally tallied up the astronomical textbook costs.
The thought of getting another part-time job to help cover expenses drifted in and out of her head. Coldness curdled like spoiled milk in the bottom of her belly at the horrible memory of discovering Marie's body…
She closed her laptop and pushed it out of her lap, pulling the cover up and over her shoulder when she turned on her side and nuzzled into the pillows. By her feet, she felt the reassuring presence of CEO and the hinkypunk curled up together, happy they were fast friends.
Sabine's thoughts transmuted into something hazy after that, shifting towards Jason and how much she was looking forward to grabbing coffee with him again. She must've dozed off somewhere in the middle of her dopey daydream—Jason looming over her with his trademark grin and nothing but fondness reflected in his eyes, coffee in hand—she didn't quite recall.
But then she felt a light tug like her tank top had snagged on something and the bed rocked with movement. Her sixth sense crawled over her brain, whispering that something was wrong. The sheets were crisper, texture different than the soft jersey bedding she had, the duvet was heavier, and the mattress was firmer.
When she forced her eyelids apart, all she saw was Jason—Jason, with that roughed-up shroud of black hair and those burning green eyes that kept her pinned down like a needle through a butterfly's wing, the bulk of his body covering her like she was something precious.
Constantine's words thrummed in her head—Magic pulls towards what you want.
And what she wanted was…
Sabine didn't finish the line of thought because the yellow floral arrangement and how out of place it looked finally ensnared her attention.
"You bought sunflowers?" she asked, blinking at him slowly like a cat showing affection. Perking up, her head inclined towards the flowers in question.
His stomach churned with insecurity at the change in topic. "Yeah, thought they looked nice."
She graced him with a sweet half-smile before her gaze cut back to the bouquet on the counter.
Jason's pulse thundered in the sides of his neck, worried his heart was going to leap out of his mouth.
"They do," Sabine affirmed, quelling some of his unease. She outstretched a hand and rubbed a silky yellow petal. "Did you know," she turned her head mid-sentence and her smile grew into something twice as lovely, "that sunflowers are my favorite?"
Of-fucking-course they were, Jason thought as a hurricane of fuzzy emotions stirred inside his ribcage.
"Yellow's my favorite color too," she added, dimples bracketing her lips.
Sunflowers and yellow and warmth and Sabine. If there was a limit to what he could stand without losing his goddamn mind, he was rapidly approaching it.
They didn't exchange many words after that. Instead, comfortable relief filled in the crevices of absent conversation as they waited for their tea to cool, side by side, while the cookies baked in the oven.
It didn't take long for the smell of caramelized brown sugar and chocolate to creep throughout the kitchen as the neon timer on the display panel ticked down at the last minute.
Every precious instinct screamed inside Jason that this…this is how it could be. How it should be. Late nights. Tea. Sabine. He envisioned stretching this one moment out into a thousand and into infinity.
The oven timer beeped and shrill noise penetrated the lull but didn't disturb the cozy atmosphere. He rolled up his long sleeves with purpose, shoved a red oven mitt over his hand, and whisked the baking tray out of the oven.
Sabine leaned over the counter to peep at freshly baked treats. Perfectly golden brown and speckled with gooey chocolate chips, they looked positively scrumptious. She wanted to snatch each one off the tray and shove them into her eager maw.
Jason noticed and recognized the ravenous sheen in her eyes. "They need to cool first," he said, trying to contain a smirk.
She let out a low whine, short fingernails curling into the counter, "Jason…"
He hummed mischievously. "Patience, sweetheart."
Sabine's lips twitched in an effort to hide a hopeful smile at the term of endearment. Her head dipped down and both of her hands curled back around her toasty mug. This was the second time he'd called her that. He had to be saying it on purpose.
He let the cookies sit for another minute before using a spatula to transfer them to a wire rack.
She almost couldn't take her eyes off his movements, watching with nothing but captivated interest as his forearms, corded with thick muscles and silvery dashes of scars, flexed and extended.
Task completed, Jason stood across from her and he lifted the mug to his lips, sipping calmly.
Sabine sank back down into the stool and her eyes moved across his face, studying it fondly. She'd had the thought before—several times, in fact—that Jason was attractive. Heartbreakingly handsome, all muscle and tousled hair. Attraction multiplied absurdly by the domesticity on full display. God, if she ever saw him in an apron, she might go fully feral.
He was too aware of her eyes on him and shifted on his feet. Death glares he could handle and return with added viciousness, it was a special talent of his. But he didn't know what to do when she looked at him like that. He could barely quantify the way her soft brown eyes fixed on him, it was like she wanted to put him in her mouth instead of the cookies.
His grip tightened around the mug handle and he chugged down the last burning drops of tea, determined to slow the frantic beating of his heart.
Jason took his empty mug over to the sink and ran the tap, rinsing it gently under the stream. He squeezed out a pump of dish soap and let the suds cover his hands as he washed it, then placed it on the drying rack.
Sabine followed, padding up behind him with soft footsteps.
Mug set on the counter by the stainless steel sink basin, she snaked her arms around his waist and pressed into his large and sturdy back.
"Missed you," she gently breathed out, face turned and cheek squished between his shoulder blades.
He didn't say it back, rather, she felt it in the way all the tension left his muscles when he finally exhaled.
For two weeks that felt like a century that would never end, Jason kept his feelings smothered the best he could. A cap so tightly twisted on a shaken bottle filled with pop rocks and coke, threatening to violently explode into a sticky mess. He directed all his restless energy towards Gotham's criminal elements and keeping his life, and home, as tidy as possible. Endured a false sense of control, pretending that everything was fine.
And now, in this moment, he couldn't stop feeling. Sabine's presence was everything warm and bright—sunlight on his skin, hearth fire, a hot drink on a chilly day, the first dip inside the steaming water of a bathtub to soothe his aching muscles, summer fireworks over the harbor.
There was that miserable lump in his throat again, the one that felt like it was wrapped in barbed wire, choking him. It prevented him from speaking for several seconds.
Heat rippled across his skin and nearly devoured him whole. His eyes sloped down to her hands, smooth and unscarred, clasped around his torso.
Jason tried not to think about turning around and gathering her in his arms. "Cookies should be cool by now," he rasped out, like a fucking idiot.
Sabine tipped her head back and stared at the sprawl of black hairs that trailed down the nape of his neck where it met his broad-shouldered mass of muscles. The delectable peep of skin was stained with a darkening blush.
She was hungry, yes, but not just for cookies. For Jason.
She winced at the obscene thought, taken back by her inner monologue's boldness.
Jason fidgeted abruptly as her hands moved on their own accord too close to the side wound alongside his waist he acquired a few nights ago, still tender and inflamed. The second accidental graze of her palms over the injury caused him to hiss involuntarily and jerk away from her.
"Shit, sorry—," he said when he saw the pang of hurt and confusion that flitted across her face. "Side's a bit tender," he explained, voice breaking around the words.
It was impossible for him to hide his nerves as he lifted the hem of his shirt and sweater, showing her the damage. A sliver of his soul expunged from his body when she gaped at the violence that mutilated his flesh.
Sabine's eyes honed in on his newest scar messily sutured and tied off with thread. Seeing the injury up close knocked the words out of her. It wasn't just the new trauma along this section of skin she noticed, but close to a dozen other discolored blotches mottled his muscled torso, scar tissue and burn marks. Her mouth squeezed shut and a twinge of helplessness gnarled her features, her insides felt as carved up and clumsily patched back together as his skin.
"It's healing," Jason said feebly, "always looks like hell during the first few days."
Her shoulders sagged and her soul ached for him. Her eyes jumped from one scar to the next. If this one tract of flesh was this desiccated, then what did the rest of him look like?
Her concerned stare lingered too long for his comfort and he harshly tugged down his shirt, hiding the grizzly gash from view.
"Jason," she said, tone muddied with complex emotions, "is it—does it all look—"
He didn't let her finish forming her jumbled question, cutting in to confirm her worst suspicions in a much too light-hearted tone, "Yeah, but I've had worse. I died once, remember?"
The inside of Sabine's cheek turned into a chewed-up wreck. She remembered the bruises and cuts smattered over his knuckles and the bloody welts on his arm. An unignorable, heart-rending image of a small Jason in his Robin costume, ripped too soon from this world, flashed in her mind.
Her left hand came up to rub over the ridge of knuckles on her right as if they were a worry stone. She cleared her clogged throat and offered awkwardly, "I'm not great at, uh, healing magic yet but I think I can do something to help with the inflammation. Would it be alright if I tried?"
Jason stared at her, eyebrows raised, surprised that she didn't pester him to reveal more. His monstrous collection of scars tissue often invited intrusive, probing questions.
Gesturing with a jerk of her head, Sabine instructed gently, "Lift your shirt again."
Gingerly, he inched the fabric back up.
Her brows and nose pinched as she funneled energy into her hand, envisioning a glowing ball of light, bright and soothing.
Sabine edged closer, raised palm wreathed in a shimmering blue hue. The corners of her eyes crinkled with a hint of good humor. "Do you trust me to not turn you into a lizard?"
Jason realized the joke was an effort to lighten the mood and stewed it over, thinking it wouldn't be so bad to hang out with Waylon in the sewers if he sprouted scales and a tail. The guy had given him solid advice a few times and was genuinely trying to turn over a new leaf. Damian wouldn't drop in on him as much. Roy would complain about the smell, but would still visit for game night.
His Adam's apple bobbed noticeably as he nodded—yes, he trusted her.
Jason's usual glib nature was absent as her palm tentatively extended out toward him, giving him ample time to object or pull away. But he didn't. Her hand stopped a mere centimeter or two away from touching the muscle and constellation of raised scars on his side.
A wince ripped through his face, expecting the magic to sting like alcohol on contact. Instead, a chilly numbness encompassed his waist where her hand hovered over. His features eased into relief by increments, transfixed by her newfound display of power.
"Constantine did this for me a few times," Sabine muttered hastily, filling in the hush with nervous chatter. Her jumpy pulse throbbed in her fingertips. "He's not much of a healer, either. And I read more about it—well, the theory of it. A huge part of magic is intent and focusing on what you want. Sounds kind of silly, right? You don't always need words or long incantations, but they help manifest your…" she trailed off, wondering if she was boring him to death. Her eyes flicked up to his face and saw how she held his ardent attention. "How does it feel?"
"Good. Better." After a pitiful swallow, Jason tried to force out the question that weighed on his tongue. "You don't find this—" Self-doubt twisted his mouth into a frown and he didn't finish. "I know it doesn't look pretty," he huffed out miserably.
He clammed up after the self-deprecating admission. It was all too easy to ascribe ugliness to his scars. There was that dark and poetic side of him festering in his brain, the part of him that imagined a sort of bleak kinship with Frankenstein's monster—a hideous creature shunned by his creator and villagers alike.
Sabine wished there was something she could do to settle his qualms. It hurt to see him battle with his inner demons. The lack of certainty in his eyes only made her features crease with concern.
It was her turn to say his name softly, forcing him out of his zoned-out state:
"Jason, it's the least I can do," she said, and she meant it. "You—," the shy way her teeth caught her bottom lip and tugged over it nearly drove him insane, "—take such good care of me, the least I can do is try and return the favor when I can." She pulled her hand back to inspect her handiwork. The redness and puffiness had receded into a crooked pink curve. The jagged stitches reminded her of teeth, looking like the bottom portion of a smiley face without eyes. Her chin tilted up and her face split into a upbeat grin. "Looks less angry now."
His heart swelled at the lack of judgment in her eyes that he felt unworthy of and he took a calculated step forward. She wasn't revolted by him after all? Unable to keep his thoughts to himself for a second longer, his hand stretched out to her, finding the dip in her waist and kneading the curve of it.
Jason's voice cracked when he finally willed out the trapped confession, "Sab, all I want to do is take care of you. You matter to me."
He longed to press each word into the column of her throat with his mouth like a brand. She'd always be okay, he'd make damn sure of it.
Through the layers of clothes, the warmth of his hand cupping her side came through. The declaration washed over her like a balmy wave and her whole complexion bloomed red. Down, down to her neckline, to her breastbone where the intricate floral tattoo line work he'd noticed when he first met her in the warmer months.
And just like that, feelings out in the open, Jason was at his limit. He yanked up the flannel that had fallen to her elbows and pulled it back up her arms, distorting her body in its large unwieldy shape and hiding the expanse of skin that tempted him.
The apples of his cheeks flared red and he tugged at his damnable curl of white hair, flustered by her lack of response, before his hands plummeted to his sides. "Let's just—c'mon, there's cookies that need to be eaten, yeah?"
Dazed into silence, Sabine's wide eyes trailed after him as he turned away.
Jason's insecurities pecked away at his heart, like a vulture to carrion, and he tried to school his expression back into a mask of neutrality. He piled several cookies on a plate and slid it over to her, head ducked while he waited with wrecked nerves.
She stared down at the plate in front of her as heat continued to ripple up her neck and cheeks. Her brain scrambled to decipher the hidden meaning, if any, of his statement.
He was a vigilante. His job was to take care of the civilians in Gotham. Her included. That made sense. She attracted danger like flies to honey so, of course, he wanted to keep an eye on her and make sure she was safe. That had to be it.
She picked up a cookie and chewed on a bite. Out of the corner of her eye, she searched his face. He'd gone oddly quiet again.
Brushing a crumb off the corner of her mouth, she said, "It's really good."
The compliment provided him with a minor inkling of reassurance.
Jason leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. A charming upward curve tugged at his lips.
"Told you so," he said.
Sabine nodded, smiling back at him, and took another bite.
Jason snapped the Tupperware lid over the rest of the cookies with the thought to give them to Steph and Cass if he ran into them before they spoiled. He smooshed his palms to his eyes and rubbed at them, tired.
Sabine felt like she was pushing her luck when she asked tentatively, "Do you think…I can have a ride home? Not right now, but, uh, in a little bit? Classes start in a few hours. First day of the semester and all that."
His head swiveled around, eyes finding the digital clock display on the oven. 4am. The numbers were a little blurry through his exhausted, dry eyes. He set the container down and answered as if it were obvious, "Yeah, just, some sleep first? It's been a long night, I think we both need a bit of shut-eye."
Her face relaxed and she gave him a silent nod. She followed Jason's drowsy plodding back into the bedroom. In truth, she just wanted to crawl under the covers with him and hibernate for a million years.
She climbed into bed, folding into the coziness of it properly this time.
Jason didn't crawl in with her right away, instead, he double-checked that the windows were secure and even double-backed to the living room and kitchen for one last sweep.
Sabine waited, listening to the sound of his footsteps muffled by his socks as he shuffled around his apartment.
One by one, the sources of light outside the bedroom were snuffed out until there was only darkness beyond the doorway. Jason returned, his large presence hulking in the doorway, and he hesitated. He stood there as his heart hammered against his ribs at the sight of her form tucked in and contoured underneath the covers—his covers.
With a lazy arm, she held the blanket open for him. Her tired eyes squinted at him. "Get in, covers are closing in three…two…"
"This is my bed, sweetheart," he reminded her with a playful huff, sliding in next to her.
The bed under the covers was already drenched in her body heat. Without conscious thought, his limbs tangled around her and he scooped her against him, the space between his arms and his chest molding perfectly around her.
She let the cover drop, shielding them both in. One of her hands gripped onto the front of his sweater, balling into a fist, while the other stroked his chest, fingers smoothing over the wrinkles in the fabric.
He reached over her, the long wooly sleeve of his sweater brushed against her temple, and turned off the lamp on the nightstand before his arm snaked around her again.
Dashes of neon and moonlight helped her make out Jason's face in the shadows. In the darkness, his green eyes verged on mesmerizing, faintly glowing like faraway stars in the night sky.
For a while, neither said anything, only the sound of their steady breathing saturated the space between them.
But the recesses in Sabine's mind wouldn't shut up, the sickly sweet and homey intimacy between them continued to blur boundaries. They had both sunk back into the routine of it so easily, so effortlessly, leaving her torn and baffled.
She resolved to be a little brave. Her chest lurched painfully with nervousness, bracing herself for the stab of heartache that would wedge itself between her ribs. Better to get it over with, she justified, then let it fester for the remainder of the night.
"Jason?"
Hearing the trepidation in her tone, he lifted his chin and mumbled back, "What's up?"
Sabine pulled back a hand from his chest. "Umm, I know it's late and we're both tired, but…," she gestured with a finger between the two of them, "can we walk about us?"
Her eyes darted across his face, impatiently waiting for an answer.
Jason's strong arms around her loosened and his hands clenched into anxious fists against her. He wet his bottom lip subconsciously and anxiety swirled in his eyes. "Yeah…we can talk about it."
She swallowed roughly, the words felt like they were going to burn a hole through her throat. "I know we haven't known each other that long and we already talked about how messy things are right now," she started, teeth already sawing viciously into her bottom lip with every heavy pause. Her hand slithered forward and curled around his sleeve, wishing to interlock her fingers into the notches over his scar-flecked and bruise-faded knuckles. "I care about you a lot. More than just a friend. I…want to give us a shot because this could be something good."
After offering her heart up on a plate, the full weight of his unwavering attention made her whole body clench, coiling tightly inward.
His silence was long enough that Sabine nearly resigned herself to gathering up the remaining fragments of her heart and sleeping on the couch because she couldn't bear being this close to him. Not after thinking about him every day for the two weeks they were apart. It would take time, but she'd heal.
Jason broke the silence with an incredulous scoff and his large palm swept up her spine. "Didn't you listen to a word I said back in the kitchen?"
Sabine furrowed her brows tiredly at his abrasive inflection. "That was…"
Getting antsy, Jason sighed and rolled over onto his back. He covered his miserable face with a tense hand, cutting in with, "Me trying to tell you how I feel and you didn't say anything back?"
Fucking hell, it was like being thirteen all over again, reliving the raging blend of hormones and trying to read between confusing lines.
She blinked, mulling over his confession and its true meaning. "Oh—oh." Her eyes downturned with cataclysmic embarrassment. "Oh my god." And, in an even tinier voice, she sputtered out, "I-I really didn't say anything."
Jason's hand slid off his face and he turned back to her, propping himself up with an elbow. His hand ghosted the curve of her cheek, peach fuzz only just tickling his open palm. He tried to keep his mouth pressed into an annoyed, controlled flat line but it broke away into a huge grin.
His arms looped back around her, pulling her in tight, assuring. "Payback for earlier," he teased, corners of his lips twitching up smugly, "wanted to see you squirm a bit."
Heart thudding in her chest, Sabine, for an extremely ridiculous moment, didn't comprehend and continued to stare deadpan at the man who was holding her.
Until she did understand, and the tightness in her chest eased, reshaping into a small spark of indignant anger.
She unleashed a small, furious sound and jabbed her knuckles into his chest but she wasn't mad at all. "You ass," she hissed blithely, feeling both horrified and happy, "It wasn't clear—you can't blame me for thinking—," she stopped herself and buried her mortified face into his shoulder. "I just don't want to lose you as a friend if one of us—or if both of us—decide it's too much later on."
Jason's fingers latched over the flannel sleeve around her wrist and yanked her hand back toward his heart. His thumb traced circles on the back of her covered hand. Quietly, he said, "You won't."
Their past conversation crept into his thoughts and he sighed. His mouth ran before his mind could catch up, "I didn't want us to rush into something because we're afraid time's not on our side."
She hummed softly in agreement. "It was the same for me, too. Not wanting to rush."
In the faintly lit darkness, a quiet heat emanated from his body, soft and sweet and so goddamn cozy, contrasting sharply with how loud and dangerous she knew Jason could be.
Calmer now, Sabine leaned back and met his gaze. She wanted to shimmy out of the borrowed flannel shirt and crawl into his sweater with him.
"You're pretty," Jason said like it was a secret only for her to hear.
Sabine scrunched her sleepy face. "Everyone looks good with the lights off."
Head tipped forward and voice low, he said, "Have I ever told you that I can see in the dark?"
She paused long enough to doubt, enchanted by the dotted pools of light in his abnormally bright eyes. It wasn't that long ago she thought that whoever was under the Red Hood might be a creature of the night.
"Really?" she gawped.
"Death is a pathway to abilities some consider…unnatural," he said slowly.
The joking curl of his lips told her that he was absolutely fucking with her again. She lightly smacked his chest and he heaved out a laugh that conveyed raw unfiltered delight.
"Rude, insufferable, smug," Sabine began pointedly before her tune changed into something syrupy and lofty, fingertips walking up the front of his sweater to the neckline and indenting his skin gently with every finger-step to punctuate her words, "caring, smart, funny, kind."
Jason chuckled, sound filling up the entire bedroom.
Sabine went quiet for a moment, eyes assessing his hands in the muted gray shadows of the room. His fingers were long and on the thin side despite his overall mass, she could picture them wrapped around a fountain pen just as easily as he held a weapon.
Unable to ignore impulse, she took another dangerous move forward.
She found his hand, threaded their fingers together, and held firm. Watery bioluminescent green tinted her vision until she let her mind trawl around for happy memories of Jason—
Sitting on the back of his motorcycle, arms wrapped around him as dark streets punctuated with neon lights streamed by. Her body tucked into his side, a library book opened between them as they read.
Jason's wide eyes met hers with spellbound fascination as her much smaller hand knotted with his. It was just handholding, a simple and ordinarily mundane token of physical affection, but for him it almost made him lose his goddamn mind. If he'd been standing, his knees might've buckled from the sheer cloudy pleasure of tight yet gentle touch.
Maybe it was because he'd been killed so young, courtesy of Gotham's most notoriously fucked up clown, but he'd always thought death had dulled some of his senses. Post-resurrection, things felt…off. Muted. Darker. Colder. But now, stretched out in bed alongside Sabine, even veiled in shadows, the world was ferociously bright and warm.
"Jay," she breathed, curling into him and never letting go of his hand, "I like it when you call me sweetheart."
"Yeah?" he drawled, voice brimming with contented lethargy. "You're my sweetheart."
Not a question, but a soft verbal check for confirmation. One that made her smile so hard her cheeks ached.
Sabine nodded and brought the back of his hand to her lips and pressed an innocent kiss against it.
Satisfied with a small taste of what his heart hungered for, Jason's head dropped back against the pillow and the knuckles of his free hand grazed over her hip. "Stop staring and go to sleep."
One of them had to be the voice of reason. It was late-late, even for Gotham.
Sabine fidgeted with restlessness. Her mind and body fully awake, drenched in adrenaline that punched through her chest.
She made a little noise of protest. "I don't think I can now."
"Try," he urged, squeezing her hand.
"You're staring too," she murmured.
"Can't help it," Jason said with a half-shrug, "view's too nice."
"Thought you were joking about the night vision," she mused, unsure with how to cope with his tender words.
His finger flirted with her bleached strand of hair, twirling it around. "I can tell you you're pretty in several different languages if you want."
She gave him a dubious look. "Will that help me sleep?"
With a breathy laugh, he admitted, "Probably not."
Sabine's hand rubbed over his, applying gentle pressure. It didn't take her long to contemplate what she wanted.
"Tell me anyway."
A/N: Sabine: this man cannot be fixed and doesn't need to be! I can hug him though. Maybe that will calm him down.
Struggled with the banter, pacing, and vibes that I wanted in this chapter, hopefully it turned out ok! (This chapter is basically ignoring the looming threat so these two can have a much needed moment together lol)
Really appreciate all of you who read and comment on this fic! Thank you!