Look. We're just in a lot of people's crosshairs now, alright?
[ Not that there was ever a time in which they weren't. ]
We're both at risk.
[ Of course, it's only the rumor of two Red Hoods that has a chance of spreading right now. Others who know more, those who've learned from Bruce that Jason and Red Hood are one and the same, are safely sequestered among the superhero community. What would any of them stand to gain from divulging his identity to Gotham's underworld? Not even the Joker cares to do so, and he hasn't shown his face in ages.
So until Jason gets a second chance at killing him, best to keep building his empire. Staying on the grind. Whatever's a good way of putting it as long as he moves forward, escalates. And while in the beginning, he could imagine doing this with or without C.C., her absence is becoming harder to imagine... unless it serves a purpose. Like her safety. Making sure she's alive enough to see him again, even if he has to push her away, make her hate him for it. Wouldn't be the first bridge he's burned, anyway. ]
The worst has already happened to me. Means I can't help planning for the worst case scenario.
I'm just trusting you to plan with me. So consider the pizza some... team-building incentive.
[ And that's truly the last thing he says before heading out, all swagged up in those gray sweatpants. As C.C. goes about her business, making herself comfortable in the tub, half an hour passes before she hears the front door open. Their loft isn't something so conspicuous as to occupy the top floor, so it's nondescript enough for Jason to enter without fear of being followed. It's accessible at the end of a hallway from the nearest elevator, which gives Jason many chances to confirm that he's alone.
It's by himself that he enters, with one hand carrying a stack of pizza boxes as he walks through the doorframe. He follows the trail of discarded clothing to find C.C. exactly where he expects her, the bathroom, and he steps in to place the stack of boxes on the sink counter. It's a cold day in Gotham, all things considered, so he keeps the hoodie on. The warmth from the drawn bath, however, tempts him to reconsider.
But that kind of deliberation can wait. ]
Here. Just the way you like it.
[ It doesn't seem to bother him that she's just sitting in the bath, nude. With a stony expression, the best poker face he's likely mustered in front of her, Jason proffers a paper plate with two slices of pizza to her. He's pretty lacking in the bedside manner department, but at least the pizza's impeccable-- fresh, hot, and aromatic. A comfort, perhaps, to ward off the lingering tension of what they'd both nearly escaped earlier this evening: a victory so desperately and precariously snatched. Escaping not only the jaws of the Great White Shark, but the jaws of their empire's ruin... well before it could truly begin.
In some small way of celebrating, Jason helps himself to his own slice. He takes it from a box filled with his own preferences for pizza, smothered in pepperoni and other meats. "A meaty explosion," he remembers once saying. It's while chewing some of this - finding his way to a small smile as he enjoys his meal - that he looks on at C.C. Here she is in an enviable state of relaxation, the bath exuding a tantalizing pull. ]
Man, I never really questioned it before. But what got you so fond of pizza?
You have it good in a past life in Italy or something?
[ It's a real question, but something else compels him to make this kind of small talk. Gauging, perhaps, what he can afford to talk about with her outside of their work. An elaborate, indirect way of asking, "what are we?" ]
no subject
[ Not that there was ever a time in which they weren't. ]
We're both at risk.
[ Of course, it's only the rumor of two Red Hoods that has a chance of spreading right now. Others who know more, those who've learned from Bruce that Jason and Red Hood are one and the same, are safely sequestered among the superhero community. What would any of them stand to gain from divulging his identity to Gotham's underworld? Not even the Joker cares to do so, and he hasn't shown his face in ages.
So until Jason gets a second chance at killing him, best to keep building his empire. Staying on the grind. Whatever's a good way of putting it as long as he moves forward, escalates. And while in the beginning, he could imagine doing this with or without C.C., her absence is becoming harder to imagine... unless it serves a purpose. Like her safety. Making sure she's alive enough to see him again, even if he has to push her away, make her hate him for it. Wouldn't be the first bridge he's burned, anyway. ]
The worst has already happened to me. Means I can't help planning for the worst case scenario.
I'm just trusting you to plan with me. So consider the pizza some... team-building incentive.
[ And that's truly the last thing he says before heading out, all swagged up in those gray sweatpants. As C.C. goes about her business, making herself comfortable in the tub, half an hour passes before she hears the front door open. Their loft isn't something so conspicuous as to occupy the top floor, so it's nondescript enough for Jason to enter without fear of being followed. It's accessible at the end of a hallway from the nearest elevator, which gives Jason many chances to confirm that he's alone.
It's by himself that he enters, with one hand carrying a stack of pizza boxes as he walks through the doorframe. He follows the trail of discarded clothing to find C.C. exactly where he expects her, the bathroom, and he steps in to place the stack of boxes on the sink counter. It's a cold day in Gotham, all things considered, so he keeps the hoodie on. The warmth from the drawn bath, however, tempts him to reconsider.
But that kind of deliberation can wait. ]
Here. Just the way you like it.
[ It doesn't seem to bother him that she's just sitting in the bath, nude. With a stony expression, the best poker face he's likely mustered in front of her, Jason proffers a paper plate with two slices of pizza to her. He's pretty lacking in the bedside manner department, but at least the pizza's impeccable-- fresh, hot, and aromatic. A comfort, perhaps, to ward off the lingering tension of what they'd both nearly escaped earlier this evening: a victory so desperately and precariously snatched. Escaping not only the jaws of the Great White Shark, but the jaws of their empire's ruin... well before it could truly begin.
In some small way of celebrating, Jason helps himself to his own slice. He takes it from a box filled with his own preferences for pizza, smothered in pepperoni and other meats. "A meaty explosion," he remembers once saying. It's while chewing some of this - finding his way to a small smile as he enjoys his meal - that he looks on at C.C. Here she is in an enviable state of relaxation, the bath exuding a tantalizing pull. ]
Man, I never really questioned it before. But what got you so fond of pizza?
You have it good in a past life in Italy or something?
[ It's a real question, but something else compels him to make this kind of small talk. Gauging, perhaps, what he can afford to talk about with her outside of their work. An elaborate, indirect way of asking, "what are we?" ]