[ Compared to C.C.'s past coconspirators, it could be something about Jason that's painfully different... or painfully the same. He knows he's an outlier in terms of the fact he's literally come back from the dead, but the tableau of destruction in which he walks-- the drama of human violence, of exploitation and greed that he actively confronts, is something C.C.'s seen multiple lifetimes over. Even Jason, who revels in this path, can see that the cyclicality of it all must be exhausting. That fatigue he can only imagine must give way to ennui, the likes of which C.C. hasn't at all been shy about.

It's the first thing Jason came to know about her. Yet clearly, even now, he still wants to know more. Not while under the influence of some glamour charm, or some other external will. Only his own. Because beneath the weight of time and history that leaves C.C. so weary, so jaded, is the only person Jason's allowed himself to be this close to. He nearly found a family under Bruce and Alfred, they nearly earned his trust, but before then - and especially after - he was alone. Always alone.

And like her... always, he found his way back in the gutter.

At least now, the gutter can wait. They can both revel in their riches. Comforts stolen from the wealth of their enemies, made theirs by Red Hood's inexorable wave of dread and violence. He's set Gotham ablaze in what he imagines to be a purifying fire, but C.C. doesn't seem confident this will change things. Jason's willing to die for the hope of change, for the ashes of Gotham to herald its rebirth. It's enough, then, that she'll take a bullet for him. Put herself at risk for a cause she doesn't believe in, even if she only believes in Jason. Or believes, at least, that he'll honor his obligation to her.

Which is why her question gets him to scoff. ]

Does it look like I'm running away?

Only direction I'm headed is towards you... much as it means you riding my ass.

[ He doesn't speak it into existence, but he certainly feels it. The expectation that he should have a stronger reaction to this, to the gentle pressure of C.C.'s body on his, to the sight of her allowing his closeness in this way. But for some reason... it doesn't feel wrong. It doesn't even feel awkward. It just feels right. Like two puzzle pieces that were made to fit.

With this understanding, Jason doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her from behind. Hold her close in an embrace as his lips - easily, now - can hover over the side of her neck, his breath ghosting her skin. Even easier is his ability to plant a kiss on said skin, lips sucking on it with an experimental carefulness, as his hands share the same spirit. They relinquish the embrace to instead cup C.C.'s breasts from behind, calloused and worn hands squeezing softly. Tapping, somehow, into a gentleness so unlike the violence his hands typically dispense.

His body speaks a language foreign to him. Yet towards this recipient, it all couldn't feel more natural. More deserving. ]

If you think I'm gonna complain about that, [ His life belonging to her, ] you're gonna be disappointed.

"Red Hood" stays afloat because I'm yours. I get to do this because I'm yours.

[ His words, by now, are spoken at a lower register. Almost a whisper while he's so close to her ear. By the time he now speaks, his kisses have risen to her cheek. And like those kisses, his hands on her chest prove unceasing. Deep and firm caresses as secure as any embrace. ]

And who the hell else am I gonna eat all this pizza with?