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Jason hadn’t even gotten one foot into his apartment when he froze, one hand on the doorknob and the other carrying a bag of groceries. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he slowly pulled out his gun and clicked the safety off.
“Really, Jason, there’s no need for such hostility.”
The feminine voice was all too familiar to Jason; a posh, accented voice that automatically made dozens of people feel like they were far beneath her status. Looking over to his couch made the muscles in Jason’s shoulder relax just marginally.
She stuck out like a sore thumb in his rundown apartment. Clad in a deep emerald pantsuit, she daintily sat on the edge of his second-hand sofa, legs crossed and hands folded in her lap. She looked more like a businesswoman about to be interviewed for TIMES magazine rather than someone dropping in unannounced.
Jason knew better. He had spent enough time with her to pick up on the subtle nuances of her behavior; the calculating look in her eyes, the outline of a dagger in her sleeve. She was a woman who could break a man’s arm with barely a flick of her wrist.
Talia al Ghul, the daughter of the League of Assassins leader, Ra’s al Ghul, a.k.a. The Demon’s Head.
Jason sighed and placed his gun on the little table he had near his door before kicking the door closed and toeing his shoes off. He barely paid her a second glance as he set the bags on the counter and methodically unpacked the various groceries.
He knew that her arrival wasn’t a social call. The daughter of the Demon’s Head doesn’t just drop in to chat about the weather. There was only one reason why she was there.
“Why have you left Gotham?” she demanded.
‘And there it is,’ Jason thought bitterly. He huffed and shook his head before turning to reach for the tea kettle that sat on his stove. ‘Of course she’d try to find out what happened to her investment.’
He pointedly kept his back turned to her as he searched through his cabinet. Talia’s heels clicked across the wooden floor as she walked to stand on the other side of the counter. He didn’t have to turn around to be able to tell that she was standing there, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as she waited for an answer.
“Jason.”
Nope. He was not doing this. He did not want to reopen that can of worms any time soon.
“Jason.”
He shifted the jars in his cupboards. Let’s see. Did he want the jasmine tea this time? Mint? Chai?
“Jason.”
His eyes caught the label of one near the back.
‘Oh man, I thought I ran out of Earl Grey.’ He scooped it out, eyeing the last bits of leaves in the glass jar. Today is definitely an Earl Grey kind of day.
“Jason Peter Todd, you will look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Jason flinched at the commanding tone before he slowly turned around. Even though he had been privy to the full force of Batman’s glare on more than one occasion, there was something about Talia’s angry stare that made him shiver.
Just as he imagined, she stood there, not a wrinkle in her suit, arms crossed and eyes colder than a glacier. One manicured nail tapping her arm was the only indication of impatience.
“What happened?” Her voice was just as cold as her stare. “Why have my agents reported that the Red Hood hasn’t been sighted in over two months, and why did I track you down to New York of all places?”
Jason scrubbed a hand down his face, absentmindedly noting the stubble coating his chin as he rifled through the drawer next to the stove until he finally found the tea strainer. His mind raced as he tried to figure out the best explanation of the situation. There was no way he could lie to her for two reasons. One, because it would be impossible to have a full conversation without her picking up on the fact he couldn’t talk. Two, she was Talia; he couldn’t lie to her if he even tried.
He must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights, because her glare softened just a bit. “What happened, Jason? When we last spoke, you were about to enact the final steps of your plan.”
Sighing, Jason pulled out the little notebook he had become accustomed to carrying with him, and wrote:
He chose the Joker.
Before he held up the paper to the woman’s line of sight.
Her eyes went to the paper and widened in disbelief when they went to the high-collared running jacket. Talia then rounded the corner of the counter so that she was standing on the same side as him, stopping just a few inches away from Jason. Neither of them made a sound as she hesitantly raised her hand until it was about to touch the zipper of the jacket. When she looked him in the eyes for permission, he merely nodded at her silent request. It was only because of his training that he was able to pick up the quiet gasp that escaped Talia.
“Oh, habibi,” she whispered broken-heartedly. Her fingers delicately traced the skin marred with burns from the bomb and the sharp line of scar tissue left by the batarang. “He didn’t…”
Tears burned in Jason’s eyes, blurring the shape of Talia as he nodded. Talia’s expression shifted to one of grief as her hand cupped the back of his head and gently pulled him down until their foreheads touched while the other went to stroke down his spine.
The comforting touch was one that felt foreign to Jason, but it wasn’t an unwelcomed one. Jason couldn’t resist breaking down in her arms. He wrapped his arms tight around her and she matched him in strength all while murmuring whispers of reassurances to him. The whole thing was so much like the first time she held him after he was resurrected, and Jason almost jolted with the realization that he hadn’t been the recipient of such gentleness since he had left the League of Assassins compound to train around the world. The thought only made him cry harder as he tried to soak up the warmth before it was inevitably taken from him.
Eventually she pulled back enough to wipe the tears from his cheek with a handkerchief.
“Out of all the things I had thought of Bruce, I never would have imagined him doing this to his own son to save a being worth less than the dirt on his shoes.”
Bruce, not Beloved. Jason raised an eyebrow at the word choice, and Talia scoffed.
“As if I could ever call the man who hurt my son ‘Beloved.’”
And that…well, that statement left Jason reeling, because him? Her son? He knew she held a certain fondness for him. After all, you don’t spend your nights sleepless in order to calm down a person if you didn’t care for them at least a little. But he had thought her fondness was only because of his connection to… him, not because she actually viewed him as one of her own.
Seeing his questioning look, Talia’s eyes softened and she placed a hand on the side of his head. “While it may be true that I brought you back from death with selfish intentions, I cannot deny the fact that I have grown to see you as my son since that day.”
Her fingers lightly ran through his hair, and he closed his eyes to focus on the soothing touch. “As much as I tried to distance myself from you, you always did have a talent with charming people. It was why I encouraged you to leave the compound and train around the world; I knew that my father would eventually catch on to how much I care for you, and use you as a pawn to keep me in line.”
That…that actually made a lot of sense now that Jason looked back on it. During the months leading up to when Jason finally decided to accept Talia’s offer, she had been dropping hints non-stop. Initially, they had been subtle suggestions, a story about an old teacher who specialized in poisons here, a reference to a world-class sniper there. Towards the end, she had been blatant about her desire to send him away, and it was only after she mentioned to Jason about the ancient mystical group of monks known as the All-Caste, that he finally agreed to train elsewhere.
When he had told her he wanted to train with the All-Caste, he had initially assumed the look of relief was because she didn’t have to deal with him anymore. In an attempt to hide the sting of hurt, he had jokingly asked her, “Jeez, Talia. Are you really that eager to get rid of me?”
And well, Jason would be a liar if he said he didn’t see Talia in a similar light.
Make no mistake, he hated that she brought him back to life; he always will, in fact. He had been at peace and he had never asked for his resurrection. Because of Talia, he would forever have to live with the indescribable feeling of hell that came with the knowledge that his murderer was still alive.
On the other hand, she had given him a second chance. Sure, he may have chosen to use that second chance to enact vengeance instead of doing something like attempting to live a normal life, but could you blame him? That pathetic being didn’t even meet the minimum requirements to be classified as human, and he didn’t deserve to breathe another breath of air. And because no one else had the guts to do it, the burden fell to Jason.
‘And look where that got you,’ the darkest parts of him taunted. ‘Jason Peter Todd, the boy doomed to fail at every twist and turn.’
Jason barely caught what Talia said next.
“Perhaps the Lazarus Pit may be able to restore your voice.”
Immediately, her touch turned from comfort to burning, and Jason all but shoved the woman away. His heart raced at the mere thought of the green pool, and he viciously shook his head in refusal.
He wouldn't, couldn’t go back in there a second time. The first time had been unimaginable torture for him; being ripped from eternal sleep and waking up to the feeling of his bones snapping back into place had damaged his psyche in such a way that it would never fully heal. He was barely hanging on by a thread as it was; if he were to take another swim in the Pit, Jason was sure he would never come back to his senses.
Ringing filled Jason’s ears as he pressed his back to the cabinets. Something knocked against his hand as he fumbled to grip the edge of the counter to remain upright, and the motion sent it crashing to the ground.
He kept shaking his head as darkness encroached on the edges of his vision, and he was choking. No matter how wide he opened his mouth, his lungs weren’t pulling in enough air; his throat made him feel like he was breathing through a straw while being trapped under a pile of rubble. When he tried to claw at his throat to relieve the pressure, he found he couldn’t move his hands and something was gripping his wrists tightly.
Suddenly he was no longer in his shitty apartment’s kitchen. Instead, he was back in Ethiopia, in the warehouse with his hands handcuffed. The ringing in his ears turned to laughter, and he could hear the distinctive scrape of metal against concrete as the crowbar was dragged along the ground. Jason scrunched his eyes closed in a vain attempt to block out what he knew was about to come next.
“Forehand or backhand? A or B?”
He clenched his jaw as he braced for the incoming impact of the crowbar. There was no way he’d let that monster hear him scream, he refused-
Something cold was splashed onto Jason’s face, and his eyes flew open as he gasped in shock. He blinked the droplets out of his eyes, once, twice as he tried to figure out the source. When his vision finally focused once more, he was rewarded with the sight of Talia in front of him, one hand holding an empty cup and her expression a mixture of distress and concern.
“Copy my breathing,” she ordered. Her other hand, which had been pinning his wrists together, dragged one of his hands to rest against her chest. Her heart was steady under his palm as she took several deep, exaggerated breaths, which Jason tried to mimic to the best of his ability.
Eventually, his throat loosened and his lungs burned as he finally got the oxygen he so desperately needed. It was then he realized he had fallen to the ground at some point, his back pressed into the corner of two cabinets. Jason tucked his head between his knees in shame.
“I’m sorry.”
Jason jerked his head up in surprise to stare at. Hearing Talia apologize was a rarity. She was an al Ghul, apologizing was supposed to be beneath her.
Guilt was heavy in her eyes as she stared at him, one hand hovering awkwardly in front of her as if she were about to place it on his shoulder but froze.
“I know how much you hated the Lazarus Pit, and it was foolish of me to suggest using it on you once more.” When she tried to place her hand on his shoulder he flinched back, and she quickly dropped it. “Jason, habibi, I’m sorry for hurting you even more, that was never my intention. I only want what's best for you.”
Something wet was being absorbed into his socks and when Jason looked down, he saw his mug shattered and the remains of his tea slowly pooling around the porcelain remains. Damn, he really liked that mug too.
“Jason, I need you to tell me what happened,” Talia said. After a second, she tacked on, “Please.”
And wow, the world must have been ending because Talia had apologized and used please in a non-condescending manner?
Regardless, after he had been hauled up and guided to sit on his couch, Jason slowly told her the events that led up to the final stage of his plan. Using a combination of sign language and pen and paper, he told Talia about how he had successfully had the Joker broken out of Arkham by Black Mask, how he had wrangled the bastard into an abandoned apartment building. He didn’t miss the way her lips twitched into a small but pleased smile as he described karmic punishment to the Joker with his own crowbar, and he couldn’t help mirroring her. But their smiles quickly fell when he got to the confrontation; at that point he had to resort to writing everything down because his brain was too overwhelmed to properly remember the correct signs. His handwriting wasn’t any better, many words coming out shaky as he feverishly wrote and scribbled out misspelled words.
By the end of it, Talia’s hands were clenched tightly, shaking with a barely suppressed rage. “Habibi, I will make sure Bruce pays for his crimes against you.”
Warmth filled Jason’s heart, and for once, he wished Talia had been his guardian instead of Bruce. He knows that if she had been his mother when he was murdered, Joker would have been dead within the day, body burnt to a crisp only after she had enacted the same torture Jason had gone through.
She gently tilted his chin up so that his eyes met hers.
“Just say when and I will have the League of Shadows rain hellfire down upon him and his city by the end of the hour,” she promised.
The temptation to accept the offer was almost too much for Jason. He was about to nod to give his go-ahead, but when his eyes landed on the business card sitting amongst the pile of mail on his coffee table, he stopped. Annoyingly, the words of the man who handed it to him rose from the depths of his memory without his permission.
"You survived, you have a second chance. You’re angry, yes, but that’s good. It means you have some fire left in you. Take that and figure out who you are… but just be careful not to let yourself burn out, okay?”
Anger had been the only thing Jason had known since his resurrection. Anger at Bruce, anger at the Joker, anger at himself. The Lazarus Pit enhanced the anger, turning it into a blinding rage that tempted him to give in during his every waking moment. Every time he came down from that high, all he was left with was bone-deep exhaustion, hurt, and feeling less satisfied than before. At the time, he had ignored it, his wish of having Brue end the Joker to prove his love to Jason was the only thing that kept him going.
But now that he was away from Gotham, away from it all, Jason finally felt the aftereffects of his anger. The exhaustion felt like his bones had been filled with lead and now he just felt empty most of the time, to the point that there were days that he barely had enough energy to get out of bed.
He burnt his bridges. He was most likely presumed dead by Bruce, and the thought of returning to Gotham made his chest unpleasantly constrict in a way that made realization wash over Jason like an icy waterfall.
He didn’t want to go back to Gotham.
Going back, whether as the Red Hood or with Talia by his side, ready to wage war once more on Batman, left him feeling sick. All that was in Gotham were memories of pain and hurt, of betrayal and rage. While there were a few good memories scattered throughout, they paled in comparison to the amount of bad.
The memory of Bruce slitting his throat stood out the most amongst the rest, the freshest and strongest of them all.
Talia was patiently sitting next to him, head tilted to the side as she waited for his answer.
Jason looked her in the eyes, and shook his head no.
Instantly, his answer was met with confusion.
“No?” she asked.
He reached for the pen and notebook that had been discarded on the coffee table and wrote, I’m tired, Talia. I don’t want to fight anymore.
He was about to burn out. He couldn’t keep doing it anymore.
“Bruce cannot go unpunished for what he did to you, Jason.”
No, he couldn’t. Jason knew that better than anyone that Bruce had to pay. And he knew exactly how he could do that.
But I do know how we can ruin him.
That garnered a raised eyebrow from the woman, but she looked interested. “Go on.”
Make him think he broke his precious rule by killing his own son.
“Surely he will find it suspicious that I am the one to tell him such a tale months after he last saw you,” she pointed out. “You know how stubborn and paranoid he is. He won’t rest until he has physical proof in the form of your body.”
Jason smiled and stood up, gesturing for her to wait on the couch. Entering his room, he dug under the floorboards in his room until he finally found the slim lockbox. After inputting the combination, he grabbed the manilla envelope and walked back to where Talia was sitting on the couch. He handed her the envelope and recognition lit up her eyes when she saw it. When he was finished writing, he tapped her elbow and held it out to her.
Simple. You found me and had me patched up, but I was comatose and brain-dead because my brain hadn’t gotten enough oxygen after losing too much blood from the injury he caused.
Talia pulled out the sheet of paper, knowing full well what it was.
His will. Dated just a month before his emergence as the Red Hood.
It technically wasn’t a legitimate will considering he was legally dead, but it was as close to an official as one could get. He tapped one specific section of the writing.
You didn’t put me into the Lazarus Pit because I explicitly said not to do so in my will, and I wanted to be cremated and have my ashes scattered in the mountains, so there’s no body to be found.
Talia’s grin was sharp as she looked at him with pride. “Clever, Jason. Very clever.”
He raised an eyebrow at her and smiled back with his own knowing grin. He may not be a genius with a high IQ like Bruce, but he knew how to be thorough and ready to vanish in a moment's notice. It was the one skill he had Brue beat at from his years avoiding CPS and cops while out on the street, and it was only solidified thanks to the fact he was legally dead in the eyes of the law.
Then he tapped the bottom of the paper where a dark color spot was splattered below the line his name was signed on. He had made sure to include a drop of blood on the paper to confirm to anyone that read it that it was truly his will and not a forgery. Talia, who had been there when he had penned the entire thing and guided him on how he should divide any assets he had, had also been the one to suggest the blood signature. It was a common practice in the League.
I know he’ll be stubborn and not believe you, but as long as we keep to this story and maintain minimal contact, he’ll eventually give up or something else will catch his attention. But I am sorry for whatever trouble this will cause you, Talia.
“Never apologize for such a thing, Jason,” she whispered fiercely as she set the will down. “I will gladly do this for you because you deserve it.”
Reaching forward, she placed her hands on his cheeks. Jason gripped one of the wrists gently and leaned into the touch.
“But I have to know something, Jason. Where do you plan to go from here?” Talia asked.
His green eyes flickered back to the business card on the table, and he’s reminded of the conversation in the church once more.
“Don’t let your purpose be tied to someone else. Think about what you wanted before and what you want now. Don’t think of whatever this person wanted from you.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Then it looks like you have some thinking to do.”
He was still unsure of what his purpose is.
But he did have an idea as to how he can get started in figuring it out.
I want to see if living a normal life is really what it’s all cracked up to be, he wrote.
The answer made Talia smile, this one much different from most smiles she usually gave. This one was tender, more motherly. For a second, Jason felt like he was in an alternate universe because he had never seen Talia exhibit such behavior before.
She placed a kiss on his forehead before she stood up and dusted off her pants.
“Then I shall support you in your endeavors to the best of my abilities without arousing suspicion, my son. Now,” she held out a hand, which he bemusedly took, “I am in New York for the next few days, and I demand that I get to spend that time with my son before I must cut contact with him for his protection.”
Jason laughed as he let her pull him up off the couch.
“First we shall get lunch. I have a reservation at a very promising restaurant, and I know you have nice clothing, so you will go get changed.” She waved towards his bedroom door. “And then afterwards, we will be doing something about the sorry state of your apartment’s décor.”
She grimaced as she looked at the stained walls of the apartment. “Or better yet, move you into a better place than this.”
Jason shook his head with a grin as he moved to his door. He paused and turned back to Talia, who was watching him.
“Thank you, Mom,” he signed.
The surprised look that crossed her face made him feel ecstatic, and he quickly shut and locked the door behind him before she could fully process what he had just said.
As he sifted through the clothes in his closet, he let his mind wander.
A part of Jason was still uncertain if he was making the right choice. Catherine had once told him he had such a big heart and that it was his greatest strength. However, at times, it was also his biggest flaw because it made him feel responsible for all the suffering of the poor souls he met. But he knew deep down that he couldn’t maintain the vigilante lifestyle for any longer; it was a life that just would just take and take until nothing was left. He’d be dead before twenty-five if he kept it up, that much he was certain.
As he pulled on a nice turtleneck and slacks, he thought back to what Murdock had told him.
“You have to make the life you want. The world can’t give it to you.”
For a long time, he had let others shape his life. Bruce had tried to shape him into a good little soldier, and Joker had been the one to create the monster that was the Red Hood. Every moment since he jacked the Batmobile’s tires had been about The Mission.
But no more.
He was going to be selfish and put down the guns. He was going to figure himself out one step at a time.
That was a promise.
A small part of him wondered if Murdock would remember their conversation when the day where he finally found his calling arrived.
After all, the guy did promise him drinks.