Work Text:
It started small, the way these things usually do.
A handful of conspiracy theorists on an obscure forum latched onto a grainy, barely decipherable photograph. The image was little more than a blur of motion and bad lighting, but if you squinted hard enough, you could make out the shape of a man in a red helmet standing protectively in front of another man dressed in a suit.
The original poster was absolutely convinced.
“That’s Red Hood,” they insisted. “And that’s his boyfriend.”
Everyone else laughed.
The replies filled with jokes, eye-roll emojis, and accusations that the poster had finally lost what little grip on reality they had left. Someone pointed out that Gotham was full of men in expensive suits. Someone else argued that Red Hood wasn’t exactly known for romantic public appearances. The thread should have died there.
Instead, it grew.
More photos began trickling in over the following weeks. A blurry cellphone picture taken from a café window. A security camera still with half the pixels missing. A shaky video filmed from three blocks away.
None of them were clear enough to prove anything.
But every single one showed the same pattern.
A flash of a red helmet.
A sharply dressed young man nearby.
Sometimes Red Hood was walking a few paces behind him. Sometimes beside him. Once, someone swore they’d caught the vigilante opening a car door before disappearing onto a rooftop.
It was never enough to convince anyone.
Every photo had a reasonable explanation. Every video could be dismissed as coincidence. The internet argued over each new piece of “evidence” for a day or two before moving on to the next distraction.
The forum thread, however, never stopped growing.
Eventually it escaped the conspiracy boards and found its way to Reddit, then Tumblr, then TikTok, where amateur detectives gleefully connected red strings between screenshots that looked like they had been taken with a potato.
The theory became less “Red Hood has a boyfriend” and more “Why is Red Hood always hanging around the same rich guy?”
No one could agree on the man’s identity. The photos were too poor to make out his face. Some claimed he was a politician’s son. Others thought he was an up-and-coming CEO. A surprising number were convinced he was secretly an undercover federal agent.
No one guessed Tim Drake.
Then the Gotham Gazette accidentally blew the whole thing wide open.
Their reporter had been covering a hostage situation downtown when everything went sideways. An explosive device detonated in the middle of the street, sending people scrambling for cover.
The camera kept rolling.
The footage was crystal clear.
Tim Drake was caught in the blast radius.
Red Hood appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
Without a second’s hesitation, he grabbed Tim by the front of his suit, yanked him against his chest, turned his own body toward the explosion, and took the full force of the blast on his armored back while shielding Tim completely.
The video lasted barely fifteen seconds.
It was uploaded to Twitter.
The internet did what the internet always does.
It collectively lost its mind.
—
Jason never really considered himself one of the Bats anymore.
He’d been a Robin once—a bird, not a bat—and whatever claim he’d had to the family had been buried alongside him. Even after clawing his way back to life, after the apologies and the uneasy truce, he’d never quite fit the cowl-and-cape mold again. He’d grown past it. Or at least that’s what he told himself.
One thing he had grown out of, however, was the Wayne family’s trademark emotional constipation.
Jason wasn’t emotionally repressed. He wasn’t allergic to vulnerability, and he certainly wasn’t one to bottle things up until they exploded into a rooftop screaming match. If he was angry, people knew it. If he was happy, it showed. If something hurt, he didn’t pretend it didn’t. He’d spent too much of his life hiding behind masks—literal and metaphorical—to bother with that anymore.
Mostly.
There was one exception.
One tiny, completely insignificant, absolutely life-ruining exception.
Jason Todd was hopelessly, irrevocably, catastrophically in love with Timothy Drake-Wayne.
He knew it.
That was the worst part.
There wasn’t any denial left to hide behind. No confusing it for possessiveness or guilt or lingering resentment from their complicated history. Somewhere along the way, between reluctant alliances, late-night stakeouts, sarcastic banter, and watching Tim run himself ragged trying to save everyone except himself, Jason had fallen.
Hard.
Unfortunately, acknowledging it privately and acknowledging it out loud were two very different things.
Because saying the words meant risking hearing the answer.
And Jason already knew what that answer would be.
No.
Not a gentle no, either. Just… confusion. Maybe pity. The awkward kind of rejection that would permanently poison the fragile relationship they’d managed to build over the years.
Tim didn’t look at him that way.
Hell, half the time Tim could barely stand to be in the same room with him for more than twenty minutes before inventing an excuse to disappear. Sometimes it was work. Sometimes it was a case. Sometimes Tim would simply glance at the nearest exit like it was calling his name.
Jason couldn’t even blame him.
Their history was messy. Violent. Haunted by misunderstandings, old grudges, and enough unresolved trauma to keep half of Gotham’s therapists employed for the next decade.
Whatever affection existed between them had been hard won, measured in cautious conversations and tentative trust.
Jason wasn’t about to destroy it by asking for something Tim had never wanted to give.
So he did the only sensible thing.
He loved Tim quietly.
He buried it beneath jokes and teasing remarks, behind casual shoulder bumps and sarcastic nicknames. He accepted whatever scraps of attention Tim offered and pretended they were enough. He learned to live with the ache because, painful as it was, it hurt less than the thought of losing Tim entirely.
Some feelings, Jason had learned, were safer when they stayed unspoken.
This one would probably kill him anyway.
—
No one could ever tell what Tim Drake was thinking.
That was by design.
His mother had seen to that long before she died, drilling perfect posture, measured words, and an expression so carefully blank that it bordered on unsettling. Emotions were private things, not for public display. Smile when expected, frown when appropriate, and never let anyone know what was happening beneath the surface.
Tim had become exceptionally good at it.
Most days, Bruce couldn’t read him. Dick guessed wrong more often than he guessed right. Even people who’d known him for years often mistook exhaustion for indifference and concern for irritation.
There was only one person who consistently threatened that carefully crafted composure.
Jason Todd.
It had started long before Tim ever met him.
Back when he was a gangly kid with a camera slung around his neck, spending his nights chasing Batman and Robin across Gotham’s rooftops.
At first, it had been Dick he followed.
Dick Grayson had been Robin, the impossible acrobat who smiled while fighting crime. Tim had idolized him. To a lonely kid watching from afar, Dick had seemed larger than life.
Then Robin changed.
Tim hadn’t liked it.
The new kid was louder, rougher around the edges, quicker to throw a punch and even quicker to mouth off. Jason didn’t move like Dick. He didn’t fight like Dick. He wasn’t Dick.
For a while, Tim had resented him for that.
Then, because he was an obsessive little stalker armed with a telephoto lens and far too much free time, he kept watching anyway.
He watched Jason laugh so hard he nearly fell off a fire escape.
He watched him stop to help people Batman hadn’t even noticed.
He watched him slip food to homeless kids when he thought no one was looking.
He watched him throw himself between innocent civilians and danger with absolutely no regard for his own safety.
He watched Jason be angry, compassionate, reckless, brilliant, infuriatingly kind.
And somewhere between thousands of stolen photographs and countless nights spent tracking Robin’s patrol route, admiration quietly became something else.
Something much deeper.
Something permanent.
Tim never noticed exactly when it happened.
One day he was fascinated by Gotham’s second Robin.
The next, he was hopelessly in love with Jason Todd.
Then Jason died.
The world kept moving.
Tim didn’t.
He mourned someone he’d never truly known, carrying around a grief that felt strangely impossible to explain. People thought he became Robin because Gotham needed one.
The truth was far more selfish.
He couldn’t bear the hole Jason had left behind.
Years later, when he discovered Jason was alive, relief hit him so hard it nearly stole the air from his lungs.
Jason was alive.
Jason was breathing.
Jason was—
Trying to kill him.
Which… wasn’t ideal.
Still.
Alive.
Tim would gladly take attempted murder over a gravestone.
Time softened things.
Not all at once, and not easily, but slowly. Jason stopped shooting at family dinners. Bruce stopped looking like he expected another apocalypse every Thanksgiving. Dick learned when to intervene and when to stay out of it.
Eventually, Jason became part of the family again.
Or as much as Jason would ever allow himself to be.
To everyone else, it became painfully obvious that Tim adored him.
He always seemed to know where Jason was.
He defended Jason in arguments with Bruce before Jason even opened his mouth.
He quietly replaced Jason’s medical supplies before they ran out.
If Jason disappeared for a week, Tim somehow knew he was still alive before anyone else did.
If Jason was injured, Tim noticed before Jason admitted it.
Dick thought it was sweet.
Steph thought it was hilarious.
Damian thought Tim was pathetic.
No one was entirely sure Tim realized he was doing any of it.
Jason, somehow, noticed none of it.
He never said anything.
Never lingered.
Never looked at Tim the way Tim desperately wanted him to.
So Tim accepted what he assumed was the truth.
Jason didn’t love him.
If he did, surely he would have said something.
Instead, Tim settled for whatever scraps of Jason’s attention he could get.
He left rooms first because staying too long made it impossible to keep his expression neutral.
He picked arguments over the dumbest imaginable topics because at least Jason was looking at him.
He memorized Jason’s patrol routes under the excuse of “operational awareness.”
He tracked Jason’s location with the same quiet devotion he’d once tracked Robin through the lens of a camera.
Some habits, it seemed, were impossible to break.
Being in love with Jason Todd was one of them.
—
So when the first headline hit the internet, Tim was horrified.
Jason laughed.
Neither reaction meant what the other thought it did.
Tim’s stomach dropped the second he saw the article.
IS GOTHAM’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR DATING RED HOOD?
There was a blurry screenshot from the Gazette video, half a dozen old conspiracy photos dug up from the depths of the internet, and a lengthy timeline that made Tim deeply uncomfortable because… admittedly… it was alarmingly accurate.
Except for the dating part.
Tim wasn’t horrified because people thought they were together.
He was horrified because Jason was going to see it.
And Jason was going to laugh.
Because why wouldn’t he? The idea of dating Tim Drake was ridiculous. Embarrassing. A joke.
Across the Cave, Jason barked out a laugh the moment he opened the article.
“Oh my God.”
Another laugh.
“They’re serious.”
He had to keep laughing.
Because if he stopped, he’d have to acknowledge how much it hurt.
The internet had somehow stumbled into Jason’s deepest, most carefully guarded secret and transformed it into a punchline.
Dating Tim.
As if.
He glanced across the Cave just in time to see Tim staring at his own phone with an expression bordering on genuine horror.
Jason’s chest tightened.
…Yeah.
That tracked.
Of course Tim looked horrified.
Why wouldn’t he?
Being romantically linked to Jason Todd was probably the worst thing that had happened to his public image all year.
Jason looked away before Tim could notice.
Tim looked away before Jason could notice.
Each silently mourning a rejection that had never actually happened.
“Bruce,” Tim said, his voice carrying across the Cave with an urgency that made everyone look up. “You have to kill this somehow.”
Bruce looked over the rim of the report he was pretending to read.
Tim was clutching his phone like it had personally offended him.
Jason was pretending to be fascinated by the Batcomputer while very pointedly not looking in Tim’s direction.
Bruce had raised enough emotionally constipated children to recognize a disaster in progress.
Unfortunately, this one wasn’t his fault.
“I can try,” Bruce said carefully. “I can’t promise anything.”
Tim looked at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Try? Bruce, you own, like, six media companies.”
“Yes, son.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.
“But this is the internet.”
Silence.
“…Fair.”
From somewhere behind them came a strangled noise.
Dick had buried his face in the back of a desk chair, his shoulders shaking violently.
Steph was rubbing circles on his back.
“C’mon, breathe,” she said, sounding entirely too amused.
Dick took one enormous gasp of air before immediately dissolving back into helpless laughter.
Through wheezing breaths, he managed, “There’s already fanfiction.”
Tim froze.
“…What?”
“There—” Dick wheezed. “There are tags, Tim.”
Tim made a sound somewhere between a cough and a death rattle.
Steph, because she loved chaos, pulled out her phone.
“Oh wow.”
“Steph,” Barbara warned.
“What? I’m just looking.”
A beat.
“…Oh my God, there’s over three hundred works already.”
“It’s been four hours,” Damian said, sounding vaguely impressed.
“Three hundred and twelve,” Steph corrected. “People are fast.”
Tim actually choked on absolutely nothing.
Jason considered faking his own death for a second time.
Bruce briefly wondered if it was too late to disconnect Gotham from the internet entirely.
Alfred, without looking up from the tea he was preparing, said pleasantly,
“I suspect that ship sailed some years ago, Master Bruce.”
No one could even argue with him.
—
Bruce stared at the chaos unfolding in the Cave and, for one fleeting moment, seriously considered whether he could simply unplug the internet.
Instead, he muttered under his breath, just quiet enough that only someone standing close would hear.
“I wish the ship would just sail already.”
Dick did hear him.
He immediately doubled over, clutching his ribs as another fit of helpless laughter overtook him.
“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “B—Bruce—”
Bruce refused to acknowledge him.
Steph, however, had absolutely no intention of letting that comment die.
She was standing barely a foot behind Bruce.
She’d heard every word.
And, unlike Dick, she had enough composure left to weaponize the information.
Still scrolling through her phone, she announced far too cheerfully, “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Barbara sighed.
“Stephanie.”
“What? I’m educating myself.”
She cleared her throat dramatically.
“‘Omega Tim Drake.’”
Tim’s soul briefly left his body.
“‘Alpha Red Hood.’”
Jason went completely still.
“‘Tim Drake Is Oblivious.’”
Tim blinked.
“…What?”
Steph continued reading without mercy.
“‘Red Hood Is Oblivious.’”
Jason’s stomach dropped.
“‘Mutual Pining.’”
Dick made another strangled noise.
“‘Idiots in Love.’”
Damian actually snorted.
“‘Five Times Red Hood Accidentally Took Care of Tim Drake and One Time He Admitted He Was in Love.’”
Jason’s face felt alarmingly warm beneath his helmet.
“‘Protective Red Hood.’”
“‘Protective Tim Drake.’”
“‘Everyone Knows Except Them.’”
The Cave fell silent.
Steph slowly lowered her phone.
“…Okay, that one’s just objectively funny.”
Jason wasn’t listening anymore.
His eyes had drifted, almost involuntarily, toward Tim.
Tim was staring at the floor with an expression Jason couldn’t read.
Horrified.
Embarrassed.
Ashamed.
Jason knew that look.
Or at least he thought he did.
God.
Tim hated this.
Hated being associated with him so much that complete strangers on the internet writing fantasy stories about them was enough to make him look physically ill.
Jason looked away before Tim could catch him staring.
Across the Cave, Tim had looked up just long enough to see Jason freeze at the words Mutual Pining.
Then Jason had looked over.
Their eyes met for barely a second.
Jason immediately looked away.
Tim’s heart sank.
Right.
There it was.
Embarrassment.
Jason couldn’t even stand to look at him.
That was answer enough.
Tim shoved his phone into his pocket.
“I…” His voice came out tighter than he intended. He cleared his throat. “I think I’ve had enough internet for today.”
Nobody stopped him.
Nobody noticed the way his mask had slipped for half a heartbeat.
Tim turned and walked toward the elevator with measured, practiced steps.
Only when the doors slid shut behind him did he let his shoulders sag.
Back in the Cave, Jason watched the closed elevator doors for a long moment.
“…Guess he really hated that.” Jason said before turning and leaving the cave.
Dick’s laughter died instantly.
Bruce closed his eyes.
Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose.
Steph looked from the elevator… to Jason… back to the elevator… and realized, with dawning horror, that these two idiots had somehow managed to misinterpret the exact same situation in completely opposite directions.
“…Oh,” she said quietly.
Dick followed her gaze.
“…Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Bruce sighed the sigh of a man who had raised too many emotionally stunted vigilantes.
“They’re both idiots.”
“They’re catastrophically in love,” Barbara corrected.
“They’re catastrophically stupid,” Damian muttered.
For perhaps the first time in his life, every single person in the Batcave was in complete agreement.
—
“Stephanie.”
Bruce didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
The single word carried enough paternal disappointment that even Damian looked up from his tablet.
Steph winced.
“…Yes?”
“You made this mess.”
“I absolutely did not.”
Bruce gave her a look.
“…I may have made it worse.”
“Worse?” Barbara echoed. “You read A/B/O tags out loud.”
“In my defense, I thought it was funny.”
“It was,” Dick admitted through another fit of laughter.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You made the mess,” he repeated. “You clean it up.”
Steph blinked.
“How,” she asked slowly, “exactly am I supposed to do that, Bruce?”
He gestured vaguely toward the elevator Tim had disappeared into.
“Figure it out.”
“But—”
“Tim is your best friend.”
Steph looked utterly betrayed.
“So your plan is to delegate.”
“My plan,” Bruce corrected, “is to assign the person most qualified.”
“I hate when you’re logical.”
“I know.”
Steph groaned dramatically before collapsing backward into one of the computer chairs.
She spun absently, staring at the ceiling.
“Okay…”
She thought through the problem.
Tim loved Jason.
Jason almost certainly loved Tim.
Neither of them possessed enough emotional intelligence to realize the other returned their feelings.
And somehow…
Her eyes drifted back to the AO3 page still open on her phone.
…Fanfiction had started this entire disaster.
Her spinning chair came to an abrupt stop.
A grin spread slowly across her face.
Then it became positively feral.
“Oh.”
Dick frowned.
“…Oh?”
Steph sat bolt upright.
“Fanfiction caused this issue.”
Everyone immediately looked nervous.
Bruce, especially.
“Steph,” Barbara said carefully.
“But…”
Steph was already typing furiously into her phone.
“…Fanfiction can probably solve it.”
A collective groan echoed through the Cave.
“Steph,” Dick asked, equal parts fascinated and terrified, “what are you planning?”
She looked up with the expression of a supervillain unveiling their master plan.
“We,” she announced grandly, pointing first at herself and then at Dick, “are going to weaponize fanfiction.”
Dick blinked.
“…I’m listening.”
“We are going to use every romantic trope known to mankind to trick those two idiots into realizing they’re in love.”
Bruce sighed.
“I don’t like how quickly that made sense.”
Barbara looked thoughtful.
“…It does have precedent.”
Damian looked offended.
“There is precedent?”
“Clichés exist because they work,” Steph said with a shrug.
Dick’s eyes lit up.
“Oh! I bet it’s the gala.”
Steph turned toward him.
“What gala?”
“The gala!” Dick said, like it was obvious. “Jason crashes one of Bruce’s charity galas as Red Hood to stop an assassination. Tim gets cornered, Jason saves him, they dance to maintain their cover—”
“They don’t even have to dance,” Barbara interrupted.
“They absolutely have to dance.”
“They really don’t.”
“They’re legally required to.”
Steph held up a hand.
“Dick.”
“Yeah?”
“I am willing to bet actual money that you’ve read that exact fic.”
“…”
“…Maybe.”
Steph snorted.
“I’ve got fifty bucks on the one-bed trope.”
Dick gasped.
“Oh, that’s a strong contender.”
Steph was already scrolling through the rapidly multiplying archive.
“‘Only One Bed’…”
“‘Accidental Cuddling’…”
“‘Fake Dating’…”
“‘Love Confessions’…”
“‘Mutual Pining’…”
“‘Hurt/Comfort’…”
She looked up.
“…Wow.”
“What?” Barbara asked.
“They’ve got the classics covered already.”
Dick leaned over her shoulder.
“Oh!”
“‘Identity Porn.’”
“‘Only One Horse.’”
“‘Marriage of Convenience?’”
He looked genuinely impressed.
“They’re speedrunning romance.”
Steph kept scrolling.
“…There’s already a coffee shop AU.”
Jason had been gone for less than ten minutes.
Tim hadn’t even made it home.
And somewhere on the internet, hundreds of strangers had collectively decided they were soulmates.
Steph looked at the tags.
Then at Bruce.
Then at Dick.
“…Honestly?”
“What?”
“If random internet authors can figure this out in four hours…”
She shook her head.
“…those two don’t deserve rights.”
—
And so began what Dick would later dub Steph’s Saga of Weaponized Romance Tropes.
Steph called it Operation: Make the Idiots Kiss.
Barbara insisted on calling it a terrible idea.
Bruce simply referred to it as Tuesday.
The first trope on Steph’s list was also the easiest to engineer.
Forced Proximity.
If the internet was to be believed—and apparently the internet had very strong opinions on this subject—you couldn’t possibly pine after someone while living under the same roof without eventually confessing your feelings.
Steph intended to test that hypothesis.
Bruce had been spectacularly unwilling to become involved in what he repeatedly described as “emotional manipulation.”
Steph had pointed out that he emotionally manipulated criminals on a nightly basis.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“…Yes.”
“How?”
Bruce had stared at her for a solid thirty seconds before deciding silence was the wiser option.
Unfortunately, after reviewing her increasingly elaborate plans, even Bruce had to admit that some of them simply wouldn’t work without his authority.
So, against his better judgment…
He agreed to help.
Mostly because he wanted his sons to stop making heartbroken eyes at each other when they thought no one was looking.
The next evening, Bruce gathered them in the briefing room.
Tim arrived first, coffee in hand and already looking suspicious.
Jason wandered in a minute later, helmet tucked under one arm.
Neither looked at the other for more than a passing glance.
Bruce suppressed a sigh.
“Tim. Jason.”
Both answered with absent hums.
“I have a mission for the two of you.”
That got their attention.
Tim immediately frowned.
“Together?”
Jason looked equally confused.
“…You sure?”
“Yes.”
Bruce tapped the controls, bringing up surveillance photos of an abandoned apartment complex in the Narrows.
“We’ve identified an underground fighting ring operating out of this building.”
Images shifted to grainy security footage.
“The organizer is exceptionally cautious. Outsiders aren’t allowed in unless they’re sponsored by someone already involved.”
Tim was already mentally assembling possibilities.
“So we infiltrate.”
Bruce nodded.
“You’ll be undercover for approximately two weeks.”
Jason shrugged.
“Fine.”
Bruce clicked to the next slide.
“You’ll be living together in one of our nearby safe houses.”
Silence.
Steph, Barbara, Dick, and Damian were all watching from the Batcomputer with varying levels of investment.
Steph had her fingers crossed so tightly they were probably cutting off circulation.
Tim adjusted his glasses.
“…Living together.”
“Correct.”
Jason rubbed the back of his neck.
“…Okay.”
Neither protested.
Steph silently pumped a fist.
Bruce continued.
“Your cover identities are a professional fighter…”
He looked toward Jason.
“…and his handler.”
Jason blinked.
Then barked out a laugh.
“Oh, that’s funny.”
Bruce remained perfectly expressionless.
“It wasn’t a joke.”
Jason stopped laughing.
“…Wait.”
He pointed between himself and Tim.
“Which one of us is the handler?”
Bruce stared at him.
“…Tim.”
Jason actually looked offended.
“Him?”
“Yes.”
“I’m literally the one who has experience in underground fight clubs.”
“And you’re also the one built like you eat concrete for breakfast,” Steph called from across the Cave.
Jason frowned.
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely look like you do.”
Bruce cleared his throat before the argument could continue.
“We need to follow expectations.”
Tim tilted his head.
“…Meaning?”
“The people running these fights have… particular assumptions.”
Dick coughed suspiciously into his fist.
Barbara looked away to hide a smile.
Bruce continued as though he hadn’t noticed.
“A fighter with someone who handles negotiations, logistics, finances, and medical treatment draws significantly less attention.”
Jason snorted.
“So Tim gets to nag me professionally.”
“Essentially.”
“…That’s actually believable.”
Tim looked thoughtfully at the mission file.
Then a very dangerous expression crossed his face.
Steph recognized it immediately.
“Oh no.”
Bruce recognized it too.
“…Tim.”
“If I’m doing this…” Tim said slowly, already reaching for his tablet, “…I’m doing it my way.”
Jason narrowed his eyes.
“…What does that mean?”
Tim looked up with the calm confidence of someone about to make everyone else’s life significantly more complicated.
“It means my handler identity isn’t Timothy Drake.”
Jason frowned.
“…Okay?”
“I’m using one of my alternate identities.”
Steph’s grin grew wider.
Dick leaned toward Barbara.
“Which one?”
Barbara’s eyes widened in realization.
“…Oh.”
“Oh?” Dick echoed.
Bruce closed his eyes.
“No.”
Tim smiled.
The smile was tiny.
Almost imperceptible.
Which, for Tim, meant he was positively beaming.
“I’m bringing Vanessa.”
Jason blinked.
“…Vanessa?”
Steph immediately started cackling.
“Oh, this is going to be so much worse than I thought.”
Jason looked around the room.
“…Can somebody tell me why everyone looks terrified?”
“No,” Bruce answered flatly.
“Because if we explain it now…”
He sighed the sigh of a man who knew he was about to regret every decision that had led him to this moment.
“…you’ll never agree to the mission.”
—
And so began two weeks of absolute hell.
Not because of the mission.
The mission itself was straightforward. Gather evidence, earn the organizers’ trust, identify the leadership, and signal Batman when enough had been collected.
Easy.
Living together was the problem.
The safe house wasn’t particularly small, but it suddenly felt microscopic.
They shared a kitchen.
A living room.
One bathroom.
Every awkward silence echoed off the walls.
Every accidental brush of shoulders in the hallway lingered just a little too long.
Every meal became a carefully orchestrated dance of avoiding eye contact while pretending the other wasn’t sitting three feet away.
Jason took late patrols to avoid being home.
Tim buried himself in mission files until three in the morning to avoid sleeping.
Neither strategy worked.
Three days into the mission, Tim emerged from his bedroom in full disguise.
Jason happened to be walking out of the kitchen.
He stopped dead.
Tim’s cover identity was named Vanessa.
He’d expected a wig.
Maybe different clothes.
He had not expected…
…this.
A floor-length navy-blue dress hugged Tim’s frame before falling in elegant folds to the floor. A slit climbed from mid-thigh to just above the ankle, revealing flashes of toned leg whenever he walked. The fabric was understated enough not to draw unnecessary attention, yet expensive-looking enough to imply quiet wealth.
Long black hair cascaded over one shoulder in soft waves.
The makeup was almost imperceptible.
Just enough contour to soften the angles of Tim’s face, enough mascara to make his eyes seem larger, enough color to warm his lips.
It didn’t disguise him so much as…
Reveal someone else.
Someone poised.
Elegant.
Dangerously beautiful.
Jason forgot how to breathe.
His brain, normally capable of processing complex combat scenarios in fractions of a second, produced exactly one coherent thought.
Holy shit.
Tim noticed him staring.
His stomach immediately sank.
Of course.
Jason was trying to figure out everything that looked ridiculous.
The wig.
The dress.
The makeup.
He’d overdone it.
“This is stupid,” Tim thought miserably.
Jason, meanwhile, had completely stopped listening to his own internal monologue.
Without consciously deciding to, he walked forward until he was standing directly in front of Tim.
Close enough to catch the faint scent of expensive perfume layered over Tim’s usual coffee-and-paper smell.
Close enough to notice the tiny beauty mark just beneath his jaw that the makeup hadn’t quite concealed.
If anyone else had been present…
Dick.
Steph.
Barbara.
Literally anyone with functioning eyesight…
…they would have immediately informed Jason that he was looking at Tim with an expression usually reserved for romance novels.
Tim only saw scrutiny.
He fought the urge to tug self-consciously at the slit of the dress.
“…What?”
His practiced voice slipped into the higher, softer cadence Vanessa used.
“What?”
Jason blinked.
Right.
Words.
He needed words.
Instead of the approximately twelve compliments trying to escape his mouth, the only thing his brain managed to assemble was,
“…You clean up nice.”
Tim froze.
For one impossible second, hope flared.
Then his common sense stamped on it.
Jason was just being polite.
Because Jason was kind like that.
“…Oh.”
Tim’s cheeks warmed despite himself.
“Thanks.”
Jason immediately wanted to kick himself.
“You clean up nice?”
That was the best he had?
He’d just seen the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on, and he’d sounded like a middle-aged dad complimenting someone’s new suit.
Tim smiled anyway.
It was small.
Shy.
Barely there.
Jason’s heart did something deeply concerning.
Tim looked away first so Jason wouldn’t see how desperately he wished the compliment meant more.
Jason looked away a second later because if he kept staring, he was liable to say something catastrophically honest.
Neither noticed that, for just a heartbeat, they’d both been smiling.
—
The night before the mission was scheduled to end, the safe house felt strangely quiet.
The evidence had been gathered.
Batman would move in tomorrow night.
After that…
They’d go home.
Which should have been a relief.
Instead, Jason couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his chest.
He’d gotten used to this.
Breakfasts in the tiny kitchen.
Tim asleep over mission files at two in the morning.
Watching Vanessa effortlessly charm information out of suspects before quietly becoming Tim again the second they walked through the front door.
Tomorrow, it would all be over.
He wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
Tim was rinsing out a coffee mug when Jason finally spoke.
“Tim.”
Tim turned immediately.
Jason always managed to capture his full attention with a single word.
It was a habit Tim had never noticed he’d developed.
“What’s up?”
Jason hesitated.
There were a thousand things he wanted to say.
I’m going to miss this.
I like living with you.
You’re the first person I’ve wanted to come home to in years.
I’m in love with you.
Instead, all of those feelings tangled together somewhere between his heart and his mouth until only one painfully inadequate word escaped.
“…This…”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“…was nice.”
Tim blinked.
His heart lurched painfully.
Oh.
Jason was talking about the mission.
The undercover assignment.
Living together.
It had been… nice.
But it was over now.
Jason was just politely acknowledging that they’d worked well as partners.
Nothing more.
“Oh.”
Tim swallowed.
“Yeah.”
He forced a small smile.
“It was no problem.”
The words left his mouth.
Tim immediately wanted to throw himself into Gotham Harbor.
No problem?
Really?
That was what he’d chosen?
Not I’m going to miss this.
Not I liked being here with you.
Not I wish we had more time.
Just…
No problem.
Jason’s breath caught.
That…
That was more than he’d expected.
Tim hadn’t brushed him off.
Hadn’t looked uncomfortable.
Hadn’t immediately changed the subject.
It was no problem.
Which meant Tim hadn’t hated living with him.
It was such a small thing.
Such an ordinary sentence.
And yet Jason found himself treasuring it anyway.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
The silence wasn’t awkward.
Just…
Heavy.
Filled with everything they wanted to say and neither could.
Finally, Tim cleared his throat.
“We should probably get some sleep.”
“Yeah.”
Jason nodded.
“Big day tomorrow.”
Tim offered him one last smile before disappearing down the hallway toward his room.
Jason watched until the bedroom door clicked shut.
“…Coward,” he muttered to himself.
Down the hall, Tim leaned back against his own bedroom door and let out a long, defeated sigh.
“…Idiot.”
Neither clarified which one they meant. The answer, unfortunately, was both of them.
—
After spending two weeks trapped in a safe house together, Jason had developed a dangerous habit.
He called Tim.
Not for emergencies.
Not because Bruce ordered him to.
Just… because.
Sometimes it was to ask if Tim had seen one of his knives.
Sometimes it was to complain about Dick.
Once it had been because he couldn’t remember Alfred’s cookie recipe and refused to admit defeat by asking Alfred directly.
Tim always answered.
Jason tried very hard not to think about how much he looked forward to hearing Tim’s voice.
A month after the mission ended, Jason found himself leaning against his motorcycle outside a nightclub in Burnley, staring at the neon sign with open irritation.
The stakeout was simple enough.
There was a human trafficking ring using the club to recruit victims.
Unfortunately, there was one problem.
Jason looked exactly like the kind of man who attracted attention.
Women flirted.
Men flirted.
Bartenders flirted.
One memorable occasion had involved an eighty-year-old grandmother pinching his arm and asking if he was single.
It made surveillance…
Difficult.
He needed someone to make him look unavailable.
Before he could overthink it, Jason scrolled through his contacts.
Baby Bird.
His thumb hovered for exactly half a second before pressing call.
The phone rang once.
“Hey, Jason.”
Jason smiled without realizing it.
“Hey, Baby Bird.”
Tim smiled too.
Jason couldn’t see it.
“Need something?”
“I need a favor.”
“You’ve got it.”
No hesitation.
No questions.
Just immediate agreement.
Jason’s smile widened.
“I need a date to this club I’m staking out tonight.”
Silence.
Then—
“…A date?”
Tim’s voice cracked spectacularly on the last word.
Jason’s smile disappeared.
Shit.
That had been a terrible idea.
Of course Tim didn’t want people thinking they were dating.
God, what had he been thinking?
He rushed to fix it.
“It’s okay if you can’t,” Jason interrupted before Tim had a chance to answer. “Seriously. I can ask Dick or Roy or—”
“No!”
The word came out so fast that Jason blinked.
Tim cleared his throat.
“I mean…”
His voice became noticeably quieter.
“I can.”
Jason frowned.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“I’d…”
Tim stared at the wall of his apartment, cheeks burning.
He was being asked on a date.
It wasn’t a real date.
He knew that.
Obviously.
But Jason had used the word.
Jason had called him first.
Jason wanted him.
Even if it was only for a mission.
“I’d love to help,” Tim finished softly.
Jason let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You sure?”
Tim laughed quietly.
“I’m sure.”
Jason couldn’t stop smiling.
“Thanks, Baby Bird.”
Tim’s heart performed an impressive series of gymnastics.
“…Anytime.”
They hung up a minute later after discussing logistics.
Jason slipped his phone back into his jacket.
Maybe…
Maybe Tim didn’t mind pretending.
Across Gotham, Tim stared at the dark screen of his phone for a long moment before slowly lowering it.
Jason had asked him.
Not Dick.
Not Roy.
Him.
It wasn’t real.
He knew it wasn’t.
But for one evening…
Tim got to pretend to be Jason Todd’s date.
He would take what he could get.
—
After a month and a half, both Jason and Tim had completely forgotten about the internet’s brief collective obsession with the idea that Red Hood and Tim Drake were secretly dating.
The internet, however, had not.
Tim was running late.
A board meeting had gone twenty minutes over schedule, another executive had cornered him with questions about next quarter’s projections, and he’d only escaped Wayne Enterprises by promising to answer the remaining emails before midnight.
He hadn’t even had time to change properly.
Instead of one of his carefully crafted undercover outfits, he was still dressed like Gotham’s favorite billionaire heir.
Tailored charcoal slacks.
A crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.
The top button undone.
His tie stuffed hastily into one pocket.
He looked expensive.
Which, admittedly, fit the clientele of the club.
Jason spotted him the second he walked through the door.
He was sitting alone in a secluded booth near the back, dressed in dark jeans, a fitted black Henley beneath his leather jacket, and his domino mask instead of the Red Hood helmet.
To anyone paying attention…
It was obvious who he was.
Tim crossed the room without hesitation.
Jason instinctively shifted over, making room beside him.
Tim slid into the booth, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
Neither of them thought twice about it.
After weeks of living together during the undercover assignment, personal space had quietly stopped existing between them.
“You look tired,” Jason observed.
“I am.”
“You eat today?”
Tim gave him a look.
“…Coffee counts.”
“It absolutely does not.”
“It has calories.”
“It has caffeine.”
“Caffeine is basically nutrition.”
Jason snorted.
“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all week.”
“I’ve been in meetings all day. My standards are low.”
Jason chuckled.
Without thinking, he reached across the table and nudged a basket of fries toward Tim.
“Eat.”
Tim rolled his eyes.
“…You’re bossy.”
“And you’re impossible.”
Tim stole a fry anyway.
Neither noticed.
Several other people in the club did.
One woman at the bar froze halfway through lifting her drink.
“…No way.”
Her friend followed her gaze.
“…Is that…”
“The Red Hood?”
“…With Tim Drake?”
Across the room, Jason leaned closer to mutter something under his breath.
Tim stared at him for exactly two seconds before dissolving into genuine laughter.
Not the polite corporate laugh he reserved for shareholders.
Not the carefully measured smile he wore for cameras.
A real laugh.
Bright.
Warm.
Completely unguarded.
Jason grinned automatically.
His entire expression softened.
Someone at a nearby table quietly raised their phone.
Another followed.
Then another.
None of them were particularly interested in Gotham’s vigilantes.
But everyone remembered.
The blurry photographs.
The explosion.
The months of increasingly elaborate conspiracy threads.
One person whispered,
“Holy shit.”
Another whispered back,
“I told you they were together.”
By the time Tim and Jason left forty minutes later, the photos had already been uploaded.
The first TikTok appeared before they’d even reached Jason’s motorcycle.
The first Twitter post hit five minutes after that.
The Reddit thread followed almost immediately.
This time, there were no blurry security cameras.
No grainy photographs.
No impossible-to-decipher screenshots.
There was crisp, high-definition video.
A masked Red Hood smiling—a genuine, unmistakably fond smile—as Tim Drake laughed at something he’d whispered.
Another clip caught Jason sliding food across the table toward Tim.
A third showed Tim absentmindedly straightening Jason’s jacket collar before realizing what he’d done.
The internet reacted exactly as expected.
It lost its collective mind.
Again.
Only this time…
Even the skeptics were beginning to run out of alternative explanations.
—
After the club, Jason took one look at the half-empty basket of fries Tim had picked at and made a face.
“That’s all you ate?”
Tim looked up innocently.
“…Maybe.”
Jason sighed.
“Baby Bird.”
“What?”
“You are not surviving on fries and caffeine.”
“I’ve survived on less.”
“I know.”
Jason sounded genuinely annoyed by that fact.
“Which is exactly why you’re coming with me.”
Tim blinked.
“…Where?”
“My apartment.”
Tim’s heart skipped.
“Oh.”
Jason was already walking toward his motorcycle.
“I’m making dinner.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.”
Jason glanced over his shoulder.
“I’m doing it anyway.”
Tim found himself sitting at Jason’s tiny kitchen table twenty minutes later.
Jason moved around the kitchen with an ease that fascinated him.
He chopped vegetables while carrying on half a conversation.
He tasted the sauce straight from the wooden spoon before deciding it needed more garlic.
He hummed quietly to himself when he thought Tim wasn’t paying attention.
Tim watched the entire thing.
Jason eventually looked over.
“…You’re staring.”
“I know.”
“…Why?”
Tim shrugged.
“I’ve never actually seen you cook.”
Jason laughed.
“I cook all the time.”
“I know.”
“I just…”
Tim smiled faintly.
“I’ve never seen it.”
Jason’s ears turned slightly pink.
He looked back at the stove.
“…You’re weird.”
“I’ve been told.”
Dinner stretched longer than either of them intended.
One conversation became another.
The mission in the Narrows.
Dick’s latest attempt at convincing Damian to watch Disney movies.
Whether Alfred’s cookies counted as a controlled substance because of how addictive they were.
By the time the dishes were done, it was nearly midnight.
Jason glanced at the clock.
“…You’re not driving back.”
Tim looked out the window.
Rain hammered against the glass.
“…It’s only thirty minutes.”
“In this?”
“I’ve driven in worse.”
“I know.”
Jason folded his arms.
“You’re staying.”
Tim hesitated.
He really should go home.
He had work in the morning.
His apartment was perfectly safe.
…
“…Okay.”
The word escaped before he could stop it.
Jason smiled.
“I’ll grab you a blanket.”
Tim didn’t even pretend to argue.
They talked until nearly two in the morning.
At some point the movie Jason had put on became little more than background noise.
Conversation drifted lazily from books to cases to childhood memories neither of them usually shared.
Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this…
Comfortable.
When exhaustion finally caught up with him, Jason tossed him a spare T-shirt and pointed toward the guest room.
“Night, Baby Bird.”
“…Night, Jay.”
Jason froze for half a second.
Tim had already disappeared down the hallway before realizing what he’d said.
His eyes widened.
Jay?
He buried his face in the pillow.
“…Fantastic.”
Morning arrived far too quickly.
Jason insisted on driving Tim to Wayne Enterprises.
“It’ll save time.”
Tim suspected Jason simply wanted to make sure he actually ate the breakfast currently sitting in a paper bag on his lap.
They talked the entire drive.
Nothing important.
Everything important.
By the time they pulled up outside Wayne Tower, neither of them was particularly eager for the conversation to end.
Jason put the car in park.
“Try to eat lunch today.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Tim.”
“I’ll eat lunch.”
“Good.”
An awkward silence settled between them.
Neither moved.
Eventually Tim smiled.
“…Thanks.”
Jason smiled back.
“Anytime.”
Tim climbed out of the car.
Jason waited until both of Tim’s feet were on the sidewalk before pulling away into traffic.
Neither of them noticed the photographers parked across the street.
Neither noticed the telephoto lenses.
Neither noticed the pictures of Gotham’s most eligible billionaire climbing out of Jason Todd’s truck after spending the night together.
Tim had barely reached the front steps of Wayne Enterprises when chaos erupted.
“Mr. Drake!”
“Tim!”
“Is it true you’re dating Red Hood?”
“How long have you two been together?”
“Were you together last night?”
“Did you spend the night with Red Hood?”
“Was that Red Hood that just dropped you off?”
“Mr. Drake, can you comment on the photographs?”
Tim stopped dead.
His blood ran cold.
“…What?”
Cameras flashed from every direction.
Microphones were shoved toward his face.
Someone held up a phone displaying a headline that hadn’t existed five minutes earlier.
TIM DRAKE SPENDS THE NIGHT WITH RED HOOD—SECRET ROMANCE CONFIRMED?
Tim stared at the screen.
Then at the reporters.
Then back at the headline.
Very, very slowly…
He realized the internet had found him again.
And this time…
They had receipts.
—
Thankfully, Tim Drake had always been exceptionally quick on his feet.
Unfortunately…
The fastest lie was also the one most likely to make Jason never speak to him again.
Tim could already picture it.
Jason would hear the interview.
Realize Tim had publicly denied dating him.
Feel humiliated.
And never answer another one of Tim’s calls.
Tim would have to apologize.
Profusely.
Probably with coffee.
Maybe baked goods.
Definitely baked goods.
The reporters were already shouting over each other.
“Mr. Drake!”
“Are you dating Red Hood?”
“Did you spend the night together?”
“Was that Red Hood who dropped you off?”
Tim raised both hands.
The practiced, polished Wayne smile slipped effortlessly into place.
Calm.
Collected.
Just amused enough to suggest the whole thing was ridiculous.
“I am not dating the Red Hood.”
A collective murmur swept through the crowd.
Tim continued before anyone could interrupt.
“Hood has saved my life multiple times. Over the course of him saving me, we’ve become friends.”
That much, at least, was true.
“Yes,” Tim said, nodding toward the street where Jason’s truck had disappeared, “that was my boyfriend who dropped me off this morning.”
Every camera flashed at once.
Tim ignored them.
“No, I won’t be identifying him.”
His smile sharpened ever so slightly.
“He values his privacy, and I ask that you respect that.”
Another dozen questions erupted.
Tim talked over them.
“And, in the interest of putting an end to this rather creative theory that I’m secretly dating Red Hood…”
He chuckled politely.
“…I’ll speak with my boyfriend tonight about announcing our relationship publicly.”
Satisfied that he’d redirected the conversation away from Jason’s vigilante identity, Tim gave one last courteous smile.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do actually have a company to run.”
He walked through the revolving doors without breaking stride.
The second they closed behind him…
“…Oh no.”
By the time Tim reached his office on the top floor of Wayne Enterprises, social media had already evolved beyond anything he could have anticipated.
He opened the first headline.
Then the second.
Then slowly lowered his phone.
“…How.”
His assistant wisely backed out of the office without saying a word.
Tim looked back down.
TIM DRAKE CONFIRMS SECRET BOYFRIEND.
Reasonable.
WHO STOLE GOTHAM’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR’S HEART?
Also reasonable.
Then—
TIM DRAKE ALLEGEDLY ENGAGED AFTER CALLING MYSTERY MAN HIS “BOYFRIEND.”
“…Engaged?”
He hadn’t even—
The next headline was somehow worse.
IS TIM DRAKE CHEATING ON HIS FIANCÉ WITH RED HOOD?
Tim stared at it for a solid ten seconds.
“…I’m…”
Another article loaded.
LOVE TRIANGLE? TIM DRAKE SEEN LEAVING RED HOOD’S APARTMENT HOURS BEFORE ADMITTING TO SECRET RELATIONSHIP.
“…Cheating…”
Another.
WHO IS THE MYSTERY FIANCÉ?
“…On…”
Another.
RED HOOD HOMEWRECKER?
Tim dropped his forehead onto his desk.
“…Jason.”
He was, somehow…
Cheating on Jason.
With Jason.
Despite the fact that he wasn’t dating Jason.
His phone rang.
No.
Steph.
Tim called Steph.
She answered before the first ring had even fully finished.
She was already laughing.
Not giggling.
Not chuckling.
Full-body, wheezing laughter.
Tim waited patiently.
“…Done?”
“No.”
Another fit of laughter.
“Now?”
“…Still no.”
Tim sighed.
“Okay, so Jason dropped me off at work because I helped him stake out a club last night.”
Steph snorted.
“Which,” Tim continued with the patience of a saint, “is where the pictures came from.”
“Mhm.”
“I panicked.”
“You did.”
“And I told the press I was dating Jason.”
Steph completely lost it.
Tim could hear something hit the floor.
“I’m not finished.”
She laughed harder.
“But now…”
Tim pinched the bridge of his nose.
“…Apparently I’m engaged to a mysterious man…”
A gasp for air echoed through the phone.
“…And cheating on him with Red Hood.”
Steph was making sounds that no longer resembled human language.
“In essence,” Tim deadpanned, “I’m cheating on Jason…”
He closed his eyes.
“…With Jason.”
Silence.
Then Steph started laughing so hard she accidentally hung up on him.
Across town, Steph immediately opened the second family group chat. The one without Jason or Tim.
Without a word of explanation, she typed a single message.
Looks like fake dating is covered, courtesy of Tim Drake.
Dick responded in less than five seconds.
HE WHAT???
Barbara:
I’m afraid to ask.
Damian:
Drake continues to exceed my expectations for incompetence.
Bruce simply sent:
…
Steph smiled to herself.
One trope down.
Several dozen to go.
—
Tim spent the rest of the day avoiding one thing.
Calling Jason.
He answered emails.
He sat through three meetings.
He signed enough paperwork to bankrupt a small forest.
He reorganized his calendar twice.
He even willingly listened to Lucius explain quarterly projections.
Anything to avoid making the phone call.
Eventually, however, there were no more excuses.
It was nearly six.
He was alone in the CEO’s office.
Tim stared at Jason’s contact for a long moment.
Jay.
“…Please don’t hate me.”
He pressed call.
The phone rang exactly once.
“Hi, Baby Bird.”
Jason sounded entirely too cheerful.
Tim’s stomach twisted.
There was laughter hiding in his voice.
“Got something to tell me?”
Tim buried his face in one hand.
“Oh my God.”
Jason laughed outright.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I’m so sorry.”
The words tumbled out in one frantic rush.
“I panicked, they were asking if you were Red Hood and I couldn’t exactly say yes, and I couldn’t say no because then they’d keep digging, and the first thing that came into my head was that I wasn’t dating Red Hood because I had a boyfriend, and then I said we’d announce the relationship, and now apparently I’m engaged and cheating on my fiancé with you, and—”
He stopped long enough to inhale.
“I’m really, really sorry.”
Jason was silent for exactly three seconds.
Then—
“No can do, Baby Bird.”
Tim blinked.
“…What?”
“I already bought a ring.”
Tim’s brain stopped.
Completely.
A…
Ring?
Jason continued before Tim could recover.
“Way too funny to pass up.”
He was laughing now.
“I mean, c’mon. The internet skipped straight from boyfriend to fiancé. We might as well commit to the bit.”
Tim was no longer processing English.
A ring.
Jason had bought…
A ring.
His heart was trying very hard to escape through his throat.
On the other end of the line, Jason’s smile slowly faltered.
“…Baby Bird?”
Silence.
“…Tim?”
Jason winced.
Too far.
He’d pushed too far.
It had been a joke.
Mostly.
Okay…
Maybe not entirely.
Maybe there really was a ring sitting in the top drawer of his dresser.
Not because he’d ever expected to use it.
Just because, years ago, he’d seen it in a pawn shop window and, for one stupid, hopeless moment, wondered what Tim would think of it.
He’d bought it on impulse.
It had lived in that drawer ever since.
Tim would never know that.
Jason leaned back in his chair.
He was selfish.
He knew he was.
If Tim wanted to fake-date him for a few weeks to throw off the press…
Jason would take it.
He would take movie nights disguised as “maintaining appearances.”
He would take holding Tim’s hand in public because the cameras were watching.
He would take pretending.
Because pretending was infinitely better than having nothing at all.
“…Baby Bird?”
Tim’s brain finally rebooted.
Not gracefully.
More like a computer that had blue-screened and come back with several important files missing.
His thoughts immediately jumped to logistics.
“The public knows Jason Todd died.”
Jason blinked.
“…Yeah?”
“If we’re dating Jason Todd…”
Tim was already pacing his office.
“…We’ll have to bring you back from the dead.”
Jason stared at his phone.
Then burst into helpless laughter.
Of all the possible responses—
Not Are you serious?
Not That’s a terrible idea.
Not Absolutely not.
Tim’s first concern had been…
The paperwork.
“Oh my God,” Jason wheezed. “You actually started planning.”
Tim stopped pacing.
“…I did, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
A pause.
“…You know…”
Jason couldn’t quite keep the smile out of his voice.
“We’re having a very different conversation than I expected.”
Tim frowned.
“…We are?”
“I thought you were calling to yell at me.”
“I thought you were going to yell at me.”
“…Why would I yell at you?”
“…Why would you yell at me?”
Neither answered.
Because the real answers—
Because I thought you’d hate pretending to date me.
Because I thought you’d hate being publicly tied to me.
—were far too dangerous to say aloud.
Instead, Jason laughed again.
“So…”
“So?”
“You really think we can convince Gotham Jason Todd isn’t dead anymore?”
Tim adjusted his glasses.
“I own the company that forged Bruce Wayne’s death certificate.”
Jason blinked.
“…Right.”
“I can absolutely fix your legal status.”
“…Baby Bird?”
“Yes?”
“…You’re terrifying.”
Tim smiled.
“I’ve heard that before.”
Jason smiled too, even though Tim couldn’t see it.
“So…”
“So…”
“You wanna fake-date?”
Tim’s heart nearly stopped.
“…Sure.”
It came out far too quickly.
Jason grinned.
“Great.”
Neither of them realized they’d just agreed to exactly what Steph had been trying to orchestrate all along.
—
Later that night found Jason sitting in the Nest, quietly watching Tim bring him back from the dead.
It was… surreal.
Tim had commandeered one of the larger worktables, surrounding himself with stacks of legal forms, forged records, old Wayne Foundation documents, and approximately six cups of coffee in various stages of being consumed.
His laptop displayed three different government databases.
Another monitor contained a family tree.
A fourth was filled with Jason Todd’s death certificate.
Which Tim was quietly making disappear.
“I can amend the coroner’s report…” Tim muttered more to himself than anyone else. “That creates inconsistencies with the police records…”
He scribbled another note.
“…Unless we classify the original remains as misidentified…”
Jason had stopped pretending to understand half an hour ago.
“You know,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “I was dead for, like, three years.”
“Mhm.”
“And you’re fixing it with paperwork.”
“Mhm.”
“I think that’s somehow more terrifying.”
Tim hummed absently.
Jason smiled.
He liked watching Tim work.
There was something mesmerizing about it.
Tim disappeared into problems the way other people disappeared into books.
He chewed lightly on the end of a pen while thinking.
His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose.
His tie had long since vanished.
The sleeves of his button-up were rolled to his elbows.
He looked…
Comfortable.
Jason’s hand drifted into his jacket pocket.
The ring box was still there.
He’d carried it around all evening.
Not because he planned to actually…
Well.
Maybe he’d planned to.
Maybe not.
It had started as a joke.
Now they were fake dating.
Tim was literally resurrecting Jason Todd on paper so the story would make sense.
The least Jason could do was make the engagement look convincing.
…Right?
His stomach twisted.
What if Tim hated it?
What if it looked too expensive?
Too ornate?
Too much?
He’d bought it years ago because it had reminded him of Tim.
The vines.
The leaves.
Growing despite impossible circumstances.
It had seemed…
Appropriate.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
“Tim.”
“Hm?”
Tim didn’t look up.
Jason laughed quietly.
“Baby Bird.”
That got his attention.
Tim turned in his chair.
“Yeah?”
Jason took a slow breath.
Then another.
Before he could lose his nerve, he pulled a small black velvet box from his pocket.
“Here.”
Tim blinked.
Jason held it out.
“…This is yours.”
Tim stared at the box.
His heart started pounding.
Slowly…
Almost reverently…
He accepted it.
His fingers brushed Jason’s for the briefest moment.
Jason’s breath caught.
Tim didn’t notice.
He was too busy trying to convince himself not to read into this.
It’s for appearances.
It’s fake.
He’s making the engagement believable.
His hands were shaking anyway.
Very carefully, he opened the lid.
Inside rested a silver band unlike anything Tim had expected.
It wasn’t flashy.
It wasn’t oversized.
It was…
Beautiful.
Delicate silver vines wrapped around the band, intertwining so naturally they looked as though they’d grown together rather than been forged. Tiny leaves branched from either side, each one paved with deep forest-green emeralds edged in black onyx that made the stones seem even richer.
It was elegant.
Quiet.
Alive.
Tim forgot to breathe.
“It’s…”
His voice failed him.
Jason watched him carefully.
“I saw it a few years ago.”
Tim looked up.
Jason shrugged, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the floor.
“It reminded me of you.”
Tim’s world stopped.
“…Me?”
Jason nodded once.
“Strong.”
Another shrug.
“Stubborn.”
His lips twitched into a small smile.
“Refuses to die.”
Tim laughed before he could stop himself.
It came out suspiciously wet.
Jason looked up immediately.
“…You okay?”
Tim swallowed hard, blinking rapidly.
“It’s beautiful.”
He looked back down at the ring.
“I’ve…”
His thumb brushed over one tiny emerald leaf.
“…I’ve never been given jewelry before.”
Jason’s heart squeezed painfully.
“Well.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Figured if we’re pretending to be engaged…”
His voice softened.
“…You deserved a ring worth pretending with.”
Tim couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.
Worth pretending with.
His chest ached.
Because Jason had somehow, accidentally, picked exactly the ring Tim would have chosen himself.
If this was pretending…
Tim wasn’t sure his heart was going to survive the real thing.
—
Tim did not warn Bruce.
In hindsight, he probably should have.
Instead, at precisely 8:17 the following morning, Bruce Wayne received an email containing thirty-seven attachments, four legal briefs, two sworn affidavits, and enough corroborating evidence to convince Gotham that Jason Todd had never died in the first place.
According to the carefully crafted narrative Tim had spent all night constructing, the Gotham Gazette had misidentified a body years ago, published the story before the investigation was complete, and every subsequent outlet had simply repeated the mistake.
Jason Todd had, in reality, survived.
He had spent years recovering from catastrophic injuries away from the public eye and had only recently returned to Gotham.
It was airtight.
It was horrifying.
Bruce read the entire thing in silence.
Then he picked up his phone.
“…Tim.”
“Yes?”
“You forged approximately twelve years of medical records.”
“I prefer the term reconstructed.”
“You fabricated testimony from three retired doctors.”
“They exist.”
“One of them lives in Switzerland.”
“He emailed me.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.
“…I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“…Tim.”
“They were happy to help.”
Bruce sighed.
“…I’m not asking another question.”
“Good choice.”
Two hours later, Wayne Enterprises released an official statement.
The Gotham Gazette issued a public correction.
Every major news outlet in Gotham picked up the story.
Then every national outlet did.
Then international media.
The internet reacted exactly as it always did.
Poorly.
JASON TODD ALIVE AFTER YEARS OF FALSE REPORTS.
GOTHAM GAZETTE FACES BACKLASH OVER HISTORIC ERROR.
WHO IS JASON TODD? THE MAN WHO RETURNED FROM THE DEAD.
Conspiracy theorists declared victory.
Half of Gotham demanded lawsuits.
The other half demanded interviews.
Within forty-eight hours, reporters had begun staking out Jason’s apartment.
Paparazzi followed his truck.
Photos of Jason grocery shopping somehow accumulated over two hundred thousand likes.
Someone started a fan account dedicated entirely to pictures of Jason looking annoyed.
Jason hated every second of it.
Three weeks later…
He was also hungry.
“You’ve eaten one protein bar today.”
Tim looked up from the spreadsheet open on his tablet.
“It was a large protein bar.”
“It was not.”
“It was…”
Tim frowned thoughtfully.
“…Average.”
Jason snorted.
“Get in the truck.”
“I’m working.”
“You can work while chewing.”
“I don’t think that’s OSHA compliant.”
“I don’t care.”
Tim sighed dramatically.
“…Fine.”
The diner they’d chosen was tucked away in Crime Alley.
Small.
Quiet.
The kind of place where Alfred had once declared the pie “acceptable,” which was about the highest praise any establishment in Gotham could hope to receive.
Jason slid into the booth opposite Tim.
“No laptop.”
Tim looked offended.
“But—”
“No.”
“My tablet?”
Jason held out a hand.
Tim reluctantly surrendered it.
“…You’re a tyrant.”
“I’m keeping you alive.”
The waitress arrived.
Jason ordered for both of them before Tim could claim he “wasn’t that hungry.”
Tim complained exactly once.
Then immediately stole one of Jason’s fries.
Jason didn’t even pretend to mind.
Across the street…
A photographer nearly dropped his camera.
“…Holy shit.”
His partner followed his gaze.
“…Is that Jason Todd?”
“…With Tim Drake.”
Inside the diner, Jason was saying something with entirely too much enthusiasm involving Dick, an exploding toaster, and a smoke detector.
Tim laughed.
Not politely.
Not quietly.
He threw his head back, one hand coming up instinctively to cover his mouth.
Sunlight poured through the diner window.
It caught the silver vine wrapped around Tim’s ring finger.
The emerald leaves flashed brilliantly.
Click.
The photographer froze.
“…Did you get that?”
“I got all of it.”
Click.
Another picture.
Jason was smiling at Tim.
Not the practiced smile he’d started using for interviews.
Not the crooked smirk he wore during patrol.
Something softer.
Warmer.
Entirely unguarded.
Click.
Tim reached across the table to steal another fry.
Jason slapped his hand away.
Tim did it anyway.
They were both laughing now.
Click.
The ring caught the light again.
By the time Jason and Tim finished lunch, the first photos had already been uploaded.
The top caption simply read:
Either these two are the world’s most committed fake engagement… or they’re actually disgustingly in love.
The comments were immediate.
I KNEW IT.
LOOK AT HOW HE’S STARING AT HIM.
THAT IS NOT HOW FRIENDS LOOK AT EACH OTHER.
I’ve seen less chemistry in actual romance movies.
Didn’t Tim literally say they were engaged?
Yeah, and somehow this is still the least unbelievable part of the story.
Back in the Batcave, Steph opened the post.
She looked at the photos.
Then at Dick.
Then back at the photos.
“…”
Dick leaned over her shoulder.
“…”
They both slowly turned toward Bruce.
Steph grinned.
“…I think we’re entering the ‘there was only one bed’ phase naturally.”
Bruce didn’t even look up from the case file he was reading.
“They’re doing an excellent job without our interference.”
Dick smiled.
“They’re basically fake dating for real.”
Bruce sighed.
“They’ve been real dating fake for weeks.”
No one disagreed.
—
Stephanie Brown, unfortunately, had never learned the valuable life lesson of leaving well enough alone.
She had, in fact, learned the exact opposite.
If something was working…
Push it harder.
If two people were clearly in love…
Trap them together until they admitted it.
It was practically a civic duty.
After all, she’d only promised Bruce she’d stop interfering.
She’d never promised she’d stop helping.
“Absolutely not.”
Tim didn’t even look up from his laptop.
Steph ignored him.
“So, I was thinking—”
“Dangerous.”
“—you two need a vacation.”
“No.”
Jason, lounging on the Batcomputer platform with his boots kicked up on the railing, looked mildly intrigued.
“A vacation?”
“Yep.”
Steph grinned.
“The Maldives.”
Jason blinked.
“…The Maldives?”
“White beaches.”
“Mm.”
“Crystal-clear water.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“It was.”
Jason looked at Bruce.
Bruce very deliberately looked at literally anything else.
“…Bruce.”
Bruce cleared his throat.
“It came out of Stephanie’s discretionary budget.”
“I don’t have a discretionary budget.”
“You do now.”
Steph beamed.
“I approved it myself.”
Barbara muttered, “That’s not how budgets work.”
Steph chose not to hear her.
“You’ve both been working nonstop for months.”
She pointed at Tim.
“You’ve slept in your office three times this week.”
Tim looked offended.
“It was only twice.”
Jason snorted.
Steph pointed at him next.
“And Jason hasn’t punched a reporter…”
She checked her watch.
“…In almost forty-eight hours.”
“I’m showing remarkable restraint.”
“You threatened to throw one into Gotham Harbor.”
“He was climbing my fire escape.”
“Still.”
Steph folded her arms.
“You both need a break.”
Jason shrugged.
“She’s not wrong, Baby Bird.”
Tim slowly looked between the two of them.
He had a terrible feeling.
“…What’s the catch?”
Steph smiled.
Too brightly.
“There isn’t one.”
Dick immediately started coughing to hide a laugh.
Tim narrowed his eyes.
“…Stephanie.”
“What?”
“You have your lying smile.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I resent that.”
“You should.”
Steph sighed dramatically.
“Fine.”
“There is one tiny detail.”
Tim closed his eyes.
“I knew it.”
“It’s just…”
She waved her hand dismissively.
“…I booked the honeymoon package.”
Silence.
Jason blinked.
Tim stared.
Dick slid gracefully off his chair because he was laughing too hard to remain upright.
“…You…”
Tim said very carefully.
“…Booked…”
“Uh-huh.”
“…The honeymoon package.”
“Yep.”
Jason finally found his voice.
“…Steph.”
“What?”
“Why?”
“Because the regular package was sold out.”
Barbara looked at her flatly.
“Stephanie.”
“…And because it came with a private villa.”
Steph smiled innocently.
“…With one bedroom.”
Jason coughed.
Tim made a strangled noise.
“…One bedroom.”
“One very nice bedroom.”
“…Steph.”
“One king-sized bed.”
“…Stephanie Brown.”
“There might also be rose petals.”
Dick was wheezing so hard Alfred quietly handed him a glass of water.
Tim rubbed both hands over his face.
“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
“No.”
Steph’s smile could have powered Gotham for a week.
“Absolutely not.”
Jason looked between them.
Then shrugged.
“I mean…”
He glanced at Tim.
“If you’re uncomfortable, we can always ask Bruce to—”
“No.”
Bruce answered immediately.
Everyone looked at him.
Bruce slowly lowered the newspaper he’d been pretending to read.
“I’ve already approved the leave requests.”
Tim looked betrayed.
“You approved this?”
“I approved a vacation.”
Bruce paused.
“I did not ask Stephanie for the booking details.”
“You never ask enough questions,” Damian muttered.
Bruce ignored him.
Tim sighed the sigh of a man accepting his inevitable fate.
“…Fine.”
Steph very nearly vibrated out of her chair.
“Really?”
“I need a vacation.”
Jason nodded.
“And I do need to disappear for a bit.”
The media attention had become exhausting.
Every grocery trip became a news story.
Every coffee run ended with paparazzi.
Even going to Crime Alley to visit Catherine’s grave now required checking for photographers first.
A couple of weeks somewhere no one cared who Jason Todd was…
Actually sounded nice.
“Great!” Steph chirped.
“I’ll send you the itinerary.”
Tim accepted defeat.
He still knew Steph was planning something.
She was the only person in the world who knew the truth.
Years ago, after one particularly disastrous patrol, Tim had admitted—with great reluctance and several threats of bodily harm—that he was hopelessly in love with Jason Todd.
Steph had never let him forget it.
Which meant this vacation…
Was absolutely part of some scheme.
He just couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out how sending him and Jason to a tropical island benefited her.
Across the Cave, Steph discreetly opened the Batfamily group chat.
Operation: Only One Bed is officially a go.
Dick replied almost instantly.
I’M BUYING POPCORN.
Barbara:
You’re both terrible people.
Bruce waited exactly thirty seconds before replying.
Do not interfere once they’re there.
Steph smiled to herself.
No promises.
—
The flight had been long.
The boat ride from the airport to the private resort had been surprisingly peaceful.
For the first time in months, neither of them had been recognized.
No reporters.
No cameras.
No questions about Red Hood.
No speculation about Jason Todd’s miraculous return from the dead.
Just warm ocean air, impossibly blue water, and silence.
Tim hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until it all disappeared.
Their villa overlooked the ocean.
Floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto a private deck that seemed to hover over crystal-clear water. Gentle waves lapped against the stilts beneath the bungalow, and somewhere in the distance seabirds called to one another.
It was beautiful.
Jason whistled softly.
“…Okay.”
He looked around.
“I hate admitting it.”
Tim smiled.
“But Steph picked well?”
Jason nodded.
“…Steph picked really well.”
Tim laughed.
“I’ll make sure to tell her you complimented her.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I absolutely will.”
Jason pointed a finger at him.
“Traitor.”
Tim only laughed harder.
For a little while, everything felt…
Easy.
Then Jason opened the bedroom door.
He stopped.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Tim looked up from setting his suitcase down.
“What?”
Jason stepped aside.
Tim walked into the bedroom.
And immediately understood.
Stephanie Brown had not exaggerated.
There was one bed.
One enormous, luxurious, king-sized bed covered in white linens, flower petals artfully scattered across the comforter, and approximately fourteen decorative pillows no sane person would ever use.
A folded card sat neatly on top.
Congratulations on your honeymoon!
Tim slowly closed his eyes.
“…I’m going to kill her.”
Jason picked up the card.
“They left chocolate-covered strawberries.”
“…That doesn’t help.”
“They’re really good strawberries.”
Tim pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Jason.”
“I’m just saying.”
Jason looked around the rest of the villa.
No second bedroom.
No Murphy bed.
No hidden guest room.
Just…
One bed.
He sighed.
“I’ll take the couch.”
Tim looked over.
Jason shrugged like it was obvious.
“I’ll sleep on the couch, Baby Bird.”
He smiled casually.
“You need more sleep anyway.”
Tim’s heart squeezed painfully.
Even now.
Even after everything.
Jason’s first instinct was still to make sure Tim was comfortable.
Tim looked toward the living room.
The “couch” was beautiful.
It was also barely longer than Jason’s legs.
Absolutely not.
“It’s a king-size bed.”
Jason blinked.
Tim smiled, small and almost shy.
“We’ll both fit, Jason.”
His laugh was quiet.
Almost embarrassed.
Like he couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation.
Jason stared at him.
“…You sure?”
Tim nodded.
“It’s just sleeping.”
His heart, meanwhile, was trying to beat its way out of his chest.
It’s just sleeping.
Next to Jason.
In the same bed.
For a week.
Jason rubbed the back of his neck.
“If you’re sure…”
“I am.”
Jason smiled.
“Okay.”
Neither of them acknowledged that both of them had suddenly become intensely interested in unpacking.
Or that Jason spent far too long carefully folding clothes that absolutely did not need folding.
Or that Tim reorganized the minibar three separate times.
Anything…
Anything to avoid thinking about the fact that in just a few hours, they’d be sharing a bed.
Steph, if they survived this vacation, was absolutely going to owe them both therapy.
—
Three days into their eight-day vacation was when everything came crashing down.
Not because of the fake engagement.
Not because they were sharing a bed.
Not because the resort staff insisted on calling them Mr. and Mr. Todd.
No.
It happened because they each had one glass of wine too many with dinner.
Neither of them was drunk.
Bruce would have called them operational.
Barbara would have called them mildly impaired.
Dick would have called them adorable.
Steph would have called it exactly according to plan.
The resort restaurant overlooked the ocean.
The sun had long since disappeared beneath the horizon, leaving the water black and glassy beneath the moonlight.
A warm breeze drifted in off the sea.
Tim had actually relaxed.
Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that before.
Tim wasn’t checking his phone every thirty seconds.
He wasn’t answering emails under the table.
He wasn’t mentally working three cases at once.
He was just…
Here.
Laughing.
Talking.
Existing.
Jason couldn’t stop looking at him.
“So,” Tim asked, swirling the last of the wine in his glass, “what are you smiling about?”
Jason blinked.
“…I’m smiling?”
“You’ve been smiling at me for like five minutes.”
Jason hadn’t realized.
“…Sorry.”
Tim laughed softly.
“Don’t apologize.”
Jason looked away.
Then back.
The words had been sitting behind his teeth for years.
Usually he could keep them there.
Tonight…
His guard was lower than usual.
Tim picked up the dessert menu.
“…What do you think about—”
He stopped.
Jason was still looking at him.
Not just looking.
Looking.
Soft.
Open.
The way no one had ever looked at Tim before.
“What?” Tim asked, smiling despite himself.
Jason smiled back.
Completely helpless against it.
“You do something very…”
He laughed quietly.
“…Very Tim every five minutes.”
Tim tilted his head.
“…Is that a compliment?”
Jason didn’t think.
He just answered.
“I love you.”
Silence.
The world stopped.
Jason’s smile vanished.
His eyes widened.
Tim froze.
Neither of them breathed.
Jason’s brain finally caught up with his mouth.
…I said that out loud.
I said that out loud.
Oh God.
He was on his feet before Tim could even process what had happened.
“Jason—”
“Nope.”
Jason took one step backward.
“I—”
Another step.
“I should…”
He gestured vaguely toward absolutely nowhere.
“…Go.”
Then he turned and fled.
“Jason!”
Tim shot out of his chair so quickly it nearly tipped over.
People turned to stare.
He didn’t care.
“Jason, wait!”
Jason was already halfway across the resort.
Run.
That was the only coherent thought left in his head.
Run before Tim says no.
Run before he apologizes.
Run before he tells you he doesn’t feel the same way.
Anything but hearing the rejection.
Behind him, Tim broke into a jog.
“Jason!”
His voice cracked.
“Jason, stop!”
Jason kept going.
He reached the beach.
Sand slowed his steps, but panic kept carrying him forward.
“Jason!”
Tim finally caught his wrist.
Jason jerked to a stop.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The ocean rolled gently against the shore.
The only sound was both of them trying to catch their breath.
Jason still wasn’t looking at him.
“…I’m sorry.”
The words came out barely above a whisper.
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.”
Tim’s grip tightened just enough to stop Jason from pulling away.
“Please don’t apologize.”
Jason laughed bitterly.
“…Tim.”
“I mean it.”
Jason finally looked up.
Tim’s expression wasn’t horrified.
It wasn’t disgusted.
If anything…
He looked frightened.
Not of Jason.
For him.
Jason frowned.
“…You don’t have to let me down gently.”
Tim stared at him.
“…Let you…”
Very suddenly…
Very, very suddenly…
Tim realized exactly what Jason thought was happening.
“Oh.”
Jason misread the sound immediately.
“…Yeah.”
“I’ve been an idiot.”
“No.”
Jason smiled sadly.
“It’s okay.”
“It really isn’t.”
Jason gently tried to pull his hand free.
Tim refused to let go.
“Jason.”
“I’m not going to make this weird.”
“You already made it weird.”
“…Fair.”
“But not for the reason you think.”
Jason blinked.
“…What?”
Tim took one slow breath.
Because apparently someone had to be brave.
And if Jason had accidentally gone first…
Then maybe it was Tim’s turn.
“I was trying to stop you…”
He laughed once, incredulously.
“…Because I was going to say it back.”
Jason forgot how to breathe.
—
Then Jason kissed him.
Like a man who had spent years wandering a desert and had finally found water.
There was nothing hesitant about it.
Years of longing, of almosts and maybes, of stolen glances and swallowed words, poured into a single desperate kiss.
Tim kissed him back just as fiercely.
One hand buried itself in Jason’s hair while the other cupped his jaw, anchoring him there as though he was terrified Jason might disappear again.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless.
Jason rested his forehead against Tim’s.
His hands were trembling.
“Please…”
His voice cracked.
“Please don’t take it back.”
Tim’s heart shattered.
He closed the tiny distance between them, pressing another quick, impossibly gentle kiss to Jason’s lips.
“I have loved you for years, Jason Todd.”
Jason closed his eyes.
“For years?”
Tim laughed softly.
“I had a crush on Robin.”
Jason snorted.
“Which one?”
“You.”
Jason opened his eyes.
“…Me?”
“You.”
Tim smiled.
“It became a problem around the time you started stealing my coffee.”
“I’ve been stealing your coffee for years.”
“I know.”
“…Baby Bird.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re telling me we’ve both been idiots for years?”
Tim considered it.
“…Catastrophically.”
Jason laughed.
Then Tim laughed.
Eventually they were both laughing so hard they had to sit down in the sand.
The remaining five days of their vacation passed in a blur.
They held hands without pretending it was for the cameras.
Jason kissed Tim whenever the urge struck him.
Tim discovered Jason liked having his hair played with while they watched sunsets.
Jason discovered Tim unconsciously sought him out in his sleep, always waking curled against his side.
They learned each other’s habits.
Jason always reached for Tim’s hand when crossing busy streets.
Tim always stole food off Jason’s plate, even when he had ordered the exact same meal.
Jason read aloud while Tim answered the occasional work email.
Tim quietly reorganized Jason’s suitcase because Jason packed like a raccoon fleeing a natural disaster.
It was…
Easy.
Suspiciously easy.
Almost as though they’d already spent months slipping into the shape of a relationship without realizing it.
Fake dates.
Shared breakfasts.
Late-night phone calls.
Cooking dinner together.
Falling asleep under the same roof.
They hadn’t been learning how to love each other.
They’d been doing that for years.
They were only now allowing themselves to admit it.
Their final evening in the Maldives found them lying on the deck outside their villa.
The ocean stretched endlessly before them, moonlight dancing across gentle waves.
Tim was tucked against Jason’s side, one arm draped lazily over Jason’s waist.
Jason absentmindedly traced circles across the back of Tim’s hand.
Neither wanted the vacation to end.
Neither wanted tomorrow to come.
Tim broke the silence first.
“Marry me.”
Jason blinked.
“…What?”
Tim looked up.
His expression was completely serious.
“Marry me.”
A beat.
“For real this time.”
Jason couldn’t help smiling.
“What brought this on, Baby Bird?”
Tim looked back out at the water.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
“I wasted years.”
Jason’s smile faded.
“I loved you.”
Tim swallowed.
“You loved me.”
“We were both miserable.”
Another laugh escaped him.
“So much time.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t want to waste another second.”
Tim finally met Jason’s eyes.
“I don’t think I could stand it.”
Jason looked at him for a long moment.
At the man who had quietly resurrected him on paper.
Who had spent years believing his love would never be returned.
Who was now looking at him with all the hope in the world.
Jason reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from Tim’s face.
His smile was impossibly soft.
“Anything for you, Tim.”
The honesty in his voice stole what little breath Tim had left.
Jason leaned forward and kissed him.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
Like he had all the time in the world.
When they landed back in Gotham…
They didn’t go to Wayne Manor.
They didn’t go to Jason’s apartment.
They didn’t even unpack.
Jason looked over from the driver’s seat.
“So…”
Tim smiled.
“So.”
“The courthouse?”
Tim reached across the console and intertwined their fingers.
“The courthouse.”
Forty-five minutes later, with two very confused clerks, three signatures, and a justice of the peace who had absolutely no idea she was officiating Gotham’s most accidentally inevitable romance…
Tim Drake and Jason Todd became husbands.
Steph found out exactly eleven minutes later.
She screamed so loudly that Alfred dropped an entire tray of teacups.
Bruce looked up from his paperwork.
“What happened?”
Dick read the text over Steph’s shoulder.
Then started laughing so hard he had to sit down.
Barbara took Steph’s phone.
Read the message.
Smiled.
“…Well.”
Bruce held out a hand.
“The phone, please.”
Barbara passed it over.
Bruce read the single text.
Turns out fake dating leads to real marriage. Oops.
Below it was a picture.
Tim and Jason stood on the courthouse steps, still in the clothes they’d worn off the plane.
Tim’s hand rested against Jason’s chest.
Jason’s arm circled Tim’s waist.
Both of them were smiling with the quiet, contented certainty of people who had finally found exactly where they belonged.
Bruce looked at the photo for a long moment.
Then, despite himself, he smiled.
“I suppose,” he said, setting the phone back down, “the ship finally sailed.”
Dick dissolved into laughter all over again.