Chapter Text
Today was finally the day.
After three long, miserable weeks of waiting for Jason to give you the green light, you were finally on your way to dinner at Wayne Manor. After the scuffle the two of you had, he’d taken it upon himself to organise the whole thing—Wayne Manor, a proper dinner, the lot— all taken care of by him. But before that, it took him a week to stop dancing around the idea of messaging Bruce, like sending a simple text message might somehow bruise his pride, even though the two of them spoke through their comms almost daily (or nightly) on their patrols. Still, there was something about typing and sending, “I want you to meet my girlfriend,” that Jason found gut-wrenchingly nerve-racking—and you found ever so endearing.
You’d seen Jason flustered and nervous before, but never quite like this—not when he was pacing around the apartment, not when he kept pretending dinner was “no big deal”, and definitely not when he was trying to act like asking Bruce to meet you wasn't rattling him to the core. You were leaving in just under an hour, and he was already dressed, adjusting the collar of his deep brown leather jacket in the bedroom mirror for the millionth time. He'd even swapped out his heavily scuffed combat boots for a pair of polished leather boots, in the same colour as his jacket—he’d learnt to match his jacket to his shoes from you—exclaiming to you that they would definitely pass a style inspection from Alfred.
After what seemed like an eternity of pacing, Jason sat down beside your dresser, slouched and soft-eyed, keeping close as you started your makeup. Handing you each compact, brush, or palette whenever you requested, watching with mock seriousness like he's assisting in some top-secret mission, but the corners of his mouth keep twitching when you roll your eyes at him. When you catch his reflection in the vanity mirror, he's watching you like you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen. “Jay, I need the big brush for my blush, please”, you request, snapping him out of the trance he's in and reaching for the fluffiest brush in your makeup bag, the white tips of the bristles now flushed and stained with a dusting of pink, he turns it over with a quiet little smile, pretending to be very interested in the bristles, making some smug comment about them looking expensive, while youre trying not to laugh. “You’re distracting me,” you tell him, and he leans closer, warm and amused, resting his chin on his hand. “Good,” he says softly; he likes knowing he gets to be the reason you're smiling tonight. “Means I'm doing my job.” He pretends to hand you the brush, but before you can grasp it, he mockingly snatches it away from your open palm, laughing under his breath and reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. It’s such an ordinary thing, getting ready for dinner, but with Jason there it felt tender and private and quietly romantic, like he's helping you step into his world, a world he wants to share with you, one soft glance at a time.
Even after finishing your makeup and styling your hair, Jason still stayed hovering close to you as you finished getting dressed, occasionally tousling his hair and fixing his shirt in the mirror as you similarly fussed with your dress for the third time.
“Relax, you look gorgeous,” he says, voice low and rough around the edges, stepping in to fix the strap that keeps slipping off your shoulder. His hands are careful, warmer than you expect, and when you glance at him in the mirror, he gives you that crooked little grin that always makes your nerves ease a little.
“You clean up well yourself, Mr Todd”, you say with a smile and a clumsy laugh—inside you were screaming about how handsome he looked.
His eyebrows lifted.
“Yeah?”
You hum, taking a slow step backwards so you can admire him properly. “Yeah.”
Jason shifts his weight, one hand slipping into the pocket of his charcoal slacks. “You’ve been staring for, like… thirty seconds.”
“I know.”
“A little weird.”
“I know.”
“You gonna keep doing it?”
A smile tugs at your lips. “Probably.”
He lets out a quiet huff that borders on a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar way he always does when he's trying—or failing—to hide that you’ve flustered him.
“You've seen me in this jacket before,” he says, head tilting as he questions you, genuinely curious.
“Not like this.” You exhale.
His head tilts the other way, eyebrows raised once again, “Like what?”
“Like…” You trail off as your eyes drift over him again. The brown leather jacket sat perfectly across his broad shoulders, worn just enough to look effortless, thrown over a black fitted shirt that did not attempt to hide the strength beneath it. His sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms, exposing scarred, calloused hands that somehow looked just as at home buttoning a cuff as they did wrapping around the handlebars of his bike. The tailored slacks were a far cry from the cargo trousers you were used to seeing him in, making his long legs look unfairly endless.
He looked older somehow.
Softer.
Ridiculously handsome.
“Like someone who just walked out of a magazine,” you finally admit.
Jason snorts, looking back at himself in the mirror as if he was checking you weren’t talking about someone standing behind him. You let out a chuckle, still staring at him with such adoration and admiration in your eyes.
“You’re still staring, babe,” he murmurs.
“Can you blame me?”
“No,” he says after a beat, smile softening. “Not when you're looking at me like that.”
You step closer until you’re standing beside him, your shoulders brushing his. Reaching up, you smooth down the collar of his shirt that he'd been obsessively trying to fix since he got dressed, allowing your hands to glide from his collar to his shoulders, and down those heavenly arms.
He glances down at you. “Better?”
“Perfect.”
His hands settle instinctively on your waist, gentle enough that he doesn't wrinkle your dress, his thumbs brushing absent circles against the fabric, as his eyes lovingly lock with yours.
“You know,” he says quietly, “I was trying really hard to be the composed one tonight.”
“And?”
“You're making it very difficult for me,” he states with a smirk.
A laugh escapes you, “You're the one wearing the leather jacket.”
Jason pouts in response “I thought it made me look cool.”
“It does,” you respond definitively.
“So, what's the problem?”
“The problem,” you smile, resting your hands against his chest, “ is that my very attractive boyfriend is making it incredibly difficult to remember we’re supposed to be leaving for dinner at Wayne Manor in five minutes.”
He narrows his eyes, “Your very attractive boyfriend?”
“Mhm.”
“You sure?”
You pretend to think it over, prolonging your response by drawing a slow circle against the fabric of his shirt.
“I suppose you’re… moderately handsome.”
“Oh, now you're just lying,” Jason states, feigning offence as he steps back and brings his hand to his heart for extra theatrics.
“I know, I know,” you giggle in response, brushing his hand away and replacing it with yours.
He steps behind you and places his head on top of yours, eyes meeting in the mirror.
“You nervous?”
You let out a breath. “A little.”
“A little?” he questions.
“Okay... maybe more than a little.”
His expression softens with concern immediately. “You don't have to do this tonight, if you don't want to.”
You turn to look at him properly.
“I’ve wanted to meet them for months; I want to do this, honest.”
A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.
“You kept telling me, ‘not yet’, remember?”
Jason exhales through his nose, almost sheepish. “I did… I was avoiding it.”
A beat of silence passes as you wait for his confession, and Jason closes the distance between you, taking your hands in his.
“I wasn't sure we were ready.”
“We?”
“For this.” He uses his hands to gesture vaguely, but you know exactly what he means.
“The Manor. Bruce. The family. All of it.”
You stay quiet, listening, letting him continue.
“I’ve spent years keeping every part of my life in separate boxes.” he gives a small, humorous laugh. “You were the one thing I never wanted caught in the middle.”
“I know about all of you, the secret identities, everything.”
“You do.”
“But they don't know I know.”
He nods.
“I never told them.”
“Why not?”
“Because it wasn’t my conversation to have.”
His thumb brushes over your knuckles as he continues, “And because once they met you… that was it.”
You tilt your head.
“What do you mean?”
“They’d know your face. Your name.” his voice is quieter now. “If something happened… if one of our cases came too close…” he shakes his head. “I wanted to be absolutely certain this wasn’t temporary before I let those worlds collide.”
Your heart aches.
“So is this your way of saying you don’t think it’s temporary anymore?”
A small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he admits, “I think I realised that a while ago.”
“You did?”
“You were just waiting for me to catch up”, he exhales.
You laugh softly and joke, “I wasn’t keeping score.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Good,” he says as he reaches to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear before he continues; “because this isn’t me introducing my girlfriend to Bruce.”
Your breath hitches.
"It’s me introducing someone I can actually see a future with.”
For a moment, all you can do is stare at him.
“You really know how to drop stuff like that casually.” You say, half joking, half serious.
“I thought I was being subtle” he shrugs.
This earns you a giggle as you respond, “That was the furthest thing from subtle, Jay.” Colour flushes his cheeks at your response, both of you cracking small smiles as he continues.
“I just…” He sighs, carefully searching for the right words. “If I brought you to the Manor before I was sure, I’d have been asking you to step into a part of my life I wasn't ready to share…” he pauses, thumb still brushing the back of your hand the same way it was when the conversation started. “But now… Now I want them to know the person who has made my life really fucking great, like really great.”
Your eyes sting unexpectedly, as you think about how far the two of you have come: the early blossoms of the relationship, the two steps forward and one step back when emotions seemed too overwhelming, and finally accepting that it's okay to be vulnerable and raw with each other. This life you had built with Jason hadn’t started with any foundations; every piece of belonging had been sculpted with two pairs of hands—some parts had to be altered, and cracks had to be filled, but the two of you kept building, and that was enough to leave you standing there, whole and hopeful.
“You make it sound so easy now it’s finally happening.”
"It isn’t.” Jason's answer comes quiet, almost rough with honesty. He shakes his head, the faintest crooked smile flickering at his mouth like he’s trying and failing to make light of it.
“No?”
“No.” his gaze stays on yours, steady and unguarded. “This still scares the hell out of me.”
You blink, the bluntness of it catching you off guard “It does?”
“Course it does.” he huffs out a breath, then the expression on his face once again softening into something so open it makes your chest ache. “I’m introducing the woman I love to my family.”
The words settle between you, gentle and weighty all at once.
“So yeah,” he says quieter this time, “I’m terrified.”
Something in you loosens at that, the nerves easing into warmth as you slip your fingers between his. His hand closes around yours, solid and familiar, and the touch feels like a promise. The corner of his mouth lifts, softer now, more certain, and there’s something almost unbearably tender in the way he looks at you. He brings your joined hands to his lips and presses a slow, reverent kiss to your knuckles before tipping you that same lopsided grin that made you fall for him in the first place, and when he says, “Alright, let’s get this over with, sweetheart,” you squeeze his hand and let the nerves, the manor, and the family waiting inside fade into the background, until there’s only the two of you standing there together—content, certain, and exactly where you’re meant to be.