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It was like a break-up, Roy thinks, hazy and half-asleep, before he rockets straight up in bed.
“Holy shit,” he says, out loud, to the empty motel room he’s been moping. “That asshole broke up with me.”
It’s been two weeks since Jason Fucking Todd ditched him in a warehouse. Two weeks since busted in through the window and brutalized half-a-dozen people more thoroughly than Roy had seen him do in years. Two weeks since Jason had left him standing there, half-naked and still beat to hell. Two weeks of standing around in shitty dive bars and ordering beers he doesn’t drink, of going back over the last two years and trying to pinpoint the exact moment when Jason gave up on him.
Back in the warehouse, Roy’s first instinct had been to chase after him. Jason says mean, petty bullshit all the fucking time. Roy’s gotten very good at ignoring him. But something had frozen him in place. Maybe it was the bodies still on the floor. Maybe it was the blood on Jason’s knuckles. Maybe it was how Jason’s voice had shook, just slightly, when he’d leaned in close to Roy’s ear and said, I’m never going to be the hero you want me to be.
It didn’t matter what it was. By the time Roy had come back to his senses and stumbled outside, Jason was already long gone. And Roy’s only just now realizing, two weeks later, that he’s been epically dumped.
Which is very interesting, because he’s certain he and Jay were never dating--or even fucking–-in the first place.
Has Roy thought about it? Sure. Who wouldn’t? Jason is six feet two inches of pure muscle and breathless competence. He’s a fucking revelation with a pistol. But more importantly, his voice is always soft when he’s talking with a kid on the street, and his hands are always gentle when he puts Roy back together after a job gone disastrous. He’s contrarian and contradictory, and he’s also Roy’s best fucking friend. Even Roy isn’t stupid enough to blow up something as good as that over getting off.
Except that, well. Since he’s on the subject of getting off, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t had actual sex in, like. A year, maybe? Not consistently, not since Kori. Every time somebody tried something, there was something going on with whatever mission they were on, and Jason was in his ear saying, tightly, Gotta go, Harper, and what else could Roy do but listen? Roy hasn’t had sex in a year because he was busy being with Jason, and it felt so natural that he hadn’t thought about it until Jason was gone.
There are other things too. The apartment they lived in together. How they would share the same bed when they couldn’t afford a bigger hotel room. Hell, how Jason took him out to a nice, fancy dinner in Paris that one time. What the fuck was up with that?
Maybe Roy didn’t know it. And maybe Jason doesn’t know it either. But they were–-goddamnit, they were something. Vague at the edges and deliberately undefined, but there nonetheless. And Jason doesn’t get to just end it on some self-sacrificial whim.
At the very least, Roy can ask him what was up with the Paris thing.
Finding a Bat when they’ve gone to ground is trickier than running through a live firing range unscathed; but luckily, Roy knows Jason pretty well at this point. Also, Jason likes to pretend that he’s some chaotic wild factor but he is, at his core, an extremely consistent person.
Still, Roy can’t help his pride when he crouches on the fire escape of the last potential safehouse he’d marked out to see Jason, sprawled out on some shitty thrift store couch and shoveling take-out into his mouth. His hair is an unruly mess. His hoodie has dark grease stains down the front. He’s got When Harry Met Sally on, which he usually only ever watches when he’s had a particularly nasty run-in with the Bats. He’s a complete fucking mess.
Roy has missed him an awful lot.
He taps on the window. Jason’s reaction is immediate, jumping up and dumping the take-out container on the floor, pulling out the pistol he must keep in the couch cushions and pointing it right at the window. His stance stutters when he sees that it’s just Roy. Jason can’t quite keep his emotions off of his face, but then again, he never could. He’s wary, and then confused, and then angry and then, finally, he’s just resigned. Roy waves. Because he’s an asshole.
“Are you going to let me in?” He says, just loud enough for Jason to hear him. Jason looks like he has to think about it, but he makes his way to the window and tugs it open.
“-–the actual fuck are you doing here?” He’s saying. Roy slips past him, stumbling into the apartment before Jason can bodily throw him off the fire escape. “Harper. Roy.”
“Can’t a guy just want to see his pal?” Roy pastes on a smile. Jason twitches. “His best friend? His partner?”
“Did Dick put you up to this?” Jason says. “God, if he doesn’t stop hovering–-if Dick fucking sold me out–-”
“Dick did not sell you out,” Roy says, complete with air quotes. “Dick’s more loyal than a golden retriever. Bat over all.”
“Not a Bat,” Jason says, which is a total lie, but whatever. “How the hell did you find me, then?”
Roy taps the side of my head. “I used my brain. I do have one of those, you know.”
“Could have fooled me,” Jason mutters.
What does it say about Roy that this asshole is his best friend and-slash-or nebulously intertwined partner figure? “I knew you were going to be in Gotham, because you always go to Gotham when shit gets real.” Jason huffs, but doesn’t deny it. “As deep into Crime Alley as possible, because it’s where you think you’ll do the most good. And because you’re a dramatic son of a bitch, you’re going to pick out an apartment that you think is thematically relevant. Apartment 724, building number 1802. Alexandre Dumas’ birthday. You absolute fucking nerd.”
Jason’s cheeks are turning this splotchy shade of red. He crosses his arms and looks away from Roy, glaring at a hole in the wall. “Whatever. What the fuck ever. Why are you even here. I told you we were done.”
Roy hops over the edge of the couch to take a seat, ignoring Jason’s noise of protest. “Yeah, you sure did. Pretty unilaterally, I might add.” He leans an elbow on the dusty cushion as he looks back up at Jason. “I’ve had some free time to think over the past couple of weeks. And I’m thinking we should have a conversation.”
Jason’s face shutters into blankness pretty much immediately. “No,” he says. “Absolutely fucking not.”
He storms into the kitchen to bang around in the cupboards for God knows what. Possibly a gun to shoot at Roy with. Roy figures he’s got at least a minute or so before Jason finds an appropriate weapon, so he takes the opportunity to say, “You know, normally when you dump someone, there are two lanes of communication.”
“What,” Jason says flatly. Roy casts a lazy look back towards the kitchen. Jason stands with his hands hanging loosely by his sides, looking oddly stricken. “That’s not-–no. We weren’t even–-” He swallows, hard, and turns back towards the cupboard.
Roy watches him, the tension ratcheting up in his shoulders, the red flushing through his neck, and thinks: Bingo.
“You see, here’s the thing,” he continues, as if Jason had never objected at all. “I’ve been in my fair share of relationships.” Jason coughs out something that sounds distinctly like slut, which Roy graciously ignores. “What are some relationship hallmarks? Living together–-check. Going out on fancy dates–-check. Remember Paris? Exclusive sex–-”
Jason turns back to him suddenly, wielding–-is that a butter knife? “We have not had sex.”
“Well, duh,” Roy says. “But–-and correct if I’m wrong–-we weren’t exactly having sex with anyone else.”
Roy keeps his eyes on Jason, even as Jason flushes and turns away again. “That’s not–-even remotely the same thing.”
“Sure,” Roy says easily, standing up, making his way slowly to the kitchen. Jason clatters some kind of dish loudly on the counter. “But it isn’t nothing, either.” This is the tough part, isn’t it? It’s already sticking up in his chest. “Jay. I spent–-what, two years?–-entirely committed to you. To you.” Jason has gone entirely and eerily still. “And fine, I only put those pieces together, like, three days ago, but now that I have, you need a better reason to break up with me then–-what was it? That I’m too good for you? Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m fucking serious!” Jason hisses, whirling around to face him. “Roy, I don’t know what you think your endgame is here, but you need–-”
Roy’s eyes catch on something sitting on the counter behind them. “What is that?”
Jason shifts, just slightly, but it’s too late. Roy steps around him to see. Sitting on a chipped blue plate is a slightly slapdash sandwich. Looks to be turkey, lettuce, and tomato. Roy’s favorite. He looks back to Jason, a little incredulous.
“Listen–-” Jason sighs, drops his face into his hands. “It’s just–-you always get so up in your head, when you’re on something like this, and you forget to fucking eat, and I’m going to turn you out on your ass in about five minutes, but I don’t want you to pass out in the middle of Crime Alley on your way out. Fuck me. Jesus.”
His face is still in his hands. Roy’s heart is somewhere in the middle of his throat. He came here with the vaguest idea of wringing an explanation out of Jason, a reason why two years of full-throttle codependency came to such a sudden stop. He didn’t think through what he might do with that explanation, or what it would mean. Selfishly, he just wanted to have it.
The explanation is forming in front of him now. It’s in the way Jason holds himself tensely away from Roy, like he’s scared Roy is going to reach out and hit him. It’s in the way Jason has done nothing but beg for him to leave, but he still took the time to make Roy a fucking sandwich because he’s right; Roy did forget to eat. Roy forgot, but Jason remembered.
Because Jason Fucking Todd walks around with his heart hanging outside of his chest. He can try to cover it up with Kevlar and curses and flying bullets, but just like Jason knows Roy, Roy knows Jason. He’s a prickly, performative mess of endless care , care that not even death could shake out of him, and Roy wants–-Roy wants.
“Jaybird,” Roy says, simply, and then he steps across the kitchen and kisses him.
There’s a moment where Jason goes totally still against him, and then a single, beautiful moment after it where his lips move hesitantly over Roy’s. Then, maybe inevitably, he pulls away. His eyes are blown wide.
“Why did you–-” His throat bobs desperately. “That isn’t fair.”
“What isn’t fair?” Roy asks. “That I didn’t do anything about it earlier? Sure, maybe. That I’m calling you out on your bullshit? Not at all.” Then, a little plaintively, “You can’t tell me this is nothing.”
“It isn’t–-” Jason swallows again, then pushes past Roy out of the kitchen. “Listen, it’s my goddamn decision to make and I don’t need to give you a reason, alright? You have no right–-”
“I have no right?” Roy laughs, high and hysterical. “Jason, I have been through hell with you. For you! Don’t tell me that I don’t–-”
“I’m not saying that!” Jason spins back to face him. “I did this for your own–-”
“Jason Peter Todd,” Roy says, suddenly and incandescently furious. “If you say this was for my own goddamn good, I am going to put an arrowhead into your shoulder. A nasty one.”
Jason is working his jaw. “Fine,” he says. “Since apparently, I’m incapable of being altruistic–-”
“Not what I said–-”
“-–It was because it scared me. Alright?” Jason turns away from Roy to collapse onto the couch. Takes a few deep breaths before he speaks again. “Do you have any idea how fucking fast your heart beats when you’re dying? Like a thousand miles a minute. It doesn’t matter how resigned you are. Whether or not you’ve accepted your fate. It’s the worst adrenaline rush you’ll ever have.”
Hesitantly, Roy steps back into the living room. Jason has one hand covering his face, but Roy knows that Jason knows exactly where he’s at.
“And that’s what it was like,” Jason continues hoarsely. “When I found out that they had you. A thousand miles a minute. But it wasn’t me. It was you.”
“That’s why,” Roy realizes. “That’s why you went–-”
“Completely fucking psycho, yeah,” Jason says. He’s staring up at the ceiling now. It looks like he’s blinking back tears. “Jesus fuck, Roy, you were dying. And that meant I was dying too. And I didn’t–-”
“I didn’t die,” Roy says helplessly. “Jay, I’m right here–-”
But Jay is still going, merciless. “You’re right. I didn’t-–dump you because you’re too good for me. I mean, you are. But I knew that from the minute we met, and it didn’t stop me. I got cold feet, alright? I tapped the fuck out. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Obviously not. Roy never wants to hear Jason sound this way again, voice damp and shaking. Carefully, Roy perches himself on the armrest of the couch. Jason still isn’t looking at him, but he hasn’t kicked him out yet either.
This selfish asshole. He ditched Roy just so, what? He wouldn’t have to deal with an uncomfortable emotion? What a fucking Bat.
But if Roy had been in Jason’s shoes. If Jason had been in the one in the warehouse and Roy had been the one running to him, with the pounding heart and the oncoming, earth-shattering revelation. Who’s to say Roy wouldn’t have left just as fast? Quicker, even.
“You’re mad,” Jason says, after the silence drags on.
“Wow, you really were trained by the world’s greatest detective,” Roy says. He taps a finger against the couch. Jason makes a suspiciously sniffly noise. Despite everything, Roy’s heart aches. “So. Let me see if I have this straight.”
“Can I even fucking stop you,” Jason mutters.
“You could,” Roy says. But they both know he won’t. “So I got into a scrape. A pretty bad scrape, sure, but it’s not like we haven’t been in those before. But this time, you weren’t there. And that freaked you out bad enough that you realized that you–-” He clears his throat. “-–Had, uh. Feelings for me–”
“Have,” Jason grits out. “Present tense.”
Oh. Oh. Objectively, this is something Roy could piece together. Subjectively? Subjectively, he wants to jump on top of Jason’s coffee table and just start screaming.
“Okay,” he says instead. He slides from the armrest onto the couch. Jason stiffens, just slightly, but still does not stop him. “Have. And that freaked you out bad enough that you ran.”
“Yep,” Jason says tightly. “You got it. Congratulations. Your prize is the sandwich.”
“Asshole,” Roy says, without a hint of actual heat. “Hey, where do you think my head is at? In all of this?”
Jason looks at Roy sideways before he looks down at his knees, pressing his lips together tight. He knows. He absolutely knows. Roy can joke about it, but Jason was raised by the world’s greatest detective and he knows Roy better than pretty much anybody on the planet. Jason knows exactly why Roy tracked him down to a shitty Gotham apartment, exactly why Roy kissed him in the kitchen. What Roy has spent the last five minutes trying to get through his thick, thick skull. He probably knew it the exact moment Roy did.
“You’re an asshole,” Roy says again. “And I love you like hell.”
“Fuck you,” Jason says. He falls back onto the cushions, eyes squeezed shut. “Go to hell. You are out of your fucking mind.”
“Basically,” Roy says. “But so are you, because you love me back.”
Jason is tellingly silent.
Roy risks moving closer to him. Jason stays still.
“Jesus,” he says at last, very quiet. “Yeah, Roy. I–-yeah.”
“Eloquent,” Roy says. Jason elbows him in the side, which just makes Roy laugh. He’s strangely giddy, riding on the dizzying high of saying it out loud, the high of this thing that’s both years-old and brand-new; coupled with the soft sincerity of Jason’s simple yeah. “It’s alright, Jaybird. You make me stupid too.” He’s rewarded by a new flush in Jason’s cheeks. “I mean, come on. You make me so stupid that I didn’t even realize how gone I was on you until–-” His voice hitches, just slightly. “Until it was almost too late.”
Jason looks over at him. Roy is already looking back. It’s true. Jason had left, and Roy had almost fucking let him. He wouldn’t have even known what he had lost.
Very deliberately, Jason presses his knee into Roy’s. Roy bites back a smile.
“Are you gonna kick me out?” he asks.
“I’m not gonna make you leave,” Jason says, after a beat. He’s leaving an exit route, Roy realizes, even though he really doesn’t need to. “God knows you’re–too fucking stubborn.”
“Sure thing,” Roy says cheerily. Jason snorts, and then goes quiet again.
“You know this already,” he says, tone low. “But I have absolutely no idea what the fuck I’m doing. So.”
“We’ve never had any idea what we’re doing, ever,” Roy says, because it’s true.
“Yeah, okay,” Jason says, waving him off. “But you’ve at least had, uh. Relationships.”
Whoa. Jason used the r-word. Roy briefly pictures calling Jason his partner for real and finds his stomach flipping over like he’s a kid.
“None that lasted,” he says. It’s his turn to look down at his knees, picking at a bit of couch lint. “And I don’t know about you, but–-”
“I want this to last,” Jason says, and then flushes just as quick. “I mean. If you do.” Roy’s pretty sure he’s beaming like an idiot. Jason huffs. “I’m still an asshole, alright? And I’m still terrified out of my mind, and I’m probably going to say and do some fucked-up shit–-”
“Jason,” Roy says. “I know. You’re alright.”
“Yeah,” Jason says, nonsensically. He’s staring–Jesus. He’s staring at Roy’s mouth.
Thankfully for Jason, Roy is more than happy to oblige. This time, Jason kisses back for longer then a second. His hands find their way to Roy’s hips, squeezing tight. Roy’s got one of his hands on Jason’s shoulder, up by the base of his neck, his thumb on Jason’s pounding pulse. Christ. They really are dumb as hell. They could have been doing this the whole time.
“It’s all the same for me,” Roy says, once Jason finally pulls away to take a breath. “The asshole stuff. The scared out of my mind stuff. Don’t think that it’s just you, because it isn’t.”
“Uh-huh,” Jason says distantly. “I hear you.”
Roy is pretty sure he doesn’t. He’s also pretty sure it doesn’t matter. If they can make it through sentient incarnations of greed and homicidal teenagers and a break-up that wasn’t technically a break-up then, well. Roy thinks they can tackle anything else that gets thrown at them.
Jason’s kissing him again. He’s laughing, which makes Roy laugh too; even though he doesn’t know why.
“This is going to blow up,” Jason says. His mouth is still on Roy’s. “Just-–so fucking spectacularly.”
“Hey,” Roy says, grinning. “That’s our speciality.”