[Maybe they weren't. They wouldn't know unless they tried.
He'd waved off the offer to help, too proud to admit that bending enough to grab the bag was a hard thing, but then he'd gotten it and made his way back like his small, pained sounds hadn't been a thing. Making tea was another hurdle, but fussing with the pot and the leaves gave him an excuse to not watch his dad's face as that gift was opened.
The gift that turned out to be a...pen? An old fashioned style fountain pen, complete with a bottle of ink nestled next to it in the box for refilling. It was slightly thicker than a normal pen and it had a good weight even in hands as large as theirs.]
I remember you always bitching about how you had to be careful while signing shit at work cause you'd always snap your pen and get ink all over you. So...I had that made. It won't break. You could stab someone with that thing and it still won't break.
It's stupid. You probably have a dozen even better ones forgotten in your desk somewhere.
[He shrugged, still not looking over at his dad as he fussed with the tea.]
[ Bruce had been sure Jason wasn't listening when he complained about getting ink on his hands. He'd spent a small fortune on pens for how often they would snap while Bruce used them. This one was made with him in mind, so clearly he had been listening after all. It does something to his heart. He won't say what, but it's a good feeling.
He sets the box it came in aside so he can pick it up and test the weight of it. It's clearly well made and fits well in his hand. Taking a piece of the wrapper, he signs his name with it. That it had potential to double as a weapon seems appropriate for a gift from Jason.
['Fancy' pens weren't designed with grip strength like theirs in mind. Most of them could barely tolerate being dropped, let alone the force that Bruce could press down with when he wasn't paying attention. And if someone had irritated him?
Those poor pens hadn't stood a chance.]
You-? You're welcome. I'm glad you like it.
[He wasn't awkward at all.
Picking up the full tea pot, he brought it over to the small, two seater table. A couple of mugs dangled from his fingers so that he could do it all in one trip. Mostly.]
Grab the cream outta the fridge? And there's a sugar jar on the counter.
[The table was way too small to keep things stored on it. Besides, he mostly only used it when he wanted to sit down and do a deep clean on all of his blades. Which is probably why the wood still had a little bit of metal oil scent to it.]
You gunna leave that piece of paper here? Could hock that shit on E-bay for a months worth of groceries.
[ Bruce knows he is not an easy man to get along with. Nor an easy one to love. There are too many defenses to reach the heart of him that most people give up at the first sign of resistance. He's a pretty face with a lot of money, but not much else to people who did not matter. It kept them from getting too close, from asking too many questions. It kept him isolated.
Jason had the luxury of coming into his life as a child, so Bruce's defenses were not nearly so impenetrable.
It's just the wedge Joker put between them and Bruce's guilt kept there that made these little moments so awkward. How do you come together again when you've spent so many years broken? Maybe it started with a pen.
Bruce joins Jason at the table after he gets the cream and sugar, setting it between them. ]
If you're gonna sell my signature, at least let me write it better. [ With some embellishment or flourish. Something eye catching. Bruce is quiet a minute before he continues: ]
If you need help, just say the word.
[ He doesn't expect Jason to accept. But Bruce just wants him to know help is there. ]
[Thing was, it hadn't been Joker to set that wedge. It had been Felipe Garzonas. The son of the foreign drug lord who had a taste for women who said no, but no way to make him stop.
Robin had made him stop. And then, later, Robin had watched as he'd fallen from his balcony. Batman had gotten there mere seconds too late and that conversation had started with 'What did you do' instead of 'What happened', too. Jason hadn't pushed the asshole....but he hadn't saved him, either. It had been Garzonas' death (and the two months of being treated like a criminal) that had spiraled into Jason running away in search of his birth mother.
There was a part of him that wondered if Bruce still thought he'd pushed the bastard.
Once they were both settled and had figured out where their knees were supposed to go, Jason smirked a little as he poured them both a mug of tea. It smelled delightful and the younger man made a pleased sound as he added a little cream to his own.]
Nah. I make enough that your signature is safe. Most of what the job brings in goes to paying my guys and then back into the city, but I don't starve.
[Was it wise to casually joke about his crime lord past time? Probably not, but since when had that ever stopped him?]
[ It was a collision course. Bruce never wanted to think it was meant to be this way - them at odds, standing on opposite sides of the mission. But Crime Alley had been the start and as far Bruce's experience was concerned, nothing good came from Crime Alley.
Present company excluded, of course.
Whatever Bruce believed about Felipe Garzonas, it didn't seem to matter much now. It had stopped mattering the minute he'd gathered up his boy's broken body in his arms and the long days he spent with his regrets and grief and guilt. Bruce cared, of course. But maybe he cared about Jason more.
He ignores the tea in favor of giving Jason a look at his reply. But it passes just as quickly and he reaches for the cream to add to his drink. ]
So safe to assume business is going well then? [ Nothing accusatory in his tone. Just curiosity. ]
[His smirk was carefully cocky, designed to hide his surprise that that almost casual question. But before Bruce could feel like Jason was poking fun or trying to encourage them to butt heads, that smirk had softened back into his slightly lopsided grin and he nodded.]
Yeah, actually. Three clinics up and running with full time staff. Two shelters up by Crown Point, another closer to Sprang. Nearly 60% of the privately owned small businesses in my area have hired local teenagers. The supply has been cleaned up, no one sells to anyone visually under 20, and all my dealers are equipped with Narcon at all times. They also try to direct people to my safe-use sites. Not everyone goes, of course, but enough do that we've stopped tripping over ODs in the streets.
[None of it was above board, of course. The city didn't want to acknowledge it's drug problem, preferring instead to just sweep all the mess away to the East End to die a miserable death.
Except Red Hood was putting a stop to that. There were always going to be addicts. In every culture in every time frame, there had always been those who escaped their lives in any way they could. Hood at least offered a way to do it so that it was as safe as possible.
A collision course, but maybe not as opposite as Bruce was expecting.]
I know it's not up to your standards, but it's a damn sight better than it used to be.
[ Bruce gives Jason a wry smile. If he wants a lecture, Bruce has several lined up, kept safe for just such an occasion. But as Jason's smirk softens, so does Bruce's. It's good progress that he's not immediately defensive. There's humor in Jason's quip and Bruce can appreciate it. They're not here to fight. At least not today. That, Bruce is grateful for too.
He listens as Jason lists his most recent accomplishments. Some of it he already knew (from totally not spying) and some of it is a genuine surprise to him, though not in a bad way. The East End knew exactly how to drain the life from a person. All it ever takes is one bad turn and the city will gladly leave you to the wolves of its own making. But there were good people here, who deserved better than the poor hand they'd been dealt. If people were safer than they were the night before, if dealers are a little more wary of who they sell to, it's a good place to start.
While, Bruce did not approve of Jason's methods, he could not argue with the results and ultimately isn't that what mattered the most? So long as no one was being killed, Bruce could...restrain himself about the rest.
The smile he offers this time is genuine. ]
That's great, Jason. I'm proud of you.
[ He pauses, sips his tea and takes a moment to marvel at the taste (Jason was right but Bruce won't admit that), before he continues: ]
What if we opened a Wayne Foundation Outreach here? I think it'd be a great way to help kids stay out of trouble. So maybe you won't need to worry so much about dealers selling to them.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He'd waved off the offer to help, too proud to admit that bending enough to grab the bag was a hard thing, but then he'd gotten it and made his way back like his small, pained sounds hadn't been a thing. Making tea was another hurdle, but fussing with the pot and the leaves gave him an excuse to not watch his dad's face as that gift was opened.
The gift that turned out to be a...pen? An old fashioned style fountain pen, complete with a bottle of ink nestled next to it in the box for refilling. It was slightly thicker than a normal pen and it had a good weight even in hands as large as theirs.]
I remember you always bitching about how you had to be careful while signing shit at work cause you'd always snap your pen and get ink all over you. So...I had that made. It won't break. You could stab someone with that thing and it still won't break.
It's stupid. You probably have a dozen even better ones forgotten in your desk somewhere.
[He shrugged, still not looking over at his dad as he fussed with the tea.]
no subject
He sets the box it came in aside so he can pick it up and test the weight of it. It's clearly well made and fits well in his hand. Taking a piece of the wrapper, he signs his name with it. That it had potential to double as a weapon seems appropriate for a gift from Jason.
This is the most he's smiled in...well ages. ]
Thank you. This is perfect.
no subject
Those poor pens hadn't stood a chance.]
You-? You're welcome. I'm glad you like it.
[He wasn't awkward at all.
Picking up the full tea pot, he brought it over to the small, two seater table. A couple of mugs dangled from his fingers so that he could do it all in one trip. Mostly.]
Grab the cream outta the fridge? And there's a sugar jar on the counter.
[The table was way too small to keep things stored on it. Besides, he mostly only used it when he wanted to sit down and do a deep clean on all of his blades. Which is probably why the wood still had a little bit of metal oil scent to it.]
You gunna leave that piece of paper here? Could hock that shit on E-bay for a months worth of groceries.
no subject
Jason had the luxury of coming into his life as a child, so Bruce's defenses were not nearly so impenetrable.
It's just the wedge Joker put between them and Bruce's guilt kept there that made these little moments so awkward. How do you come together again when you've spent so many years broken? Maybe it started with a pen.
Bruce joins Jason at the table after he gets the cream and sugar, setting it between them. ]
If you're gonna sell my signature, at least let me write it better. [ With some embellishment or flourish. Something eye catching. Bruce is quiet a minute before he continues: ]
If you need help, just say the word.
[ He doesn't expect Jason to accept. But Bruce just wants him to know help is there. ]
no subject
Robin had made him stop. And then, later, Robin had watched as he'd fallen from his balcony. Batman had gotten there mere seconds too late and that conversation had started with 'What did you do' instead of 'What happened', too. Jason hadn't pushed the asshole....but he hadn't saved him, either. It had been Garzonas' death (and the two months of being treated like a criminal) that had spiraled into Jason running away in search of his birth mother.
There was a part of him that wondered if Bruce still thought he'd pushed the bastard.
Once they were both settled and had figured out where their knees were supposed to go, Jason smirked a little as he poured them both a mug of tea. It smelled delightful and the younger man made a pleased sound as he added a little cream to his own.]
Nah. I make enough that your signature is safe. Most of what the job brings in goes to paying my guys and then back into the city, but I don't starve.
[Was it wise to casually joke about his crime lord past time? Probably not, but since when had that ever stopped him?]
no subject
Present company excluded, of course.
Whatever Bruce believed about Felipe Garzonas, it didn't seem to matter much now. It had stopped mattering the minute he'd gathered up his boy's broken body in his arms and the long days he spent with his regrets and grief and guilt. Bruce cared, of course. But maybe he cared about Jason more.
He ignores the tea in favor of giving Jason a look at his reply. But it passes just as quickly and he reaches for the cream to add to his drink. ]
So safe to assume business is going well then? [ Nothing accusatory in his tone. Just curiosity. ]
no subject
[His smirk was carefully cocky, designed to hide his surprise that that almost casual question. But before Bruce could feel like Jason was poking fun or trying to encourage them to butt heads, that smirk had softened back into his slightly lopsided grin and he nodded.]
Yeah, actually. Three clinics up and running with full time staff. Two shelters up by Crown Point, another closer to Sprang. Nearly 60% of the privately owned small businesses in my area have hired local teenagers. The supply has been cleaned up, no one sells to anyone visually under 20, and all my dealers are equipped with Narcon at all times. They also try to direct people to my safe-use sites. Not everyone goes, of course, but enough do that we've stopped tripping over ODs in the streets.
[None of it was above board, of course. The city didn't want to acknowledge it's drug problem, preferring instead to just sweep all the mess away to the East End to die a miserable death.
Except Red Hood was putting a stop to that. There were always going to be addicts. In every culture in every time frame, there had always been those who escaped their lives in any way they could. Hood at least offered a way to do it so that it was as safe as possible.
A collision course, but maybe not as opposite as Bruce was expecting.]
I know it's not up to your standards, but it's a damn sight better than it used to be.
no subject
He listens as Jason lists his most recent accomplishments. Some of it he already knew (from totally not spying) and some of it is a genuine surprise to him, though not in a bad way. The East End knew exactly how to drain the life from a person. All it ever takes is one bad turn and the city will gladly leave you to the wolves of its own making. But there were good people here, who deserved better than the poor hand they'd been dealt. If people were safer than they were the night before, if dealers are a little more wary of who they sell to, it's a good place to start.
While, Bruce did not approve of Jason's methods, he could not argue with the results and ultimately isn't that what mattered the most? So long as no one was being killed, Bruce could...restrain himself about the rest.
The smile he offers this time is genuine. ]
That's great, Jason. I'm proud of you.
[ He pauses, sips his tea and takes a moment to marvel at the taste (Jason was right but Bruce won't admit that), before he continues: ]
What if we opened a Wayne Foundation Outreach here? I think it'd be a great way to help kids stay out of trouble. So maybe you won't need to worry so much about dealers selling to them.