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"Hey, I'm sorry,” Dick said, “I was followed.”
Not his best opening, especially not here. He tucked his wince away under his scarf. The sunken steps to the garden apartment were out of the wind but there was still a bite.
He’d convinced himself on the walk over that Jason would be receptive to Dick’s pitch because his idea, while stupid, was also funny in a punk, troublemaking kind of way. Jason might even be welcoming. Maybe?
In retrospect, Dick thought, watching the heavy door swing open… Well, it was still possible. You’re an optimist, remember. Optimize.
In the doorway, Jason’s face went from blank to stony. He blocked the door, wide body made wider by a thick sweater a little too big for him. The weave had enough irregularity to be handmade. Did Jason know someone who knit or had it been a thrift store find? Warm air drifted out smelling of bread and clean laundry.
The unexpected homeyness delivered a sharp punch somewhere around Dick’s left ventricle. That reaction too got tucked away behind his scarf. There was no way Dick could deliver that compliment (jealousy, yearning) in a way Jason would believe was sincere. The manor didn't smell like this. It was too big.
Dick added: “I mean, I let it happen, but I wanted to tell you that upfront before I explained the rest."
"By who," Jason said.
Dick blinked at him stupidly.
“Followed by who.” Jason’s voice was wound up like a runner on the starting blocks. He wore one of his Bruce-proximity expressions, rarely associated with patience or forgiveness. One of Dick's very practical goals re: Jason centered around reducing the overlap between Bruce-proximity expressions and Dick-proximity expressions. Dick could worry about Jason’s relationship with Bruce later. First he had to get a foot in the door as not Bruce.
Optimistically, it was a five year plan. Progress was...not exactly on track.
"Mike Young," Dick said.
Jason's brow furrowed like corduroy. "The paparazzi?"
"Yeah, I need -- " Dick stopped. He'd finally bothered to look past Jason. There were plants in the small living room, flourishing well-watered plants, and a book. The book. The first edition Austen, a gift from Alfred. That book.
"Shit," Dick said. "You live here."
"Wow," Jason said. "Boy wonder."
"Paparazzi," Dick reminded him, voice pitching a little high. Keep it together.
"You’re hiding?" Jason looked up and down the block. A lift of his eyebrow said he’d spotted Young’s battered compact parked a few buildings away. Clearly wondering how Dick standing in front of Jason’s front door for several minutes counted as covert.
"No, I needed a --" Dick couldn't stop staring past Jason's shoulder. When he'd uncovered this address, he'd assumed a safe house not a home. Faced with a space that was so obviously Jason's, Dick’s funny in a punk kind of way plan became an intrusion. Being here, seeing this was nothing Dick had earned or Jason had offered.
Staying was more likely to burn bridges than build them. He closed his eyes. "Never mind."
"A distraction," Jason said, halting Dick as he turned to go. The door opened a little further to accommodate Jason's crossed arms. He was unimpressed, looking Dick up and down.
“Yeah,” Dick said, “but I didn’t realize -- I’m not going to intrude. If he comes over, just tell him I needed directions. Or I thought someone else lived here.”
Jason reached out, startling him. The skin under Dick’s right eye was still tender. He hadn’t looked at it in a mirror recently, but obviously the bruise was still there. Jason had seen it. Jason was touching it, thumb on Dick’s cheek. “Are the paps gonna think I did that?”
“Uh,” Dick said.
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Did they do that?”
“Wow,” Dick said, “I would kind of love to tell you -- hold on, wait, the point is to distract them -- wow.”
Jason stepped out of the apartment into Dick’s space.
Barefoot on the cracked concrete, he had two inches on Dick in his fall boots and his hand on Dick’s face. Dick was stuck in a loop of reviewing his assumptions -- did this count as receptive? -- and on new information he’d just gathered that both Jason and Jason’s giant fishermans sweater smelled like some kind of holiday spice. It was gingery.
“Not the distraction you had in mind?” Jason said quietly.
Dick tried to put together a response, eyes crossing from following all the details of Jason’s face at close range. When Dick didn’t speak, Jason’s cool expression wrinkled; first uncertainty, then a full blown frown, the Jason Todd attack-as-defense method of handling self-consciousness.
“No,” Dick said, leaning deliberately forward. The move felt unsubtle, but neither Jason nor the paparazzi lurking down the block had ever been great with weak signals when it came to Dick. “That’s the one. I thought you’d enjoy -- uh -- ”
Jason’s lips turned down. Dick rewound the words in his head, looking for an arrogant end to the sentence Jason could have filled in -- the privilege of dating Richard Grayson? Really? Dick did a mental double take. If he’d been drinking something he would have spit it out.
“-- messing with me! I thought you’d enjoy messing with me.”
Jason’s frown smoothed out, and his fingers resettled against Dick’s cheek. Dick waited. He was doing his own re-shuffling of expectations and desired outcomes, and he didn’t mind a little silence, basking in the warmth of a woolen space heater who smelled like gingerbread.
Jason shifted, fingers moving from their exploration of Dick’s healing black eye to cup his face. A shiver of danger ran down Dick’s spine like the moment before a fight or a performance.
“You’re gonna have to stay here a while to sell this,” Jason murmured into his cheek. Dick shivered again. His whole face heated when Jason made a smug sound. He’d noticed.
“Shit,” Dick complained, loud enough for Jason to hear and know Dick was giving him the win on that one. Dick had been right about messing with Dick as an incentive for Jason’s participation. He’d maybe underestimated how effectively Jason was going to use it. That shiver hadn't been a reaction Dick had planned.
Jason stepped back into the doorway, his body a welcome instead of a barricade. His expression was as much a smirk as a smile, a puckish look Dick remembered on a much younger face.
“Welcome to my parlor,” Jason said, leaving the spider to the fly heavily implied. It was Jason, so the threat wasn't a joke. Dick knew that, and he wasn't going to forget, but it was easy, too, to give in and let the guiding touch on his elbow lead him into Jason’s home.