Chapter Text
4:45 am; Batcave
If Jason wasn’t as good as he is—which is damn good, thank you very much—his step might have faltered at the sight of six Bats gathered in the Cave. That rarely happens, as far as he’s aware, since they’re all mostly drawn off on their own crusades most of the time. And, yeah, Batman had reached out, “requested his presence regarding an urgent matter,” but it feels like an ambush, somehow.
From the outside, it would look like a six-against-one standoff rather than a group of allies coming together, but in a way, he supposes, it is. He still feels like an outsider, no matter how much the others pretend otherwise. Still, when he stops several feet away from the gathered group, he can’t keep himself from doing a quick assessment of each of them—his eyes holding a second longer on the black and blue figure in the back—searching for anything he should be concerned about.
Everyone looks fine as far as he can see and the tense ball that had instantly materialized in his gut when Bruce had called, loosens a bit.
“Red Hood, thank you for coming. I appreciate it,” Batman says.
Jason is grateful for the helmet that covers his face so no one can see the surprise on his face at Bruce’s uncharacteristic greeting. He recovers quickly and growls, “So what’s so goddamned important that you have to drag me in here at the ass-crack of dawn? I was trying to sleep.”
“Tt. Surely you were still awake, Todd. You patrol nightly until 4:15 and Father summoned you at 4:20.”
Jason blinks at the tiny demon, then releases the catch on his helmet and takes it off so that Bruce will see his scowl. “Are you fucking monitoring me?”
Half the Bats in the room snort. Jason glares at them all and Grayson shrugs. “Come on, you know he is.” There’s a tiny smile quirking up at the corners of his mouth and Jason makes himself look away, deepening his scowl for effect.
Whatever. “Oh, fuck you all,” he says, but even to his own ear it sounds more resigned than angry. “I’d like to go to bed, so you wanna tell me what you summoned me for so I can get the hell outta here and do that?”
Robin opens his mouth, but Bruce—who is standing just behind the little demon—puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder and he snaps it shut.
Bruce shifts his attention back to Jason. His jaw is tight, like he’s bracing for a fight. Or maybe that’s just Bruce. “We need your assistance on a time-sensitive matter.”
Jason looks again at the collected group of Bats. They all look serious. Whatever’s going on, it’s obviously big. He starts to get a foreboding feeling. “What’s so damned important that one—or all—of you can’t deal with it without me?”
“A short time ago, an informant from Nightwing's days as Officer Grayson,” Bruce says it without inflection, but Jason sees the micro-shift in Grayson’s expression at Bruce’s wording, “learned that Metropolis crime boss Alfonso Corelli has called a summit with three other major crime families on the eastern seaboard, to begin tomorrow. They’re meeting in Gotham and we believe they may be looking to divide up this territory, given the recent organized crime vacuum created by Vito Ignacio’s arrest.”
“Yeah? What the hell am I supposed to do about it?”
“We need someone on the inside for those meetings.”
Jason scoffs. “I only know Corelli by reputation, but you’re crazy if you think he’s going to show up without a full team in place already.”
“Hm. That’s why we’re taking one of his key people out of play. He’s being arrested by the Metropolis PD as we speak. They’ll need someone to fill his spot.”
“Uh-huh,” Jason says warily. “I see where this is going, and thanks for making me your go-to bad guy, but they’re never gonna hire someone they don’t know at the last minute.”
“Correct. But the reason you’re here is because the person who’ll be doing the hiring knows you.”
Jason narrows his eyes. This is sounding worse and worse. “Who?”
“Anton Markowitz is heading Corelli’s security team. I believe you are familiar with him?”
Jason curses under his breath. Yeah, he’s familiar with him—more than he’d like to be. The guy is a sadistic bastard who makes Jason's skin crawl, and he's not exactly what you would call squeamish. They’d both been in the League at the same time, and they’d worked a couple of operations together. He hadn’t enjoyed it. Markowitz is the kind of psychopath who likes to toy with his prey. It was highly distasteful.
“And how do you figure he’s just going to conveniently hire me? Markowitz is shrewd. If I approach him asking about a job when one of his guys has just been taken out of play, he’ll know it’s a set-up.”
“He’s going to approach you, not the other way around. The families will be coming in later today and the summit starts tomorrow. Markowitz is in Gotham in advance setting things up, and Oracle is keeping tabs on him. We’ll drop you into his line of sight somewhere he won’t be suspicious.”
Jason considers for a moment. Under the right circumstances, it could work, but he’d still rather be home in bed than taking orders from Bruce. The Bat has been trying to pull him into his sphere again and so far, Jason’s been able to mostly avoid that. The smart thing to do would be to say no, go home, go to sleep and forget this meeting ever took place.
But if he refuses to help, he can see how this plays out. Bruce isn’t good at conceding defeat and he’d probably try to find a way to have someone else infiltrate things and the next most logical choice would be Nightwing, which…would not be an acceptable alternative from Jason’s perspective. He doesn’t want to see Grayson anywhere near Markowitz, and vice versa. Markowitz would take one look at the Golden Boy’s sunny disposition and turn into a predator whose only goal would be to break him down, and Markowitz’s psychopathic tendencies would set the Golden Boy off on a succeed-or-die-trying crusade to stop him. It would be like moths to a flame, though he’s honestly not sure which is which in that analogy.
Resigned, Jason says, “Let’s say he buys it, I get on board with his team. What’s the endgame? Are you going to try to take down four crime families on zero-days’ notice with a thrown-together plan?”
“We’re not looking to take any of them down this week. It’s intel gathering only. Our goal is to collect enough information on all of the crime families that will seed our investigations so we can build iron-clad cases and take them all down at a later date.”
That’s definitely the smarter play and it mollifies Jason to some extent. “And what the hell are all the rest of you doing while I’m risking everything?” he asks, mostly to maintain the cynical edge that everyone expects of him.
“With so many players, there will be a lot to monitor, so Red Robin will with work with Oracle at the Clock Tower. Black Bat will be slotted into a guest services job at the hotel. Batgirl will be working at the coffee kiosk in the lobby—"
Jason snorts and Steph, who looks as disgruntled as Jason, gives him the stink-eye.
“If you’re done?” the Bat snaps, and the two of them fall into line like everyone does when Batman commands their attention. “Nightwing will be checked in as a registered guest at the hotel. We can’t risk them finding out we’re on to them by planting listening devices and we assume they’ll be taking precautions regardless, so Robin and I will be surveilling from the perimeter, deploying long-range listening when able. We’ll be relying on you, Jason, to let us know where we should focus and gather what intel you can. We’ll set up regular opportunities for you to cross paths with Cassandra, Stephanie, and Dick.”
It’s hastily thrown together and rudimentary, but sound enough. It doesn’t mean he’s excited about it or wouldn’t rather be on his way to bed. Jason groans out loud. “I’m not going to get any fucking sleep, am I?” No one seems to care about Jason’s lack of REMs except Goldie, who gives him sympathetic look. Of course he does.
Bruce turns to face the assembled group. “The stakes are very high here. The fact that we only just learned of this summit makes it clear that they’re being very careful, and security will be tight. There’s no margin for error on this, so all of you be vigilant and watch each other’s back.” He turns back to Jason. “Markowitz is currently asleep in his hotel room. You’re welcome to sleep for a while down here or up in your room at the Manor, if you'd like to try to get a little rest.”
“Yeah, no thanks,” Jason says reflexively, without really knowing why. Habit, he supposes. Bruce has the cowl on, so his reaction is mostly unreadable, still, Jason thinks he sees a flash of disappointment there.
His relationships with all the Bats have been slowly thawing over the previous several months, and there’s part of him that wants nothing more than to crawl into his childhood bed. But there’s another, bigger part of him that can’t quite let down his guard enough to do it. They’ve all been trying to tug him back into their figurative arms since he and Bruce made their truce, and there have been steps in that direction, but there’s still a wide gap to cover.
Bruce snaps a nod and heads directly to the computers without further comment. All the other Bats wander away to their own tasks, except for Nightwing, who is still standing where he was across the cave, watching him. Jason ignores how it feels like the man can see right through him and heads to the armory, figuring he’ll see just how badly Bruce wants his help and try to stock up. Nightwing walks in behind him a few seconds later. His domino is off and Jason notices the tired lines on his face.
“You need something, Dickwing?”
“You know, despite him acting like it, Bruce isn’t your boss,” Dick says, low, so the Bat won’t hear. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Oracle could probably work it to put me in front of Markowitz in a way that plausibly—”
“No.”
“You don’t think I can do it?” He sees Dick’s eyes flick over to Batman for a split second.
For some reason he’s never understood, the Golden Boy has always carried some significant insecurities where the Bat is concerned. It wasn’t actually his intent to dredge those up, so Jason tries to backtrack on his emphatic answer. “Look, Goldie, Markowitz is not to be messed with. If he suspects anything it won’t be pretty. As much as it pains me to admit it, Bruce’s play has the best chance at success.” Jason turns and starts opening cupboards, trying to find the grapples and some new line. They’ve fucking moved everything since he was last in here.
Dick takes a sideways step and opens a cupboard, tosses him some line. “How many grapples?” he asks, and how the hell did he know that’s what Jason was looking for?
He hesitates, then says, “Four,” mostly to see if Grayson will give him that many. He doesn’t even blink, just grabs them and tosses them at Jason two at a time. Jason catches them, then, why not? Adds, “And another section of line.”
Grayson tosses that to him as well, then closes the cupboard and leans against it, arms crossed, his mouth a hard line. “I know what I’m doing, Jay, and I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”
Jason stuffs the new equipment into his jacket. “What’s the problem here, Goldie? You don’t want me on the case?” Distract and deflect.
Dick sighs. “I don’t not want you on the case. I’m just trying to protect you.”
Jason snorts. “From what?”
“From being forced into doing something you don’t want to do, because you feel like you have to make up for past mistakes.” Grayson looks like he’s using every bit of self-control he has to keep his focus on Jason and stop himself from looking in Bruce’s direction.
“Yeah?” Jason does look at Bruce—pointedly—then back. “You speaking from experience, Boy Wonder?” Dick’s face couldn’t be more of a mask if he wore a cowl himself, from hair to chin. Jason grunts. “I’m not trying to make up for shit. I’m fine with the things I’ve done, and I don’t give a single fuck what Bruce thinks. I’ll help out because Markowitz is a sick bastard and if a side benefit of this gig means he goes down too, that’s enough motivation for me.”
That may only be part of the truth, but the Bats don’t need to know his real motivation. Or the fact that he might be—slightly—trying to be a team player.
They stare at each other for several loaded seconds before Dick blinks and turns to open another cupboard. “Just be careful. It’s not just Mankowitz you have to worry about. All of these people are dangerous.” He pulls out a rebreather, a sonic batarang, handfuls of smoke pellets and pellet grenades, and a line launcher, tossing them all on the work surface between them.
“Oh, you’re worried about me now, Dickiebird?”
“Of course, I am, Jay,” Dick says matter-of-factly, looking right at him for a couple of seconds before he crosses to a cupboard on the far wall and pulls out a taser. “Don’t let Bruce see you leaving with all that stuff,” he says, putting it in Jason’s hand before turning to go, leaving Jason to stare at the pile of equipment in front of him.
After he stashes it all in his jacket, he looks up to see that Dick is sitting in the chair next to Bruce and is talking to him—holding his attention—so Bruce’s back is to Jason as he slips away with half of Bruce’s armory on his person.
Goddamned Grayson. Sometimes he makes it really fucking hard to resent him.
As much as he’d like to, Jason doesn’t bother to go home to try to get some sleep. Instead, he scopes out the hotel and its vicinity himself, rather than rely on other’s intel. The call comes at 7:26 am. Markowitz has left his hotel and Oracle is running logarithms that will give them a probable destination, but Jason knows the man’s habits and he’s pretty sure he knows where he’s heading.
He’s pulling open the door at Shorty’s when he hears Oracle in his ear.
“He’s likely headed to Shorty’s Diner, can you get there asap?”
“Sure thing,” he tells her, then clicks off, slips the comm into his pocket.
The place has a row of booths on the side, the two back ones are open. He chooses the last booth, knowing it’s what Markowitz would expect of him and knowing that the other man will definitely sweep the room before he sits. He’ll notice Jason.
The waitress comes by with a coffee pot and Jason pushes the empty mug at the setting closer to her. “Egg-white veggie omelet, light on the cheese, wheat toast,” he says, and she retreats without leaving the menu or saying a word. Jason pulls out his phone and starts reading the newspaper, thumbing idly through it while he sips his coffee and monitors the front door out of his peripheral vision.
A few moments later, a shadow falls over him and he looks up at Anton Markowitz. “Can I help you?” he asks, casual, pointedly not acknowledging that he knows the man.
“I’m surprised to see you here.” It’s said neutrally, but Jason can read a healthy dose of suspicion on his face.
He’s short, and his face is pitted with pockmarks, his small, dark eyes sit below a heavy brow. His hairline has receded noticeably since the last time Jason saw him. But he's apparently still trying to deflect people away from his appearance by wearing stupidly expensive suits, even to walk down to a diner for breakfast. Markowitz always struck Jason as the kind of guy who got bullied as a kid and responded by becoming an even bigger bully, using violence and intimidation to make himself feel important. And sure, he’s self-aware enough to know that that sounds a bit like Jason himself, but he likes to think he uses the violence and intimidation for the right reasons. Now, anyway.
Jason sits back and lifts his coffee, takes a sip and puts it down before saying, “Are you? I live in Gotham. Seems to me you turning up in my city is more of a surprise.”
Markowitz scrutinizes his face for a long moment and Jason sees the instant he relaxes his guard. “Mind if I sit?”
Jason gestures to the bench seat across the booth. Before either of them can say a word, the waitress swoops in with a plate in one hand and coffee pot in the other. She sets Jason’s food in front of him and tops off his mug. “Coffee?” she asks Markowitz who grunts and nudges his cup closer to her. “You eating?”
“Corned beef hash, three eggs over easy, biscuits and gravy, side of bacon.”
Jason snorts as she turns and leaves. “That shit’ll kill you.”
“Well then I’ll die a happy man. You’re still eating that bullshit health food, I see.”
Call it what you want. When Jason was trying to pull his shit together after the Pit, he realized that there was something to the idea of healthy body-healthy mind. Not that vegetables cured him, but there’s no doubt that he feels better when he avoids processed foods and refined sugars.
“You want something, Markowitz?”
“I may have some work for you.”
Jason picks up his fork and tucks into his omelet, shoving the first steaming bite into his mouth and shaking his head as he chews. “Can’t,” he says after he swallows. “Got a job starting in a couple weeks.”
“Well, perfect timing then. What I’ve got starts now and will be over in a few days.”
He can tell that Markowitz isn’t happy about any of this. His words are tight, there’s anger behind them. He’s not good at adapting to changing circumstances so he’s got to be furious that he lost his man. He also doesn’t like it when he can’t control all the pieces on the board, and it always pissed him off that he couldn’t control Jason.
“No thanks,” Jason says focusing on his food, sectioning off another piece of omelet. “I just got off a long job. Want a break before I go back out.”
“Look, it’s an easy job. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Jason glances up at him as he takes another bite. “Yeah?” he says around his food.
“Ten grand and I’ll owe you big.”
Jason sits back and crosses his arms, pretends to consider as he chews slowly and swallows. “That kind of money for an easy job makes me think it’s one I don't want to take.”
Markowitz shrugs. “Basic protection. Only a few hours a day and room-next-door kind of nighttime stuff.”
“You’re not helping your cause. Since when does that kind of work pay that much?”
“It’s important.”
“Then why aren’t you better prepared?”
Markowitz’s face slides into a small, angry grimace. “Lost a man at the last minute. I’m in a bit of a bind. Think of it as a short-notice bonus.”
Jason pretends to consider it for a long minute. “I’m not interested in any complications or bullshit. I gotta be on a plane out of here in 13 days.”
“Not a problem.”
“I’m serious. I don’t give a shit what’s going on, I’m on that plane no matter what.”
Markowitz raises his palms. “Guaranteed.”
Jason severs off another large piece of omelet and pushes it into his mouth. “Fifteen K, and you will owe me.” He gives the man a penetrating look, even knowing he’d never ask this piece of human garbage for a favor.
There’s a beat, and then, with a forced smile, Markowitz says, “Twelve.”
Jason grunts and picks up his knife, slowly butters his toast and takes a bite. His lack of enthusiasm isn’t feigned. He hates this guy. He’s slimy and untrustworthy and just being this close to him makes Jason’s skin crawl. He’d rather be doing anything but this for the next few days, but even after dying, coming back from the dead, the Pit, Talia, and all the rage, he still has trouble saying no to Batman.
He takes his time eating the entire slice of toast before saying, “Deal. Where and when?”
“When you’re done, go home and pack a bag. Be at the Marquis Hotel at noon.”
Jason looks at his watch tosses his napkin over his half-eaten plate of food. He’s got plenty of time, but Markowitz’s proximity is killing his appetite. He stands, drops $25 on the table, and scoops up his phone. “See you at noon,” he says, then hoofs it out the door.
He’s going to make Markowitz pay him daily and he’s going to keep every goddamned penny.
Fucking Bats.