Soon after Dick finishes his conversation with Batman, Jason returns, a steamy brown paper bag in his hands. With an expression of utter pride, he distributes a steamy hotdog to each member of the Wayne family.

"Mr. Todd, thank you for your considerate gift," Alfred says. "But please do not buy such foods in the future. They are bad for your health." Then he takes away Batman's hotdog.

Tim stares at his own. "Did you burn down the hotdog stand or something?"

Jason gives him a disbelieving look. "Why would I need to if I can just steal a wallet."

Laughing at their exchange, Dick pats Damian on the shoulders. "This brings me back."

Damian tilts his head. "So he's always been a thief."

"Reality hurts." Dick rubs Damian's fuzzy head. The child reminds him of a child Jason sometimes - a mature yet cranky child. "He'd have been a good person had he grown up under different circumstances."

Damian's lips curl in disbelief. "Some things are genetic, Grayson."

At this, Jason turns towards them. He motions for Damian to leave.

Damian purses his lips, defiant.

Jason's mouth curls upward. He slinks toward Dick, pinning him in place with his suggestive gaze. Just as Dick thought he was going to kiss him, Jason lowers his head, the sharp bridge of his nose brushing against Dick's collarbone. He traces the line from the neck up towards Dick's face. With a smirk, he blows on Dick's eyes, making him blink.

It would have been less seductive if they'd just kissed.

Damian jumps, eyes wide with anger. "How disgusting!"

Tim bursts out laughing, unsympathetic towards Damian's plight. He puts his arms on Damian's shoulders and steers him out of the cave, giving some privacy to the two lovebirds.

The cave looms empty.

Retreating back across the cave, Jason leans against the wall, focused only on his hotdog. His eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought.

Dick does not believe he went out just to buy hotdogs, but does not know how to ask.

Looks like Jason has met up with the Prosecutor, and has made his decision.

A good decision or a bad one?

Dick would have asked had it been in the past, but now, he's uncertain. Time flies, and distance has lengthened between them. He's not sure he could face what comes next. "You shouldn't take a child so seriously," he says instead. Inching towards him, he notices the stubble on Jason's chin. He's no longer the child he'd left behind.

Jason snorts. "He's not a child, that little monster."

"How accurate," Dick says, stuffing the last bit of hot dog into his mouth. "Is this the fruits of your morning excursion?"

"It's not easy. Remember that little hotdog stand two blocks from my house? The old man's gone. It's his son now that's managing the business."

"How touching, Little Wing, for you to still remember what I like."

"Shut up!" Jason lowers his head in embarrassment. He pulls a wrinkled napkin out of his pocket and throws it at Dick. "Wipe your mouth. Only you would eat hotdog so sloppily."

"Obsessed with cleanliness as before." Dick hooks his arms around Jason's neck, closing his lips on the other's ear. "I know you wanted to kiss me in front of them. Were you shy?"

Jason's face turns crimson. He turns his face away, refusing to meet Dick's gaze. Refusing to let him go, Dick place his hand around his face and forces him back, pushing their lips together.

The mustard-flavoured kiss makes them laugh.

If it weren't for the glowing machinery all around them, Jason would have thought they were an ordinary couple, exchanging kisses after dinner. But in reality, they've been cornered, and could only hide out in this damp cave, waiting for their judgement. The realization wipes the smile from his Dick.

"Aren't you bored being stuck here all day, Dickiebird? Wanna go out?"

Dick shrugs. "Would that be a date?"

"That would make the beginning of our relationship terrible." Irritated, Jason grabs the napkin and wipes ketchup from the corner of Dick's mouth.

Their first stop is the bar Dick used to work at. Before being taken away by the Court, he'd become its owner. They didn't think it'd still remain open after six years, though the owner has obviously changed. 

Saddened, Dick studies the blackened restaurant sign. "I thought our date would be at an Italian Restaurant. With candles," he says, trying to keep his tone light.

"How quaint." Jason looks at the neon lights fashioned in the shape of a sailor. "What's wrong with some nostalgia?"

Given it's proximity to the docks, most of the bar's patrons are sailors and dock workers. Clad in sweat-soaked shirts throughout the year, they'd frequently get into fights, drunk on cheap beer and sex workers.

Smoke chokes the air within the bar. Jason prides himself on having learnt to do it here. He takes a few deep breathes, intoxicated. Dick, on the other hand, coughed. No matter how long he's worked here, he could never get used to the smell of cigarettes.

The new bartender is a white girl with hair dyed brilliant blue, her eyes heavy with smoky eyeshadow and her body full of piercing. Her tanktop shows off the swirling tattoos across her back and arms.

She greets them as she wipes down the countertop with a yellowed cloth. "New faces. What would you like, boys?" The bubble gum in her mouth blows out, and then pops.

Like before, Jason refuses to touch the countertop. He looks at it in slight distaste. "Scotch for me. Don't add anything to it. Just give him beer."

Dick turns to him. "I didn't know you drink strong alcohol."

"You don't know a lot of things, mom." Jason takes out a leather wallet, throwing the girl a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"Nice wallet." The girl whistles, and steps away to pour their drinks.

Silences reigns between them.

At times like these, Dick used to be able to trick Jason into talking. But now, he fidgets, uncertain. It was the same awkwardness that plagued them on their way here. Despite their closeness, they had nothing to say.

Jason studies the rows of wine bottles on the shelves, his thoughts flurried. Dick could not possibly accept what their teacher has offered - he'd long since tired of living that way. Besides, a bird should never be trapped in a cage. It should be free, Jason decides. Let him handle the rest.

"You were never this generous," Dick says, tentative.

"It's not our money." Jason purses his lips, throwing the wallet to Dick, who opens it to see the picture of a balding middle-aged man with eyes like dead fish. "The commerce centre is full of rich people. I'm just borrowing."

Dick is too ecstatic by Jason's use of "our" to scold him for stealing.

"Since you've already spent it, there's no reason to talk to you about this."

Jason tilts his chin, an imitation of Alfred. "Thank you."

Another awkward silence ensues.

Restless, Dick starts pacing throughout the bar, checking for changes since he's been gone. Jason watches him, silent.

Catching sight of the bartender flipping through a magazine, he asks: "Are you the owner?"

"As if I'd have the money," the girl says, taking out a cigarette. As she gropes for a light, Jason tosses her his own. "Thanks," she says. "The boss is a gambler. He gave this place to the Russians as collateral."

"I'd thought Russians wouldn't want a dingy place like this."

"Better than nothing. They've been on the run from Batman."

Batman is the guardian of the city, yet how many people thank him for it? Jason sighs. "Not many people here."

"Wait until later." The girl breathes out a circle of smoke, the muscles in her neck tensing. "At night, this place comes alive."

Alive with sex workers and drunkards. Jason snorts.

The bartender edges close. "I think I know you. You look quite different, though your boyfriend still looks the same."

"What?"

She gestures at the wall with her cigarette. "Your picture is still up there. It was there before I started working here."

As if on cue, Dick sees the framed photo. He lifts it off of its hook and waves at them excitedly.

"Look what I found! Our picture!" Dick hands it to Jason. "You were only to my shoulder then."

Jason squints at the photo. It must have been Christmas when it was taken. His mother had only just passed away. In the picture, his gaunt face was joyless, staring at the camera with a cold glare. Dick was in formal clothes, smiling brightly as usual. But his gaze towards the boy in his arms was full of worry.

"Look at that frown," Dick edges close. "Can't you give just a bit of a smile?"

"Smile like an idiot like you? I'll pass."

"Ouch," Dick clutches his chest and uses the excuse to drape himself across Jason's torso. "I hate you."

"You grew so much since then," the bartender says.

Jason snorts, pleased. He hands the picture back to Dick, who carefully tucks it under his jacket. He blinks at the bartender, hopeful. "Can you give me this? It's precious to me."

The bartender shrugs.

"Is that necessary?" Jason asks. "It's just a photo."

"Our only photo together." Dick says. "Wait, why don't we take another?" He turns to the bartender. "Could you help us?"

"Sure," she says, extending her hand. "Give me your phone."

They exchanges a look, and then stares at her.

"Forgot?"

"We don't have one." Dick scratches his head, embarrassed. "Can we borrow yours?"

"Where've you been, darling? Under a rock?"

"Your profession is bound to encounter some strange fellas. Like us." Jason drains his last drop of alcohol. "Bet you haven't met anyone like us before . Fuckin' cosplayers running around killing people and setting fires."

"You suck at telling jokes." The girl rolls her eyes. She gropes under the counter for her phone. "Seeing that you two aren't bad looking, I'll do you a favour."

They find a good place near the pool table, where there's enough light but not too many people. Jason and Dick leans against its edge, Dick's arm hanging around Jason's shoulder; Jason snakes a possessive arm around Dick's waist. Despite their closeness, their expressions couldn't be more dissimilar - Dick smiling, Jason glaring.

"Buddy, try to smile. Your lover is right beside you and I don't owe you any money." The girl draws a happy face in the air with her fingers. "It's not a mafia photo. Besides. Even gangsters would smile for this."

Jason grumbles in displeasure, but twitches the corners of his mouth upward. Time freezes the instant before he could remember how to smile, capturing a grinning Dick and his own awkward expression.

The bartender reviews the shot, dissatisfied with the result but unwilling to take exert more effort with retakes. She waves the camera in front of them. "I doubt either of you have emails? I'll mail it to you, seeing how generous you are with the tip."

Dick pauses. They can't exactly have her mail it to Wayne Manor, and yet he doesn't want to give up this rare opportunity.

Jason picks up a pen from the counter beside the pile of drink menus, and quickly jots something down. Dick recognizes it as Jason's old address with his mother.

"Mail it there." Jason hands the bartender another hundred bucks. "If you don't, you'll deal with me. Don't doubt the word of a murderer." His eyes glint under the fluorescent lights. And for the first time, the bartender realizes that the man with the white fringe in his hair may not be joking after all.