Summary: Snippets of a blossoming romance between Jason Tood/Red Hood and an original character (named Ima), with other DC characters in supporting roles. Jason falls for a waitress at a diner he frequents with his best friend, Roy Harper. When she is caught in the crossfire between him and Black Mask, he is determined to protect her at all costs. What he does not expect is her falling for him, too. And how much she becomes a part of his – and the Batfamily’s – life.
** Not strictly canon. Romance + fluff + minor angst. A lot of Batfamily feels. Title from the Coldplay song. Currently 8 chapters long, each one to be posted separately due to length. Editing may occur, depending on inspiration. 🙂 **
Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight
Five
He could get used to it: domesticity.
Ima adjusted to living with him and Roy a little better each day, and the latter had clearly grown fond of her. “Starfire never cooked this good!” he had exclaimed, mouth full of chakchouka, during one of the rare times all three of them had breakfast together. “Thank you. My bibi taught me how to make it,” she said shyly but with a hint of pride, remembering how her grandmother used to sing as she cooked the traditional African stew. She inherited the habit, and the one time that Jason caught her made her blush furiously.
The trips to Big Belly Burger during patrol nights were happening less and less, too. Jason savored every packed meal she prepared for him, even the one slathered in shrimp sauce. The EpiPen saved the day, so there was no point telling her what happened. Her bright, warm smiles were a treasured commodity for him and he did not want to give her any reason to replace them with worry lines.
When he came home, she was usually waiting for him, reading one of his books on the couch or kitchen island. She would ask about his day, but not demand an answer, then give him a once over as if to check if all his pieces were intact. He would do the same, even if he knew she had spent the entire day in the safe house.
Playful banter over cups of coffee came easily to them, and her laughter made him dizzy with happiness. But the moments of silence between them were just as soothing. Reassuring. As were their touches, subconscious and instinctive at first, then deliberate and careful, becoming more confident as the days passed.
Yet he still slept on the couch, even when Ima insisted that she did not mind sharing the bed with him; she trusted him. But what if he could not trust himself with her? He would not tell her that, of course. He would say that he still believed in old-fashioned values, which he did, anyway.
Although, he did make exceptions, such as when the nightmares came and refused to let her sleep. He would lay down beside her, reading her an excerpt from Shakespeare or another of her favorites, until she dozed off. But even then, he would not lay a finger on her. He was content watching her sleep peacefully.
Sometimes she drove him crazy, grabbing his hand when he least expected it, pulling him into a makeshift dance floor in the living room, which had been cleared of weaponry. Dancing was never in Jason’s repertoire of gravity-defying skills, as he would remind her over and over. But she would always have none of it. She would shush him, quietly place his hand on her waist, pull him closer with one of hers, and hold his other hand with her other one. Any trace of shyness gone. Slow 1940s music. Dim lighting. Dilated pupils. Racing heartbeats. “This was Poppa and Momma’s favorite song.”
He could get used to this.
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