Text"Hey! Table for — oh, it's you."
Peter smiled broadly at the waitress as Jason closed the door behind them. Tina, her tag said, but given the last time they'd been here it said her name was Vicki, Peter somewhat doubted that was the case. According to Kyla from work, it was common practice in Gotham for hospitality workers to swap name tags. If they wore them at all.
"Table for two, please," he told 'Tina'.
Tina flicked the fringe of blue hair back. Her eyes darted from Peter, to the bouquet, to Jason, then back to Peter. "Sure. Special occasion?"
"They're apology flowers," Peter told her, feeling only a little petty when Tina turned her sharp gaze back on him.
She levelled an unimpressed stare at Jason, before spinning on one heel. "You can do better. This way."
"Did you have to tell her?" Jason muttered as they followed.
"Nope. Did anyway. This is part of your apology: she's gonna be extra spiteful now."
Jason huffed. "You could try to sound less gleeful."
"Then I wouldn't be honest, would I?"
"You're a menace."
"Hey Tina, do you think he's being appropriately apologetic?"
Tina stopped by their usual table: the booth right in the corner, with easy view of both the entry and the door to the kitchens. She flicked her fringe back again and Peter delighted in the contemptuous stare she gave Jason. Normally, it would have put Peter on the defensive, but today Peter was still feeling mean.
Actions and words and all that.
"Think he could stand to grovel more." She grinned, as razor sharp as her regard. "Call it a humbling experience."
"I'm feeling very humbled, thanks very much," Jason grumbled.
"Tina would beg to differ."
Peter slipped into the booth — back to the entrance since he knew Jason preferred the vantage point. He set the bouquet down by the napkin dispenser as Jason slouched along the other side until he was pressed against the wall.
"I would," Tina agreed. She whipped out a notebook and pen from her apron. The light blue fabric clashed violently with the punk aesthetic she had going on everywhere else, from boots, to makeup to undercut. "The usual?"
"Please. Ah — but extra home fries and a malted milkshake for me today." Peter didn't even have to look at the menu, but Jason took his time trawling over the sticky laminated sheet. As though he wasn't about to order the same thing he always did — chili dog and fries and bottomless coffee.
Today though, Jason made a whole scene of it. Hemming and hawing, flipping over the menu while Tina's grip of her pencil grew increasingly tight-fisted, aura turning positively homicidal. Peter was seconds away from kicking him. It was all a deliberate performance. A message to Peter: see? It told him. I can be just as petty as you.
For that, Peter cut in the exact moment Jason inhaled to speak. "He'll have the corned beef hash and coffee. Decaf."
Jason's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. But the full force of Jason's glare was no match for Peter when the spite took him. Nor was Jason's attempt to kick Peter under the table.
"Just the standard—" Jason tried to correct, but Tina was already walking away. "Fuck."
Peter smiled sweetly. "You should be watching how much caffeine you take, dear."
"Caffeine's the only thing that makes their sludge tolerable, princess."
"But I'm so worried! What if your lack of sleep clouds your judgement again, darling?"
"Lack of sleep should be less a concern than my caffeine withdrawals, baby."
Without realising it, Peter's grin had turned genuine. He coughed and schooled his expression into something more surly. As was appropriate for someone who was still mad at their pseudo-boyfriend-slash-real-housemate.
Jason leaned back with a sigh as the mood turned stiff and awkward again. The casual observer would have thought him lazy, but Peter saw how carefully Jason watched the rest of the diner. It was almost two-thirty and Porter Street was emptying as the final furlong of the lunch rush filtered out. A few pockets of tradesmen, an elderly couple sharing a plate of fries and a young man about Peter's age working on a laptop, were all that remained in the diner. From where Peter sat, he could see that the young man shared almost the exact same face as Tina, though his chin was bigger, his brows heavier and he had an unfortunate but 2016-appropriate haircut. His dark, choppy bangs had been straightened and styled to swoop to the left. The Beiber cut again.
What a time to be alive.
Peter turned away before he could be caught staring. "Give me the camera."
Jason raised a brow at his curtness.
"Please, snookums."
The face Jason pulled at that particular gem was almost enough for Peter to crack a smile again, but he resisted because he was strong. The plastic bag was set on the table and Peter dragged it over with greedy hands. He set out the camera and a roll of film, leaving the spare lens (a telephoto lens! An apologetic Jason was an excellent gift-giver) and the two other film canisters in the bag, shoved to the side for Peter to peruse later.
He felt Jason's eyes on him as he inspected the Minolta once again. It wasn't a 7000 like Ben had — it was a little more modern, but probably not by much. There were a few dings and scrapes — signs of a well-used device — but the lens itself was fine. With a little adjustment of the viewfinder, the image through the little window was perfectly clear. Jason grimaced as Peter peered at him through it.
"It's not even on," Peter pointed out.
"I'm not one for getting my picture taken."
Because he was a nice person, Peter contemplated feeling bad for making Jason agree to a 'photoshoot'. But as before, pettiness successfully beat off the sentiment with a stick.
"My heart goes out for you."
Jason's answering chuff of laughter almost threatened to undo the remnants of Peter's anger. Did he have to sound so fond? It was seriously killing Peter's vibe.
He set the camera down and fiddled about with the spindle until the back clicked open. The design was close enough to his Uncle's that it didn't take much to work out how to insert the film. Only a little more work to wind the spool until it was ready for use.
A thought occurred to him. "If I turn this on and it's low battery, I want a divorce."
Jason's eyes crinkled as he laughed this time, and if the film hadn't been an incredibly precious resource, Peter would have flicked the camera on and hit the shutter in an instant. But despite what anyone might have said, Peter had self-restraint (he had oodles of self-restraint! Oodles of noodles of it. An entire Panda Express worth of the stuff).
"I'll be spared, then," Jason chuckled. "Asked them to put some in before I paid."
And sure enough, it turned on, no problem. Three-quarter battery, even — guess the pawnshop or whatever it was couldn't spare new ones. Unfair, unfair, unfair! Peter wanted to stay mad, but it was a struggle to do so when Jason's smile was back with that stupid fondness, and the Minolta in Peter's greedy hands wasn't the same, but it was close, so close, to Ben's. The one they'd lost.
And Jason was right: Peter was thinking about Ben. Remembering those early days, long before the bite. Freshly cut with grief from his parents' sudden deaths and bitter. Bitter like biting into a grapefruit whole. Peter fought back at every opportunity, chafing at these two adults who were to take the place of his parents (not that they ever said as much. No, May and Ben had always been clear: they weren't there to replace of Peter's parents, but they loved him all the same).
And then… one day, Ben took Peter to the park, Minolta in tow. He showed a surly, reluctant Peter how to wind the film, to adjust for shutter speed and apertures and fine tune his depth of field. Looking through that viewfinder… Peter felt like he could remove himself from it all — just a little. And there was as wonder to using film, too. Digital cameras were great, but the delayed gratification of real film… it was like waiting for Christmas. You knew you were in for something — good or bad. The excitement of it all was something he shared with Ben. That was something his dad never gave him, and it was the first time Peter looked to Ben and thought: this man doesn't want to be my dad. He just wants to love me.
When he learnt they'd lost that Minolta during the Snap…
He ran his thumb over the well-worn grip and struggled to keep his composure. Then, Peter dragged the camera up to his face, fiddled a little with the exposure — widening the aperture and slowing the shutter — and snapped a photo of Jason, whose expression was caught somewhere between concern and surprise.
The shutter's low-pitched, mechanical click was a slap of pure nostalgia.
"Don't go wasting that film," Jason warned. "I've got no clue where you can get more."
"Making you uncomfortable is never a waste," Peter shot back, though he doubted the words had the right bite to it. "You can usually just but it online. Don't worry."
Jason nodded and would have said something, but Tina returned with their drinks, set down without a word. Even with her gone, Jason didn't try to speak again until he'd taken a deep drink of his coffee and suddenly pulled a face.
Peter cackled, drawing the attention of one of the pockets of tradesmen, their clothes filmy with pale dust.
"Christ." Jason shoved the mug away with disgust. "I fucking forgot it was decaf."
"It's good for you!"
A glint of mischief sparked. "I bet that milkshake's terrible for you, Pete. Want me to take it off your hands?"
Even as he spoke, Jason lunged for the milkshake but Peter was faster. He had it up and off the table before Jason got halfway.
"Back off, bitch. This is mine!"
"C'mon, Petey. Just a sip?" Jason wheedled, attempting to pull off objectively the worst puppy eyes Peter had ever seen.
To prove just how unimpressed Peter was, he slurped obnoxiously, batting away Jason's second lunge with his free hand. It wasn't as good as the one from that New York diner (Peter still dreamed of those burgers), but it was still delicious and better yet, the best thing to drink at the table.
Jason groaned and slumped back into his seat. Pointedly, Peter nudged the decaf coffee back at Jason and he gave Peter the middle finger in return.
"Very mature."
"Says the guy drinking a milk-flavoured milkshake."
"Says the guy who wants my milk-flavoured milkshake."
"If that's a euphemism for something else, I'm going to kill myself and then you," Tina announced, returning with a tray of food. Peter promptly choked and Jason took the opening like the opportunistic bastard that he was, to steal the milkshake right out of Peter's hands.
"Can we get another of these?" Jason asked politely. All the while, the cheating cheater who cheated sipped at the stolen goods.
"Fine," Tina huffed. "One garbage omelette, extra home fries, and… a corned beef hash." Jason's hash was dumped in front of him with a harsh clack, Peter's set down more gently. Knives and forks emerged from her apron and were dropped in a pile between them. "Enjoy."
Peter hadn't thought the word 'enjoy' could be articulated in such a way that it became the exact opposite. It was genuinely impressive.
"Remind me again why she doesn't like you?" he mused as Tina stalked away. She stopped by the table with the young-man who could only be her brother, chatting with him warmly while she refilled his mug. "She's perfectly nice to me. I even got a smile that time."
Sure, her smile as she gave him his omelette had been bordering on pitying, but it was still a whole smile more than anything she gave Jason.
The milkshake was set down and Peter promptly stole it back.
"I stole her Yankee Candle collection," Jason drawled. Peter rolled his eyes. Hard. "But I paid her back with a life's supply of Slim Jims, so I don't see why I still get the animosity."
When Jason made grabby hands for the milkshake — because apparently they were sharing now — Peter clutched the glass closer. This was the third time he'd asked Jason why the waitress didn't like him, and the third nonsensical answer. But this time, Peter had leverage.
"Fess up, or you go thirsty, mister."
"Ugh. Fine." Jason held out his hand and Peter begrudgingly passed the milkshake over. "She's a friend of the family."
Peter raised a brow.
"Not like that." Jason grimaced, twisting the straw through the shake. The metal clinked softly on the glass. "Okay. Maybe like that. Like, two years ago? Maybe more. I… wasn't on my best behaviour in those days."
"Ah."
"She's retired now[1] — mostly. Going to college, last I heard. Still pally with the girls."
That would explain it.
Peter cut into his omelette with muted enthusiasm. Today, they'd stuffed it full with bell peppers, onion, sausage and cheese curds. All excellent additions, even if the shifting mood tempered his enjoyment.
(Jason, on the other hand, grimaced at his plate which shimmered with grease. He plucked out a napkin from the dispenser and began pressing it lightly on the hash, instantly staining the while tissue yellow.)
His thoughts turned to Red Hood's reputation as he took his first bite. It wasn't like Peter wasn't aware of the things Red Hood had done. He knew of them. He knew that Red Hood's arrival in Gotham had been violent and bloody. Granted, much of what Peter learnt came through forums rather than official sources, but Red Hood had racked up a significant body count and it wasn't as if Jason had ever denied it.
Any yet… it was difficult to reconcile the Red Hood of those stories to the Red Hood of today — nevermindthe Jason Todd of today. Halloween Eve Eve? Peter read the police reports: plenty of broken bones, but there wasn't a single casualty, despite the legion of men Jason fought while Peter raced ahead. And those goons were following Pyg — no way they didn't know what they were signing up for. It could have been fertile ground for Jason's less sympathetic takes on justice. But it hadn't been.
"Do you regret it?"
"… Of course I do. Never wanted to hurt you. Should've said something sooner: there's no good excuse for that."
"No—" although the swift response eased Peter's death grip to the last of his resentment, it wasn't what he'd been thinking of. "I meant, when you first came back. Do you regret it? The way you did it?"
Jason set down his knife and fork to properly look at Peter. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he openly searched for the words. Peter waited with as much patience as he could muster (which wasn't much).
Three home fries met their demise at the end of his fork by the time Jason spoke again.
"In a way… yeah. In those early days… I struggled to — see the grey… I was driven by the need to get things done, and get 'em done fast. Didn't care much about casualties along the way — not if they were already in the—" Jason grimaced, "the trade. It was all black or white to me — too angry for it to be anything else. You either worked for Mask, or you didn't. If it was the latter, I let 'em go — with warnings and rules. If the former[2]…"
The truth sat as heavy and oily between them as Jason's hash. Tina stopped by with the new milkshake and Peter immediately claimed it for himself, clutching it to conceal his discomfort. When she left, Jason squared his shoulders and looked at Peter directly.
"I regret how I did it, but I don't regret what I am. Who I am. I want Gotham to be better, and B's route is ineffective. Worse, the 'official'—" the contempt in the word was spat out, landing like a dead fish right on top of the ugly truth, "way's even worse. It's just lining the pockets of the rich, the apathetic and the cruel — sometimes, all three at once.
"I was always told that killing someone was meant to change — everything. But when I came back… nothing'd changed. I'd been—" Jason broke off, unwilling to say it aloud in such a public place. "Nothing, Pete. B was still up to his usual trick. There was a new kid on the block. And worse than all of that? He was still around, hurting people, a trail of dead the size of Texas and still growing and stillfucking untouchable. Same shit, different day. By the time I came back, I'd already half a dozen under my belt. Pieces of shit, the lotta 'em. Child traffickers and torturers and murderers."
The challenge in Jason's stare was plain as day. Peter twisted the milkshake in his hands, unsettled. It was easy to pass it all off as 'in the past'. A different chapter, the door firmly shut on that part of Jason's life. But it wasn't. Not to Jason, and therefore, not to Peter, either.
"I've seen what happens to people like that, Pete. Long before I died. They hurt others for years and years. Maybe they get caught — and only then if they don't have connections, and those sortsa bastards always do. They rule the roost in prison and then they get out. Rinse and repeat. The cycle doesn't end; their ledgers just get longer. I don't regret those. If the system won't improve, then I'llimprove the system. That's how I thought of it then, and how I think now ain't that far off.
"The difference is… I understand things more, these days. The why of it all. Most folks ain't evil. Petty—" Jason glanced pointedly at his greasy plate, lip quirking in a flash of wry amusement, "and greedy, and they make it far too easy to think of other people as inhuman, but they're not evil. If I can use the power I've got to take care of things before they get real bad for others, then that's what I'm gonna do."
"And when you can't?" It was a stupid question: Peter already knew the answer but there he was, asking it anyway.
"Then I take the permanent route," Jason said grimly. He shoved a mouthful of hash into his mouth as if to shut himself up, and immediately grimaced.
Peter attempted to do the same, but he'd lost all enthusiasm for his meal. In hindsight, he shouldn't have asked such a loaded question when they were eating, but call him many things, Peter 'I have an ounce of self-preservation' Parker he was not.
"I know you got your lines," Jason said, soft as he noticed Peter's unease, "and I won't ever ask you to cross 'em. But I've got mine, too. Leaving Gotham to the wolves when I've the power to stop it is one of 'em. And…" Pale eyes landed on the bouquet and his face spasmed strangely. When he spoke again, it was with his gaze still trained on the flowers, not Peter. "And if that's too far for you, then — then this is it. Where we end it, Pete."
It was a struggle to breathe, for a moment. Peter's chest felt a little like it had imploded. Only for him to suck in air again and the world righted itself, the muted hum of the post-lunch diner returning to full volume once more.
"Is that… is that what you want?"
"No," came Jason's swift reply. "Fuck, no. I told you before, Pete. You mean — a lot. To me. You're my — my friend. You're important to me and like hell do I wanna lose that. But I won't compromise that part of myself for you. I won't compromise that for anyone."
It was humbling, just how honest Jason was. Meanwhile Peter had struggled for months just to think May's name. But…
Friends…
That's what they were, wasn't it? Two months was more than enough time, but still Peter had been hesitant to put a label on what they were — well. A genuine label, that was.
"I don't want that either," Peter said eventually, and nearly lost his train of thought when Jason finally looked back at him. His eyes were wide, a little wild, even. Searching. "I don't want to leave…"
But I will fight you if you take that route.
As though his strings had been cut, Jason slumped over the table, head in his hands. Belatedly, Peter realised just how tensely Jason had been holding himself.
"Jace…" He reached out to brush his fingers over Jason's, buried in his own hair. Immediately, Jason latched on, grabbing Peter's hand in both of his and pressing it against his temple, face hidden from view. His skin was hot and slightly tacky. Strands of black and white hair brushed softly over Peter's curled fingers with Jason's every breath.
"Thank God," he caught Jason breathe. A soft utterance, meant only for himself to hear and Peter lamented his enhanced hearing that unwittingly shared this moment of vulnerability with him. "Thank God."
There were eyes on them. A pair: one wavering, the other unabashed. Peter didn't dare look. Probably couldn't have, anyway. A haggardly relieved Jason Todd was a sight to behold; one Peter was certainly unable to turn from. Instead, he gripped Jason's forearm with his other hand, feeling the minute trembles that shook through the man and firmly ignored the little scene they must be making, tucked into the corner of the diner. It was only two, and Peter had a good idea who their voyeurs were.
Eventually, Jason calmed and withdrew. The back of Peter's hand, his palm, his wrist, felt cold. He dragged it back, rubbing absently against his pants. Jason's face was pink, his eyes wet.
Wordlessly, Peter pulled a fistful of napkins from the dispenser and handed them over. Jason laughed softly at the crumpled handful but took them anyway.
"Thanks," he said wetly, and Peter knew it was for more than just the napkins.
"Any time."
Jason sniffed and swiped at his eyes.
"You ruined your mascara," Peter noted. It was a weak joke, but Jason laughed again all the same.
"My bad. Left the waterproof stuff at home."
"A foolish oversight."
"I'll be sure to rectify it the next time we fight."
Peter and Jason were grinning now. A shared camaraderie that left him warm inside. Then, Jason glanced down at their plates of barely touched heart-attacks in waiting.
"Swap?" he asked hopefully.
Peter could have taken or left the corned beef hash, but he was also loathe to let any food go to waste when it could be put to better use: like burning calories. Wordlessly, he pushed forward his garbage omelette and took Jason's plate. It required a healthy slathering of hot sauce but that was fine.
"Tell me about this new tracer you've been working on?" Jason asked as they finally tucked in.
Peter brightened. He fell into an enthusiastic explanation — one that only required a couple of interjections from Jason to remind him to eat.
— + —
👑 Gotham Girlies 👑
Today 2:26 PM
words cannot convey how much I resent Jason fucking Todd coming to the diner
sure he tips great but if he could do that and also immediately leave my life would be so much better
Steph Infection
Aw, he's not that bad these days.
hes rlly mellowed since Peter
his face annoys me
Barbie Girl
fair
plus, Cullen is here, like, all the time! I do NOT need him fixating on another badboy with gang affiliations 🤦♀️
(C)Ass
🤷🏽♀️🚫🫸🏽🙅🏽😏🎉✨
Barbie Girl
it's too early for me to bother interpreting that Cass
Steph Infection
translation: at least he's taken and therefore unattainable
👍(C)Ass
Barbie Girl
how on God's green earth did you get that from that.
update: have Jason and his guy been fighting? Cause they joked about it when they came in, but also, things are looking pretty tense right now.
nevermind, they made up. Wow. Gross
Steph Infection
PICS BITCH
Pass. Ugh. Cullen is making 😍 eyes at them. It's like he's never seen a pair of gays in Gotham before jfc
3:09 PM ✔️✔️🔒
— + —
Barbara Gordon sure as hell made of good show at it that evening. She'd spent the day feeling more spry than she had in weeks and the costume sang her a siren's song throughout her waking hours. It was a taunting symphony, filled with laughter and screams and the promise of flight. The melody of adrenaline through her veins. Oh, how she missed that song! She was ready for it. Tonight was the night, after far too long. And yet.
And yet and yet and yet—
The moment she struggled into the synthetic polymer top (far better at stopping bullets than Kevlar) and reached for the hidden zipper up the side, she felt it.
The Twinge™.
It was small, but it was a threat. Go out tonight and I shall end you.
She could have ignored it. Could have wriggled into the pants, shoved socked feet into boots and slipped on the cowl. But Barbara had not lasted as long as she had by ignoring the signs. Mobility was a precious and hard-won thing for her. It wasn't one to be risked for a night that couldn't remotely be considered an emergency.
Still, it didn't stop her from shouting in frustration and chucking her pants at the wall. They landed with an ineffectual and unsatisfying thwop on the floor.
She just wanted to fly.
Her eyes travelled to her boots, sitting neatly on the floor… but. No. She had no interest in redoing the plaster again. Instead, she flopped onto her bed and screamed into a pillow.
As always, she allowed herself a brief time to wallow in self-pity. It was good for the ecosystem, she thought. Then, as always, Barbara Gordon sucked it up, sat up and got dressed for a different kind of evening.
By the time she got to the clock tower, her little fit was practically forgotten. Say one thing about Barbara Gordon, but she was a practical woman. Had to be, of course, if she were to remodel herself after Joker stole Batgirl from her. And she was proud of who she'd become. Of what she'd achieved.
But nothing could replace those memories as Batgirl…
As the hidden elevator took her upwards, she settled into Oracle's familiar mindset. Cool. Collected. Nosy. Case files were organised from least to most urgent, then again from important to least important. Patrol routes were designated for those on duty. No Damian tonight: he'd sprained a wrist two nights prior, though of course he'd attempted to hide it. But Alfred could sniff out injuries like a shark could blood and benched the brat before he could embarrass himself by lying.
The lift stopped. She checked the security feed — all was well. Put in the pin for the doors to open—
Only to stop.
The lift entrance was a deliberate choke point, meant to hinder anyone coming in — or out — of the access point. The space had been designed in such a way that unless you were positioned in the right spot (and height) when the doors opened, you'd see nothing but an odd collection of walls.
But if you were in the right position, you had a clear sight of the computer banks, where, reasonably, anyone wanting to break into Oracle's systems would be standing.
There was no one there… but the monitors were on.
The monitors should not have been on.
As silent as the lift doors, Oracle straightened from her crouch and withdrew her tonfa, hidden in her crutches, silently leaving one of them in the elevator. It was too soon to pull the silent alarm — could just be a Bat, deciding to have a go at her systems again — but she kept the button in easy reach, ready to press it the moment whoever was inside announced themselves as a threat.
And then she crept inside, keeping to the walls. She knew the clock tower intimately and could have navigated it blind-folded. Every blind spot, every hiding spot.
And best of all, she knew to look up.
There was someone in the rafters. A darkened shape half swallowed by shadows. Their other half hung from the crossbeam they sat on, legs swinging gently in the empty air. Nonchalant. Casual. Red and blue, marked with black webbing.
A spider.
She huffed but didn't let down her guard. Just because Spider-Man had earned the trust of the Bats — Jason at the helm — didn't mean she was about to relax. He'd broken into her space. Done who knew what to her systems, for none of her alarms to go off when he'd done so. And now he lay in wait for his prey to entrap themselves.
But Oracle was nobody's prey.
How on Earth had Peter Parker stolen into her domain? He had to be hiding far more than any of them realised to have managed it. Jason said he was untrained — practically an amateur. But altering her security systems was the work no amateur.
Heart in her throat, Oracle flicked on the recordsetting on her phone.
The swinging feet abruptly stopped. Spider-Man knew he'd been seen. Barbara stepped out of her hiding spot, not caring now that she'd been had.
"Why're you here?" she demanded. The tonfa remained out in full view.
Her demand went ignored.
"Hello, Oracle," said the spider. He dropped down with a resounding thud. "I think it's about time you and I had a chat."
[1] Harper Row was introduced as a new ally to Batman during the New 52 runs, becoming Bluebird. She's a skilled hacker and engineer (in fact she improved on Batman's devices that he used to hack into security cameras - and I'm definitely saying she made the disruptor design that features in chapter 18. She featured in some of the Batman Eternal, and Batman & Robin Eternal comics, working alongside Tim (as Red Robin) and Cass, but by the end of her storyline, stepped back from the vigilante life to go to college. She makes a reappearance in the Rebirth continuity in Detective Comics, however it's as a supporting role, only taking back the Bluebird mantle during Joker Wars (which have happened in ECM, but I'm going to say that she only put the mask back on as a temporary, all hands on deck kinda thing). Her younger brother is Cullen Row, who had previously dated the son of a Royal Flush Gang member (relevant to the Joker Wars run).
IDK if she doesn't like Jason, I just think it's fucking funny that she's got a grudge against him.
[2] For anyone who has not read or watched Under the Red Hood, the majority of Jason's focus when it comes to taking over the underworld is on Black Mask's gang. He is particularly relentless with dismantling Sionis' operations in the comics. There are multiple instances of him destroying convoys with supplies for the False Facers, which included killing those driving the vehicles (this isn't necessarily explicit, but the text makes it clear enough that's what's happening).