Chapter Text
Jason hadn’t planned to spend his Sunday morning sorting bulk cereal boxes and bruised produce. But when Maria, one of the night shift cleaners at Wayne Tower, asked for a lift to the South Narrows food bank, he stuck around to help.
She didn’t ask. People like Maria rarely did. She just gave him a soft “You don’t have to stay” and kept working, arms aching under bags twice her size.
So yeah. He stayed.
It wasn’t until they were unloading crates into the outreach pantry that she slipped.
“I picked up two extra shifts this week,” she said, trying to sound casual. “But rent just went up again. I’m thinking about moving across the bridge. It’s farther from work, but maybe I can bike.”
Jason paused, hands tightening around a box of canned tomatoes. “You’re working full-time. Plus overtime.”
Maria shrugged, eyes on the sidewalk. “Yeah, but I had to buy my son a new inhaler. And sometimes groceries don’t wait.”
She smiled after like she hadn’t just lit Jason’s blood on fire.
By Monday night, he was storming into Wayne Enterprises with a scowl that could crack concrete. He bypassed security with a swipe of an emergency access badge (one of the few luxuries of Bat life he didn’t mind using) and headed straight to the executive suite.
He found Tim in the lounge, sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned, hunched over a tablet and three empty coffee cups.
Jason always looked too comfortable in chaos. Tim hated that about him. Or he told himself he did. What he really hated was the way his pulse jumped every time Jason walked into a room, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that they were supposed to be antagonists.
“Hey, Timbo.”
Tim startled, nearly knocking over his tablet. “Jason? What the hell—”
Jason tossed a crumpled pay stub onto the table. “Wanna explain why Maria, who mops your halls every damn night, is getting paid less than a Gotham bus driver?”
Tim blinked. Jason’s eyes were sharp, and for a split second Tim forgot how to speak. Or breathe. Dammit.
“She’s… one of the janitorial staff?” he said, stalling.
“Bingo.”
Tim stood up straighter, trying to hide the sudden heat creeping up his neck. Jason always got under his skin, but lately (God, lately) it had been worse. Probably a residual effect of all the patrols they’d done together. Or the way Jason’s voice sounded when he was actually being serious.
He cleared his throat. “Look, we’re already paying above the standard rate for facilities work. LexCorp pays less.”
Jason stared at him. “Wow. That’s your bar? Luthor?”
“It’s not that simple,” Tim said, folding his arms defensively. “There are contracts, margins, labor law—”
“Yeah, all things that are important when you’re not sure where your next meal is coming from. I know what it’s like to stretch five bucks across three days,” Jason said, stepping closer. “You? I doubt you’ve ever struggled a day in your life.”
Tim hated how close he was. Or at least, his brain told him he should. His body? Not so much. His mouth opened before he thought better of it.
“I’m not ignorant. I know how hard it is.”
“No, you don’t,” Jason said flatly. “You’re guessing. Which is why you think a LexCorp comparison is relevant.”
Tim’s jaw clenched. “Fine. What, you want me to live like one of the cleaners for a day? Would that make you feel better?”
Jason snorted. “A day? Please. You wouldn’t make it to breakfast.”
And there it was. The smirk. That stupid cocky look that Tim had definitely never imagined seeing up close in an entirely different context.
“Then name your terms,” Tim said, more tightly than he meant to.
Jason tilted his head, appraising. “Two weeks. Full pay period. You live on what Maria makes—Gotham cleaner’s wages, average hours. No Bat-account, no staff, no backup. Budget it. Commute. Feed yourself.”
Tim hesitated just a second too long, which was probably what gave him away. Jason’s grin turned sharper.
“What?” Jason asked, low and amused. “Afraid to break a nail?”
“You wish,” Tim muttered, trying to suppress the flush in his ears. “Alright. And when I succeed?”
Jason leaned against the table, casual in a way that shouldn’t be as distracting as it was. “You get exclusive access to the Dockyard safe house. No sharing. Not even with Nightwing.”
Tim perked up. That one was worth it. “And if I lose?”
“You cover my patrol shifts in Crime Alley and the Narrows for a month. No complaints.”
Tim held out his hand. “Deal.”
Jason shook it, palm rough and warm and completely inappropriate to be noticing.
“Two weeks,” Jason said. “Let’s see how put together you are when you’re eating cold spaghetti and waiting on a delayed G train.”
Tim smirked. “I bet I’ll still look better than you.”
Jason stepped in closer, just enough to make it a problem. His gaze swept over Tim like it wasn’t the first time.
“You already look like a disaster,” he said, low and amused. “But that’s kind of my type.”
Tim’s brain went static. His fingers were still wrapped around Jason’s, and now every inch of skin there was paying attention.
Jason didn’t move away. He just let the moment stretch, like he wanted to see what Tim would do with it.
Tim opened his mouth, maybe to retort, maybe to breathe, maybe something stupider, but Jason beat him to it.
“Clock starts tomorrow,” he said, letting go. “Don’t forget to clip your coupons.”
He turned and strolled out like he hadn’t just rewired the inside of Tim’s skull.
The elevator doors slid shut behind him.
And Tim still hadn’t moved.