All's Quiet in Crime Alley
Jason’s not sure what alerts him to Cass’s presence. Or maybe the answer is truly nothing, and he looks over his shoulder only because killing in Gotham now that he’s kinds sorta running with the Bats does feel a little bit like cheating on a test. Batgirl’s suit betrays none of what she’s thinking or feeling, and without a mouth visible, it’s hard for Jason to even project onto her the anger, a truly righteous fury, that he knows is there.
His first instinct is to rattle off the many ways Jack Ronalds has already wiggled his way out of a prison sentence and the even more lives he has touched and left to scrub their skin raw in the shower.
“You’re supposed to be patrolling the Upper East Side tonight," he points out.
It’s a good point, he realizes in retrospect, because what reason does Cass have to be here. Can she read the intent to murder in his body? Is that a thing he has to worry about now—like best not go down to step foot in the cave before patrol anymore lest Batgirl catches onto dastardly plans that involve taking filth back to the dumpster where it belongs.
“You were angrier than normal,” she explains. “Angry people make mistakes.”
Killing this man was not a mistake. They both know that. Jason waits to see if Cass is going to suggest trying breathing exercises instead of murder next time, but at least she seems to have enough sense to know it would be perceived poorly.
“Well, am I less angry now?” he asks.
He doesn’t exactly feel it. His heartbeat pounds through his skull, and he wants to ask Cass if she was there before the man died. If she saw that he had regrets, earnest regrets about what he did for more reasons than just the fact they are now costing him his life. And, if she says yes, he could ask how he responded to that news. If he showed any regret or remorse for taking the man’s life. Sometimes he’s not sure if he still can, or if years of defending his actions and his morals have led him to kill with unshakeable surety.
Besides, having regrets doesn’t mean the man was capable of change.
“You are not less angry,” Cass says, and it sounds like condemnation.
Jason busies himself with cleaning up his crime scene, scuffing his boot marks until their size is indiscernible and dismantling the camera across the street. At some point, she leaves. It would have been better to move the body, but he’s not sure he has the time or if Cass has already called it into the GCPD. If she has, he doubts there’s anything he can do to make sure the murder doesn’t get tied back to him, but it feels wrong not to at least attempt to cover his tracks.
Then he resumes his patrol. Resumes Bat Business, because that’s the deal. Jason doesn’t kill while he’s info-gathering for the Bats. Jason doesn’t kill while he’s using Bat resources or Bat-obtained information. And Jason certainly doesn’t kill while on a team-up.
He reconnects his comms to the main channel, and finds silence. If the other Bats already had a conversation about his dalliance with the darker side of vigilante-ing, Jason doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want to know either.
“Crime Alley’s quiet,” he reports, and it’s true. The dead body sure isn’t making a sound.
