Re: front steps
Jason had never seen options or opportunities in his future. His life had always been outlined starkly. When he was young, it was about surviving. When Bruce took him in, it branched, slightly, but remained simple. Life was about righting wrongs and finding justice for the people who couldn't get it for themselves. The only real question was when he'd break off from Bruce and start working on his own. Soon, he thought.
That was the only question he'd cop to, anyway.
She had a way with words, this Gwen - he didn't know what half the words were, but they sounded pretty good, even with that smug look on her face. "You say that like you've definitely done it," he said, as if he'd caught her out. Aha, her secret revealed! "So how's that going? Bringing rats back from the dead?"
"Course you do," he said. "How else would you know so you could fix it?" An inarguable point, clearly.
Nope, he wasn't a great dancer. For whatever reason, a strong sense of space and movement in a fight didn't necessarily translate to a slow dance, probably because it was slow. He was accustomed to operating on instinct when physicality was required, and this awkward, back and forth shuffle was anything but instinctive. He arched a brow. "Your notes thought of everything," he said, smiling back at her. The posture was a little stiff, but she was a warm, comfortable weight, hanging off his arms and moving slowly in time to a bland, slow pop song. There was a faint hint of flush in his cheeks from the vodka, and he liked her right where she was. Closer would be good, maybe, but there was that boyfriend she kept bringing up.
Still, boyfriend or not, he could like the petite body in the doubled-up shirts and her whip fast monologues about filaments. If he was worried about anything, it didn't show on his face.
And, just like that, when he was busy thinking about how easy it would be to make her forget all about her loser boyfriend, he started listening to the music and moving in time. Pretty successfully, actually.