[Don't worry, when he loses it, you'll know. He's clamping down hard on his rabbiting pulse and the spike of adrenaline alarm she'd summoned up by surprising him. This is not an entirely rational reaction to someone trying to do something nice for you. And he gets it, logically, but blindsiding Bats goes badly on a good day, and Jason Todd isn't a particularly stellar model of stability by any standard.
(He'd been pushed into the Pit without his say-so. And he doesn't hold it against Talia in the least—she'd risked a hell of a lot to make it happen, and he'd still be as good as dead if she didn't—but that particular "magic" is not nice. It sticks with you, because nothing like that comes easy. The Lazarus Pit will bring you back from the brink of death good as new, make you functionally immortal if you play your cards right. But there'd been side effects. A terrible acid green thing like madness at the bottom of his breath for days, sitting behind his eyes, seeping into his bones. And some days he thinks it's impossible to know if it had gone away or if he'd just gotten used to it.)
He backs down by inches, but he doesn't look a lot less agitated. Nothing. He's not doing anything, he doesn't like her looking at him that way. It makes him sick, and angry, and it makes him feel like an asshole, and that makes him even angrier. He wants to tell her to get the fuck away from him if she knows what the hell is good for her.
Instead he bites his tongue and closes his eyes and pries his fingers out of fists. Clenches his jaw and scrubs his hands over his face and rakes them through his hair. It's not that he doesn't believe her. Healing isn't a trick that's unique to the Lazarus Pit by a long shot. It's more a matter of choice, and space, and shattered trust, and not getting played again. Of being in control of his own life again.
He looks back at her squarely, if not steadily.]
You're trying awful hard to do me a favor.
[It comes out pretty accusingly. It's downright suspicious, at this point. Doesn't take the world's greatest detective to point out the dozen reasons Rin has to ditch him here and now and save the dregs of her power for a better cause.]
no subject
(He'd been pushed into the Pit without his say-so. And he doesn't hold it against Talia in the least—she'd risked a hell of a lot to make it happen, and he'd still be as good as dead if she didn't—but that particular "magic" is not nice. It sticks with you, because nothing like that comes easy. The Lazarus Pit will bring you back from the brink of death good as new, make you functionally immortal if you play your cards right. But there'd been side effects. A terrible acid green thing like madness at the bottom of his breath for days, sitting behind his eyes, seeping into his bones. And some days he thinks it's impossible to know if it had gone away or if he'd just gotten used to it.)
He backs down by inches, but he doesn't look a lot less agitated. Nothing. He's not doing anything, he doesn't like her looking at him that way. It makes him sick, and angry, and it makes him feel like an asshole, and that makes him even angrier. He wants to tell her to get the fuck away from him if she knows what the hell is good for her.
Instead he bites his tongue and closes his eyes and pries his fingers out of fists. Clenches his jaw and scrubs his hands over his face and rakes them through his hair. It's not that he doesn't believe her. Healing isn't a trick that's unique to the Lazarus Pit by a long shot. It's more a matter of choice, and space, and shattered trust, and not getting played again. Of being in control of his own life again.
He looks back at her squarely, if not steadily.]
You're trying awful hard to do me a favor.
[It comes out pretty accusingly. It's downright suspicious, at this point. Doesn't take the world's greatest detective to point out the dozen reasons Rin has to ditch him here and now and save the dregs of her power for a better cause.]