Guess who's coming to dinner?

[oracle_watching]

I am a grown woman, Babs reminds herself as she rolls back and forth in the kitchen. I survived growing up in Gotham. I survived being shot by the Joker. I refused to sit in a corner and do nothing when so much was taken away from me.

The soup needs more pepper. The bread is ready to come out of the oven.

I lived through the year of No Man's

Comments

[_nightwing_]

Dick is multitasking, but it's mostly to keep their increasingly-mobile daughter out of the kitchen, and his constant movement is an expression of his own latent nervousness. Sure, he's known Superman for most of his life, but - come on. It's -Superman-.

Though, truth be told, not all his nervousness is strictly positive. He hasn't seen the Kryptonian since the fight between the Titans and the JLA a month ago, and guilt over that encounter still lingers.

For now, he contents himself with clearing Mary's toys - for the third time today - and plucks Mary off the floor and tucks her under his arm as she tries to beeline for her mother once more.

You need a hand in there? I can put Mary in the high chair.

[oracle_watching]

She shakes the loaf pan, letting the bread land gently on the cooling rack. "I can do it," she says automatically, then stops, setting down the empty loaf pan and pulling off her oven mitts. "Yes. Please." She turns, visibly anxious. "You're sure I look okay?"

[_nightwing_]

Mary fusses at him as she realizes where she's being put, knowing her roaming is being put to a stop; but her father won't pander to it, instead putting some toys on the tray to distract her. A few steps will bring him to his wife, where he pauses to give her what he hopes is a reassuring grin as he leans in to kiss her.

Always. What do you need?

[oracle_watching]

The kiss helps, though she's still wondering if her blouse is wrinkling too much, and she thinks she feels a pimple coming in on her left cheek. "The herb butter," she says, pointing at the small covered crock on the counter near the refrigerator. "The butter knife's in the silverware drawer, and they need to go on the table."

Maybe she should've asked Alfred to come over and cook. Alfred's dinners are always perfect.

[_man_of_steel_]

Clark and Lois, along with Jonathan, walk up to the building.

"You ready for this?"

[_loislane_]

Lois doesn't mean to have Jonathan quite so tightly against her, but she hasn't yet acknowledged she's in hyper-protective new mommy mode. "Sure," she says breezily. "It's just the son of our paper's owner and his very capable wife. Is he sniffling?" More swaddling is tucked around the baby. "He might be sniffling."

[_man_of_steel_]

"He's not sniffling." Clark says gently. "He managed to ignore Degeneration Y, so my guess is that his immune system's already pretty amped up." He looks at Lois. "Asphyxiation, however, I'm not so sure about."

[_loislane_]

"He's sniffling," Lois counters stiffly as she dabs at her son's nose. Asphyxiation? She doesn't even know how to spell that. She appears to get the point, however and, ever so slightly, loosens her hold on her son as she notes in a defensive tone, "He's in the most fragile stage of infancy, Clark. You might think his immune system's fine, but I'm not taking chances."

Still, as she sneaks a peek at her husband, her eyes are twinkling. Just a bit.

[_man_of_steel_]

Clark smiles. He sniffs the air. "Smells good."

[oracle_watching]

Superman likes my cooking! Babs tries and fails to fight off a fangirlish smile. "Avgolemono soup with chicken," she says, "and homemade bread, plus a salad to start with." She rolls into the kitchen and fetches the salad bowl out of the refrigerator, setting it in the center of the table. "Dick, could you get the dressing?" She gestures at the chairs. "Please, have a seat."

[_loislane_]

"Avgowhatsits?" Lois whispers to Clark before looking around the kitchen. "Homey. Clark, I'll hold Jonathan. It's okay. You make your own bread?"

[oracle_watching]

"Mostly for when we're having soup," Babs explains. "Bread baking's something I took up after I was shot." She mimes kneading dough. "It's a good upper-body workout."

[oracle_watching]

After dessert, Babs suggests they all move into the living room. "Honey, do you think we need to put Mary in her hoverchair?" she asks Dick, looking at their daughter. "I don't want her annoying the Kents with her usual post-supper run-around."

[_nightwing_]

Mary needs a few wipes to the face and a brushoff, first. She burps somewhat loudly once her father's done.

Well, that was healthy. Yeah, I can do that.

He lifts her from the chair, tugging her bib free once she's situated in the small device.

No, no chasing the cat, kiddo.

[_man_of_steel_]

Clark chuckles at Mary's gas expulsion. "I'll score that a 5.2. Good volume, needs a bit more finesse. But then, that's true of most rookies."

[oracle_watching]

The blush of a redhead is pretty noticeable. "We're still working on table manners. But she's doing much better with feeding herself these days."