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

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[_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.

[_nightwing_]

Sure. Do we need glasses?

He straightens, giving her shoulder a squeeze as he moves past her. He's barefoot as usual, though he's sorta dressed formally for him - he's gone all out with those black pants, a blue shirt and, god help him, a tie. Shouldn't he be wearing shoes with that?

[oracle_watching]

"Yes, gla--honey?" She's noticed his feet. "Where are your shoes?"

[_nightwing_]

He looks at her over his shoulder as he reaches up into the cabinet.

Huh?

He pulls his arm back and looks down at his feet.

Oh. Right.

"Doos!" Mary counters from the dining rooom. She doesn't miss a thing.

[oracle_watching]

"Sh-sh-sh-shhoes." Babs rolls over to the dining room and brushes Mary's hair with her fingers. "Shhhhoes."

"Doooooos!" repeats Mary.

[_nightwing_]

Retrieving the requested items in record time, Dick leaves them on the table and dives for the bedroom. There's an emergent clattering as he tries to find a pair that uh, match. And aren't scuffed.

Be right out!

[oracle_watching]

"Okay!" she calls, then resumes the lesson. "Shhhhhh. C'mon, Peanut. Shhhhhhhhh."

"Shhhhh."

"Good girl!"

Mary breaks into a smile. "Dood durl!"

"Ggood girl. Shoooooes."

This is much easier than thinking about who's coming over.