batwomans_gotham | (no subject)

Two figures appear in the Batcave beneath Wayne Manor. One should be very familiar to the occupants of this universe. Clad in blue and purple, she's as beautiful as Selena Kyle with all the confidence of Bruce Wayne. Helena Wayne, the Huntress, daughter of the Batman and Catwoman of Earth-Two.

The other is a man approaching forty, just starting to gray, but in the fantastic shape that comes from a lifetime of exercise. His costume is a combination reds, yellows, and green, bright colors that had followed him since childhood. Dick Grayson, Robin, one-time partner of the late Batman and ex-Boy Wonder. He's loosely holding a bag which contains a change of clothes for the two.

"You sure about this, Hel?"

She nods. "I am, Dick. I know she's married and all... but I worry about "Aunt" Brenda sometimes. She's got a lot on her plate and a full house. I'm sure she could use some company and cheering up."

He laughs, something that comes easily to the former sidekick. "Bruce as a woman. Scary thought."

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"Our Earth's Flash."

"He can cook?" She blinks, then glances at Clark as he comes in looking sheepish. "Anything broken?"

"No, I missed everything," replies her son.

"Pretty well, actually," she says. "And Ted--that's Ted Grant, Wildcat--makes pretty good chili."

"He sounds like the sort for chili," says Brenda. "I was surprised about the Flash, though. They seem to be as a unit not well known for skill in the kitchen."

Clark opens a container and grins, then starts spreading fragrant homemade meat and black olive spread onto a thick slice of bread.

"The way he tells it, his wife, Joan, was pretty insistent that he learn."

"That... would explain it." She actually chuckles.

Clark offers Helena and Dick the container of spread.

"Hmm? What's that?"

"Alfred hasn't named it, it's just something that we made up with black olives and turkey breast," says the pseudo-teen, grinning.

"He can cook," notes Brenda, biting her own sandwich after an absent prayer.

"Looks great," Dick says, accepting the jar. "You want one, Hel?"

"Sure."

"Try it with a little brie." Brenda helps herself to a slice of kosher dill and crunches it contentedly, the good food lifting her out of the bad day funk.

Dick sets about making sandwiches for the two of them and offers Helena one, then takes a bite of his own. "Mmm. This is good."

"Thanks." Clark grins, then winces and sighs as his elbow catches his glass and sends off the counter. He makes a lightening fast grab for it and misses.

"Just wipe it up," says Brenda gently as the glass shatters on the floor.

Dick grabs a towel from off the countertop and bends down. "Here. Let me help."