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Duke sees her the second he exits the doors of West Robinson High. The halls are extremely packed with students after last period pushing to get out of here. To an untrained eye, perhaps she would have escaped people’s notice, but Cassandra Cain has a certain air about her—an attentive and tensed stillness—that others, people without the Life, lacked.
Cass obviously marks him in the teeming crowds of high school seniors, too, seeing as she stands just a bit straighter and does a little wave with her fingers in his direction. Duke leans on the stair railings of the main steps then and slides his way down past his peers who were still fighting for every inch in the school entrance’s direction.
It doesn’t take Duke long for him to reach Cass after that. “Hey,” he says, a bit breathlessly—which normally he wouldn’t be, but seeing that he snuck out during lunch to put down some of Maroni’s men transporting a super serum into Arkham, Duke thinks he deserves to be cut some slack.
Cass smiles in her usual almost-imperceptible manner, only betrayed by the appearance of her right dimple, and raises her left arm for a greeting hug. Duke goes in easily; he hasn’t seen Cass in almost two weeks. “Hey yourself,” Cass says into his shoulder and then echoing his thoughts by saying, “I missed you.”
After Saint and Scarecrow’s attempt to create a Fear State out of Gotham, the Gotham Bats have been scattered in the wind in all directions for scene management, tying up any potential loose threads that might compromise either their secret identities or civilian safety. Duke remembered hearing over the backup comms about Oracle and the Batgirls abandoning the Clock Tower after it’s been compromised, and there’s been nothing but radio silence ever since. After proper channels had been established again, Oracle only mentioned a new safehouse location and that all was well to limit the risk of the unknown hacker listening in.
But whoever the False Oracle was from two weeks prior, Barbara had not deemed them to be an immediate threat—she would never allow Cass out in the open like this otherwise.
After they released each other from the hug, Cass immediately starts walking in the direction of Bruce’s townhouse—and wasn’t that a weird thought? The past few months have changed Gotham as Duke knew it—Bruce and his new family as Duke knew it—so nauseatingly quickly. At least the townhouse is closer to West Robinson High than the Manor, Duke thought darkly in a way he knew Jason would find funny, that’s something at least.
Duke quickly catches up with Cass in a few quick strides, catching her by the shoulder after waiting a few seconds so Cass could sense him approaching. Cass tilts her head in Duke’s direction, positioning her body slightly towards him without disrupting the sure rhythm of her steps. “So why this picking-me-up after school thing? Why not just meet me at Bruce’s?” Duke asks, because if Cass knew where she was supposed to go, she could have just gone to Bruce directly and waited for Duke to come home instead of standing in front of his school and exposing her face for passersby, right? Unless—
“Is there something wrong?” Duke asks, in a lower register while making sure his posture and facial expressions betray nothing. To an onlooker, they would just see two young adults walking along Goldfield Avenue, crunching the fallen maple leaves under their shoes while holding idle conversation. “Did Bruce want his computer fixed?” Did the Bat need Oracle for something, he meant.
Cass shakes her head. “It’s been a while,” she comments instead, an apparent non sequitur. “Just wanted to see you, that’s all. And to warn you.”
Duke, who was just relaxing, snaps his eyes back onto Cass again upon hearing the tail end of her sentence, but Cass obviously meant nothing important or life-threatening from it, judging by the playful lilt in her voice. “Warn me of…?” He prompted when Cass took too long of a pause.
“Remember two days ago when he took a swim because of the birds?” Cass prompts as they made a left turn onto 18th street. Duke couldn’t help but snort at that.
Batman had taken an impromptu dive into the Gotham Bay in pursuit of the Penguin Gang on Monday. Alone, since Robin was in Chinatown investigating another disturbance, and slightly battered from his encounters with the Peacekeeper. A henchman had been too attached to the diamond-studded flamingo statue, so much so that he didn’t want to part with it even as he overbalanced, startled by the sudden appearance of the Bat in front of him. By the laws of gravity, naturally, the henchman took the bird swimming and Batman—had decided in the split second that using the grappler gun would result in severe whiplash at the very least—jumped into Gotham Bay after him.
Long story short: a witching hour swim in late November Bay water with Kevlar armor and a one-forty-pound man in a headlock gave Bruce Wayne the nastiest case of pneumonia. The official reason for the newly-announced Martha Wayne Foundation Board Chair’s absence is a cold after taking an ill-advised stroll after dark without a jacket on, but that was besides the point.
Duke didn’t see Bruce around in the house much in these past two weeks. Like the others, Bruce also took responsibility of scene control in Gotham, and if Duke was lucky, some days he would see Bruce emerging into the strange creature that was daytime Gotham from either his garage-slash-operations-room or his bedroom before Duke left for track-and-field morning practice. The townhouse during the past two days have been coated with a thick layer of silence, sporadically cut through by muffled bouts of violent coughing coming from Bruce’s room upstairs.
Damian had been furious at his father, at the situation, take your pick. But the silent and fiery treatment only last until dinnertime the following day after that eventful patrol, when it became apparent dinner would not be served unless Duke and Damian did something about it, since the flat was in such disarray—who knew what miscellaneous vigilante gadget was waiting about for a civilian to find after the whirlwind-chaotic weeks they’ve had—that it made asking for a part-time cook impossible.
Duke’s experience with commandeering a kitchen filled with his foster siblings had come in handy, fortunately, when paired with Damian’s eye for precision and talent for following given instructions perfectly. But Duke wasn’t sure if what measly supplies they had left in the fridge could feed four people, or five if Stephanie planned to drop in later, without him and Cass making a grocery run first.
Cass must have seen the concern on his face, because she just smiles again—though a bit hesitantly this time, Duke notes—and says, “Don’t worry. The visitor has everything covered.”
“Who—?” Duke’s question was cut short by Cass coming to a sudden stop at the bottom of a set of stairs leading to a brownstone. They have arrived, and not giving Duke a chance to run through the possible list of people who might willingly volunteer to cook for hungry vigilante teens in addition to a sick Batman, god.
The townhouse is warm because of the central heating that turns on every afternoon when they walked in, and from the sounds coming from the kitchen, whoever the visitor was they’ve already started preparing for dinner. After Cass and Duke hung up their jackets at the coat rack by the front door—very Ikea catalog-esque, but Duke didn’t have the heart to poke fun at Bruce these days, not when the man looked always two minutes from spiraling out of control—and turned the corner, there Stephanie was, sitting at the breakfast counter on one of the tall bar chairs, her legs swinging back and forth.
“How did you even learn to cook, anyway?” Stephanie asks into the kitchen before turning at the sound of Cass’ and Duke’s approaching footfalls and breaking out into a grin.
Stephanie stands, walking towards them now. “Duke,” she says quieter, just for Duke and Cass to hear. “It’s good to see you.” The implied when Gotham isn’t in mortal danger is clear in her tone.
“Good to have you guys here,” Duke answers easily. Because it was true. Gotham has always been busy with activity, in ways that were both good and bad. But now that Duke was Signal, the bustling image of the city is accelerated by tenfold—schemes and masterplans unfolding seemingly one after the other. Having family helps; people splitting up to pursue more leads, to save more people, but that also means family gatherings with the whole crew are scarce and far between.
Stephanie catches both Cass and Duke by the edges of their shoulders and brings them in for a group hug. Duke feels Cass’ arms come up to hold him and Stephanie back and finds himself doing the same. It was nice, just them in the afternoon sun streaming past the half-closed blinds.
“Well, when you need to go undercover as a line cook in a noodle soup shop in south Vietnam you tend to pick up things quite quickly.” A voice comes from the kitchen, followed by the sound of a knife being put down on the cutting board.
When Duke looks up, there was a man standing there, leaning against the breakfast bar and looking at them. Well, looking isn’t the most precise way of saying it. The man’s head is turned in their direction, sure, but there was a white and black bandanna that went around his head to obscure the upper half of his face. The man senses the three of them turn and look at him anyway, because his mouth twitches up into a nonchalant smirk.
“I’m Ghostmaker, by the way. Nice to have your acquaintance.”
“Ghostmaker,” Duke repeats slowly, because he’s heard that name before, but where—? Then it hits him.
He wasn’t anywhere near Arkham when it happened two weeks ago, but he distinctly remembers Oracle spitting out coordinates over the comms, “We need people at the STAR Labs-facing side of Arkham. Batman’s safety has been compromised. Consider the abductor Ghostmaker armed and volatile.” Nightwing, Spoiler, and Orphan had immediately replied with “Going”, and so Signal went towards midtown where swarms of peacekeepers had seemingly poured out of every crevice of Gotham’s streets and alleys.
And now… And now Ghostmaker was standing in the kitchen talking to them like he didn’t try to murder Bruce a few weeks prior. The man was in a white blazer and matching suit pants, not dressed for someone who’s been preparing food in the kitchen for a while at all. In hindsight, Cass’ caution when she noted to Duke that they had visitors now made a lot of sense. But if they were all pretending like nothing’s wrong and trading introductions, far be it for Duke to be the one to shatter the illusion. He’ll just pull either Stephanie or Cass aside for a quick brief later.
“I’m Duke. Duke Thomas.” He nods at Ghostmaker, walking closer to him to shake his hand. At the sight of the chopped white radish and leeks on the counter Duke stops short. “Huh, I didn’t know we had these in the fridge.”
“Fish stew.” Ghostmaker replies, leaning briefly in for the handshake while vaguely gesturing at the kitchen with his other hand. “Brought some groceries over since I was expecting company.” Like this was his kitchen all along. This day just kept turning weirder and weirder.
“Where’s Damian?” Duke hears Cass ask behind him.
“Sent the little one to grab ginger. I learned from the owner of that noodle store that it helps cut the fishy taste. Figured someone might appreciate that.” Ghostmaker says, his last sentence slightly louder than the others, as he looks up at the second-floor landing.
“And did that cook mentor of yours tell you the risks of leaving a pot unattended?” Bruce bites back, his words tinged with slight amusement. He looks better than he did when Duke saw him this morning, pale and clammy hands fisting into the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil. In the afternoon glow Bruce almost looks healthy, if not for the thick pink, blue, and purple quilt Stephanie got him for his birthday this year as a joke currently draped over his shoulders.
“B-man!” Stephanie exclaims as she jogs to meet Bruce at the bottom of the stairs, arms extended. Duke notes with glee at Bruce’s almost-imperceptible grimace at Stephanie’s nickname for him.
“Stephanie, I don’t know if this is contagious—” Bruce cuts off as Stephanie hugged him anyway, patting Stephanie on the back before pulling away. Then, in a rare bout of honesty, “I’m glad you and Cass came to visit us.”
The sounds of hurried footsteps up the stairs outside are quickly followed by the door being unlocked and slamming open. “Hey,” Damian calls out into the kitchen as he toes off his shoes. “I have the ingredients you asked for.”
“Finally,” Ghostmaker says, almost teasingly, “I thought we would have to drop everything and come find you.” He catches the ginger root that Damian pelted in his direction without looking while he flipped the whole fish in the pot onto its other side with a wooden spatula.
“Should be ready in twenty minutes,” Ghostmaker says to no one in particular, as he slices part of the ginger root into the pot and adds the kettle of water that started whistling at that very moment.
If you asked Duke what his plans were on this Wednesday afternoon a few hours ago, catching up with his family while a formerly murderous martial artist commandeers his adoptive father’s kitchen wouldn’t have been Duke's first guess. But, Duke thinks to himself as he watches Stephanie pretending to be upset at being addressed as “Brown” by Damian when Cass got “Cassandra”, weirder things have happened in Gotham City, he supposes.