Chapter Text
Claire’s knock at the front door came at precisely five minutes to 8am. Punctual, as usual, but her timeliness was almost lost on the occupants of the household. The sound of her knocking was nearly swallowed by the din of the ambient noise within: breakfast sausage sizzling on the stove top, the whirring and rushing as the dishwasher ran its rinse cycle, excited squealing from an infant in a highchair as Barbara spoon fed her pureed carrots. An errant kitchen timer buzzed to life as Claire knocked again, louder this time.
Jim’s gaze flicked in the direction of the front door, then back down at the frying pan in front of him. He scooped up a pair of tongs and hastily grabbed the sausages out of the pan before they burnt, all the while contemplating the merits of giving Claire a key. His mom might not like that, but it wasn’t like the lock could keep her out anyway.
“Can someone...” Jim began, turning his head away from the stove for a second. The sausage he was grabbing squeezed through the top of his tongs and became airborne, launching itself up and over his head. “Crap!”
Walter snatched the meaty projectile out of the air with one hand and fixed the teen with a bemused smirk. With his free hand, he plucked the tongs out of Jim’s hand and gently nudged him toward the door, taking over the breakfast assembly in his stead. Jim rolled his eyes, but hurried off towards the entrance.
He arrived just in time to see Claire portaling the short distance from the front steps into the foyer, circumventing the still-locked door entirely.
“Hey..,” he greeted, smoothing down the front of his apron as casually as he could. “Sorry, things are a bit...chaotic this morning.”
Claire chuckled and hooked her bag over the end of the banister. “No worries,” she reassured him, leaning in close to deliver a quick peck on his cheek while they were still out of his mother’s line of sight. “I figured you were still getting things ready. It smells amazing in here! How much food did you make?”
Jim offered her a dopey grin and a simple, “Yes,” in response.
Claire laughed and allowed him to pull her in for a second, less chaste kiss. As they parted, she chided him, “Doesn’t answer my question.”
“I made enough,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve got breakfast almost ready, and Strickler should be finished with the sandwiches. Chocolate chip cookies are already packed, and the meatloaf should be-” he cut off, looking back at the kitchen as he remembered the timer that had begun buzzing away upon her arrival.
“Cooling on the counter!” Came Strickler’s shout from beyond the closed kitchen door.
Jim paused, managing to look both relieved and slightly annoyed in the same moment, then shot back a curt, “Thank you!”
Claire’s brow furrowed at the interaction, but Jim shook his head and put a finger over his lips. When she still appeared confused, he mouthed the words, “He can hear us.” That didn’t completely answer Claire’s question, but she allowed it to drop for the time being when he offered to explain himself, “Later.”
Instead, she redirected the conversation back to the original topic, crossing her arms as she did. “You must have been up all night. You sure you’re gonna be awake enough to last all day at Six Flags?”
“Not all night,” Jim defended himself. Claire made an expression that reminded him entirely too much of her mother’s own look of disapproval. “I’ve been up since 5:30,” he clarified, pushing open the kitchen door as he did. “In my defense, Strickler was up way earlier.”
The changeling in question looked over at the two as they entered, lifted one eyebrow ridge, and reminded them that, “I need less sleep than you, Young Atlas. But if you are interested in helping with the 4am feedings, you are more than welcome to join in. Until the school year starts, of course.”
On the other side of the island, the recipient of this morning’s feeding slapped a sticky hand onto and into the top of her jar of baby food. Pureed carrot sprayed up, splattering across Barbara’s face and glasses. With a deep sigh, she set the spoon down and felt around for a napkin.
“No, I think you have a pretty good handle on those.” Jim deflected, accepting a spatula and breakfast duty back from Walter. The latter grabbed a paper towel and hurried over to assist Barbara with cleaning up the splash zone. The carrot puree had achieved impressive launch distance and, even from where he stood, Jim could see clumps of it in his mother’s hair.
Claire rolled her eyes. “We would be happy to babysit another day, though,” she offered. Jim looked sideways at her, slightly incredulous. She pointedly ignored him. “We could make it a play date with Enrique. Give you two a chance to...decompress. Babies are a lot of work.”
Barbara finished wiping her face down and accepted her clean glasses back from Walter. When she slid them back onto her face, she felt a glob of carrot smear across the side of her face and gave a little huff of frustration. Walter offered her a fresh paper towel, but she waved him off. “That’s very sweet of you, Claire,” she smiled back at the younger woman, once she could finally see her again properly. “We might have to take you up on that offer some night in the near future.”
“Though this little one,” Walter supplemented, “goes home this coming Saturday.”
The little one in question continued sucking carrot off of her fingers, oblivious to the mess she had caused.
“And we’ll have a bit of a break before bringing the next batch out,” Barbara said, glancing back at the culprit as she dipped her fingers back into the jar of puree. This was fine. She was just feeding herself. She was being self-sufficient. And...at least she liked carrots?
They were definitely taking a break before the next round of babies were brought out of the Cradlestone.
Claire gave it some thought, then checked the calendar on her phone. Beside her, Jim sighed, seeming to accept his fate. After a few seconds of tapping the screen, Claire suggested, “I could do Wednesday or Thursday this week? My parents are driving me out to check out a college campus tomorrow.”
Barbara blinked back at Claire, surprised by her eagerness to pitch in. She shot a quick glance at Walter, who simply placed a clawed hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The ball remained in her court, the decision hers to make. Finally, Barbara agreed. “I’ll have to check my schedule, to make sure I’m not working, but I’m on board if you kids are both alright with it.”
“It’s a date then,” Claire said with a smile and shoved her phone back into her pocket.
“It’s a...date?” Jim accepted as well, sounding more confused than sure.
Beyond the kitchen, the lock on the front door clicked open and Toby burst through the entrance way. There was a bustle of bags and a clatter of metallic water bottles as he shuffled through the foyer and deposited several items onto the floor. He announced himself, very ceremoniously, “Hey! I used the spare key. Who’s ready for a ROADTRIP?!”
An excited squeal rang out from behind Walter and Barbara as the baby slammed a tiny, balled fist down on the jar of pureed carrots. The jar tipped violently, spun, and the contents flew everywhere, splattering across both of the adults in the room, the baby herself, and the kitchen floor.
Barbara wrinkled her nose as the cold concoction ran down her neck and under her shirt. Walter growled quietly under his breath. Jim groaned and ran a hand over his face, silently praying that the sandwiches they had prepped for the trip had not suddenly gained an extra topping.
Toby sauntered into the kitchen, the picture of enthusiasm and teenage excitement. He took in the scene before him, then grimaced. “Oooh...yikes. Looks like you guys are having an eventful morning, huh?”
Jim made a noise that almost sounded like a growl. Almost. “Understatement.”
The repeat offender giggled, then stuffed a fistful of carrot mush into her mouth.
Toby carefully stepped around the mess and set a large, insulated tote bag on the counter. “Let me just...help get these sandwiches packed. While you guys figure that out.”
Jim sighed. “Thanks, Tobes. Parchment paper’s in the top drawer.”
The boy saluted him before setting himself to the task of packing their lunches. Jim turned back to the stove top and the omelet he was tending. Claire reached across him and sprinkled some extra cheddar onto it, before declaring, “That one’s mine.”
Jim smiled and took a deep breath. They were going to turn today around. He swore it. “Yeah, that one can be yours.” He flipped the omelet closed and slid it onto her plate.
---
“So, you kids are hitting up the amusement park today?” Barbara asked once they had sat down to eat at last.
“Yeah! We’re going to Six Flags,” Claire confirmed, spearing a sausage with her fork as she spoke. “It’s not too far a drive, and Toby has his license now.”
“Provisional license,” Toby clarified, straightening up to his full seated height as he did. “Nana needed someone to drive her to appointments. She might have rear-ended a parked car last month and might have gotten her license revoked temporarily.”
Frankly, Barbara was surprised that Nancy had not lost it earlier. Her vision had been deteriorating for years; she really needed cataract surgery. Perhaps this would convince her to go through with it once and for all.
“It’s a double date,” Toby continued. “Darci’s meeting us there. Her dad was...not onboard with her driving there with us.”
Which was fair, because Toby had once stolen the man’s squad car.
“With a provisional license, don’t you need an adult passenger in the car with you?” Walter asked, peering skeptically across the table at the three teens. All three smiled back innocently.
“Yeeeeaaah,” Toby admitted, fidgeting with his fork in a manner that definitely was not at all suspicious. “Nana’s gonna come with us.”
Walter’s brow ridge arched higher. Toby sliced off a large section of his omelet and shoved it in his mouth. Jim watched him stall for a few seconds before coming to his rescue.
“Toby’s Nana agreed to chaperone. We swear! She’s gonna hang out in the arcade all day.”
Toby nodded emphatically. “She really likes skee-ball.”
And that seemed like the biggest lie of all, because while Nancy was surprisingly good at skee-ball, Barbara knew for a fact that she was also an adrenaline junkie. The last time they had taken Jim and Toby to an amusement park together, when they were still barely more than waist-high, Nancy had ridden more roller coasters than any of them.
She had also managed to wipe the arcade out, walking away with an enormous plush bear for Toby, though, so their story wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility. Still, Barbara wasn’t born yesterday...and she knew at least two of these teens well enough to know their tells.
Barbara cleared her throat to draw the group’s attention. “Just remember, kids. If Toby gets pulled over and loses his license, Nancy has no one to drive her to her medical appointments. Please make sure there’s an adult in the car when you’re driving?”
The larger boy’s posture deflated and he swallowed loudly enough that Jim, who was sitting next to him, could hear it.
“We will,” Claire interjected, her expression hardening as she doubled down on their claim.
Barbara sighed. She didn’t buy that for a second. But...they had done far more dangerous things over the past year and a half than driving with a teenager who stayed five miles under the speed limit at all times. She didn’t like this, but she could accept it. Reluctantly, she stopped pushing the issue and let it slide. “Well then, make sure you kids drive safely.”
“And avoid Detective Scott, if you can,” Walter cautioned. “He may not be always be the most observant individual, but he does pay attention when his daughter is involved.”
“We promise,” Jim agreed with a wide grin. And that alone made it worth it, because how rarely had he smiled that genuinely since coming home? Maybe Barbara could accept a little law breaking, she decided. Just a little.
The kids were out the door before long, before she could give it a second thought. Nancy’s car was packed, the kitchen rendered spotless, and the collection of teens were off on another, more mundane adventure. Barbara watched them pull away from the curb from her front window before drawing the blinds shut.
“Do you think I should text Nancy?” Barbara asked hesitantly, hand still gripping the curtain.
“I’m fairly certain that she’s a co-conspirator,” Walter answered, eyes still focused on buttoning their aspiring little vandal into a fresh onesie. Now clean and carrot-free, she was placed directly into solitary confinement: the playpen.
"You're probably right," Barbara agreed, releasing the curtain and sinking onto the couch with a defeated sigh. "Maybe I should have chaperoned."
"They will be fine, Barbara. Teenagers need room to grow," Walter reminded her, giving one final, stern look to his “prisoner” before joining Barbara on the couch. "Room to take chances, to learn from mistakes...to break a few, minor laws."
"Walter, I'm beginning to question your influence on my son and his friends."
He laughed. "Just now?”
Barbara playfully reprimanded him, bumping him with her shoulder as he slid down beside her. He took advantage of her closeness, threading his fingers slyly through hers and capturing her hand under his own. He didn’t even have the good sense to pretend to look chastised as he did it.
“I know Jim has survived worse...way worse than an underage road trip. I know. I just…” Barbara continued, leaning her head against his shoulder as she tried to reign in her worry. “I just got him back from that trek across the country to New Jersey, and look what happened on that road trip.”
Walter hummed, a quiet noise of understanding, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. He rested his head lightly against the top of her own.
“And it has been a long time since I’ve ridden a roller coaster,” Barbara added, just a touch sullen. “Not since Jim was younger.”
She felt Walter’s head shift as he repositioned, and the faint glow from his eyes appeared in her peripheral vision when he did. “I didn’t take you for a thrill-seeker.”
Barbara tilted her head up, just enough to look him in the eyes. “I do enjoy a good thrill.”
He smirked at her response, eyes brightening with excitement. She was sure he did too, though perhaps of a different sort.
“I’m certainly open to new experiences. If you would like, we could always go another..,” he trailed off, his invitation cut short as realization set in. His hand relaxed around hers, and Barbara pulled away to see what might be bothering him. His train of thought caught up with her a second later as she too realized the flaw in his proposal, and her expression softened. He put it to words, regardless, admitting that, “No, I suppose that wouldn’t work well, would it? They’re barely open past sunset.”
Because the last thing she wanted was for the sun to turn her boyfriend to dust the second they hit the highest point on a roller coaster, even if they went for a few hours before closing, when the sun was low enough in the sky. Or for it to blow his glamour mask clean off on one of the coasters’ twists and turns. Amusement parks were probably out.
“Sorry,” Walter apologized, his expression turning sheepish.
Barbara shook her head, placing her free hand over-top of the one he had placed on hers, sandwiching it and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “That is not something you need to apologize for,” she reminded him.
His expression improved marginally, but there was still something forced to his tone as he suggested, “You could probably still catch up to Jim and the others? If you’re keen on joining them, that is. Though I suspect that they might protest against you becoming a third wheel on their date.”
Barbara snorted. “Yeah, pass. Though the idea of bringing Nancy along with me is very, very tempting.”
Walter chuckled, finally shaking off his awkwardness. “That surely would put a damper on their fun.”
Barbara made a soft noise of agreement, before leaning in and pressing her forehead against his. He leaned into her touch, the bridge of his nose resting against hers as she reassured him that, “I think I’d prefer the company I have right now, thrills or no thrills.”
Walter remained silent for a few moments, soaking in the solace. When he finally lifted his head, that funny look from earlier had returned. Something awkward that lingered at the edges of his eyes and lips, or a worry that had settled in his soul. Barbara couldn’t quite find the shape of the word that would best describe it.
“I know our dates have fallen into a bit of a...routine, so to speak,” he confided at last, his admission and his tone almost...ashamed? No, that wasn’t quite right. Barbara frowned, but remained quiet so that he could continue. “Dinners at Benoit’s, the periodic midnight ‘lunch’ breaks in the park, quiet meals at home...I know there are limitations to what I can offer you.”
“Walter.”
He paused, sharp eyes meeting hers across the divide between them and finding a stern expression on her face.
“Walter, I like what you can offer me!” Barbara told him bluntly. She watched relief creep onto his face, small and reserved but softening the fear that tightened the corners of his eyes. “I like quiet dinners and sneaking away from the hospital to take my breaks with you.”
The changeling smiled and, using his free hand, cupped her left cheek. “You deserve the world.”
And you deserve amusement parks and field trips and sunlight, Barbara thought, leaning into the touch of smooth stone skin and the prickle of claw tips. That wasn’t a problem she knew how to solve, though, because no matter how much either of them deserved, they both had limitations. “So do you.”
Walter responded with a dry laugh.
She tightened her grip on his hand and insisted, “You do!”
He ran a thumb over her cheek bone, caressing the soft skin there and said, “You are so much more world than I deserve, but I am so happy you let me share yours.”
He was a flatterer, but Barbara had to admit she was not immune to compliments like that. Still, they really needed to work on his guilt, or self-deprecation, or whatever this was that had reared its ugly head. “You really have been cooped up in my little world too long.”
“Never.”
“I think,” Barbara conceded, “that maybe we’re both getting a little bored with day-to-day life. Or developing cabin fever.”
“I wouldn’t say bored,” Walter amended, “but if variety is the spice of life, then perhaps we could use a bit more seasoning.”
Barbara smiled, and suggested, “So you think we should get more creative with the spices?”
Her boyfriend smirked and leaned in closer, running a finger down her cheek and along the line of her jaw. His claws wound their way into her hair as he proposed, “I think we can get more creative with our dates.”
Barbara issued a simple challenge: “Bring it,” before closing the remaining distance between them.