commissionerjgâ:
Work always offered enough distractions that heâd not spent the day worrying about whatever Barbara had insisted on waiting to tell him. If it was dire, he had to think sheâd have sense enough not to sit on it too long. He hadnât pestered her, but he did show up about fifteen minutes early, carrying a bottle of wine. Heâd never been much of a cook (or any kind of cook), so that seemed like the most helpful contribution. He had no idea if it was good wine or terrible wine and rarely touched the stuff, but he had it just the same.
âHi, honey,â he greeted her, stepping inside. âSmells good in here.â He resisted the already-present urge to ask her what was going on, but he only had about ten minutes of that kind of patience in him.
Barbara offered her dad a small smile. For as long as she could remember, Babs did much of the cooking in her house. It was a nice little tradition that she was happy to carry out, even if only some times at this point. Truthfully, Barbara was quite nervous for what was about to happen. So, she figured she might just rip the bandage off.
âThank you,â she took the bottle from him, leading her father to the kitchen. âSo... the thing I wanted to tell you,â she paused, biting her lip. âDonât freak out--I just... I donât want you hearing it elsewhere.â A sigh escaped her lips. âI--â she paused. âIâm Batgirl, dad.â
















