Breakfast

"Dick, seriously? You couldn't even find the pancake mix? We're doomed."

"How!? How is this possible!? Why are eggs so fragile!?"

The Robins, mainly Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, and Dick Grayson were struggling to make breakfast. Seriously, it was an abysmal effort from the legendary trio. Damian was slamming the egg into the edge of the bowl while Dick and Tim scurried left and right searching for something. They must have put too many points into martials arts, detective work, and physical conditioning. It was like they were navigating the kitchen for the fifth time in their lives.

"This is what I was talking about," Stephanie said, sighing. "To be honest, even I'm not much of a cook. Nobody is. Not after…" Stephanie stopped herself, words dropping back into her lungs. A crestfallen shadow appeared underneath her. "Anyway, it's been bad. We want to hire someone but…we need someone really trustworthy. Someone who will know the consequences of what we do."

Fair enough. They couldn't just pluck in a chef without informing them of Wayne Manor's true purpose. Suspicion would grow, mistakes could be made, secrets could be leaked.

"Are they trying to make soft-boiled eggs with deviled soldiers and pancakes? Cassandra is a heavy eater so I get it b–"

Crack!

The yolk spilled over the counter. Damian growled in frustration and nearly caused another accident. A deep chuckle erupted beside him. It was Bruce fucking Wayne, watching his flailing kids with a coffee in hand. Amusement danced in his blue eyes. When the hell did he get there, Aaron asked silently.

"Oh, hello," Aaron greeted, "it's good to see you, Mr. Wayne."

"You as well, Aaron." Bruce nudged his coffee cup towards them. "Mind helping them? For my sake?"

Aaron nodded. He was going to do it anyway. He headed over, arms crossed, and gazed upon the chaos. He wasn't sure whether to be impressed. To achieve this kind of mess…Aaron hadn't seen it since his college days. Counters dripping with yellow yolk, batters of improper pancake flour, and what looked to be toast cut in all the wrong shapes. The long straight strips required for a soldier were nowhere to be found.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Tim skipped towards him with a huge sigh of relief. "We were about to make scrambled eggs unintentionally."

"Please, save us from this breakfast disaster," Dick added, appearing behind his adopted brother. "We are struggling!"

Aaron chuckled and then got to work.

"Okay, we need to time the eggs perfectly. Too soft, and they'll be runny; too hard, and they'll be solid. Precise timing is crucial. And no, timers won't help. You sometimes have to judge with your own intuition. The smell in the air, the logical timing, use the information in your disposal to make the best educated guess you can."

"I see…" Damian eyed Aaron as if he was the wisest master in all the lands. "Most insightful."

"No problem."

Dick and Tim took to his cooking skills faster. It was likely an age factor rather than a natural inclination. As grown adults, cooking meals wasn't new to them. The issue was cooking good meals. Most college students in his time served absolute shit. Aaron had picked himself up the boot straps, read over three dozen cook books, and became something close to a professional. The sweet old lady that was the original Red Tornado was unironically the closest thing to a mother-figure in his life due to her easy-to-grasp instructions. Her influence sometimes seeped into his cooking when he instinctively wanted to add tomatoes. Red Tornado had also been called Red Tomato due to the bright red colour of her costume and her inclination towards the old-fashioned fruit in her recipes.

With firm discipline, a bit of creativity, and support from the technical Tim Drake, breakfast was served. Six plates with two beautifully presented egg cups in the centre. Each egg cup held a perfectly cooked soft-boiled egg, delicately peeled to reveal the creamy, golden yolk. Surrounding the egg cups were slices of lightly toasted pancakes, with a hint of citrus zest and a sprinkle of powdered sugar. The pancakes were stacked neatly and a drizzle of maple syrup cascaded down the thick, fluffy batter. Fresh berries and mint leaves were artistically arranged around the plate.

The creative twist was largely Aaron's idea. The fridge had suffered from the chaos and he didn't want to waste too many ingredients. Rather, he wished to create a masterpiece with a small supporting cast.

"Dude," Dick began, swallowing his fork three times in one second, "Dude! This is amazing!"

"Agreed. Are you sure you're not a chef?" Bruce asked. The former billionaire had taken a particular liking to the beetroot pancakes.

Aaron shook his head curtly. "Thank you but no. This is all homemade."

He watched. He listened. He silently took notes. Damian wasn't a picky eater but did nudge towards the classic pancakes better. Dick wasn't. He was the total opposite, open and welcoming to the earthy tastes of the beetroot. Tim was picky and chose to compliment his breakfast with coffee.

Aaron did the same. Making a sugary, caffeinated monstrosity of his own, he sat down next to Tim and clinked cups with him.

Coffee bros, they said in their heads, sipping on the delicious swirl of roasted beans.

"It's…" Tim went for another long sip. "...it's like a reward."

"It is," Aaron agreed, sighing in delight. He slid his plate to Cassandra. It wasn't that he didn't want to eat, but…Cassandra was just hungrier. A single plate couldn't fill the ravenous pits of her stomach and he couldn't ignore her starving gaze either.

"So good," Cassandra praised, her cheeks instantly stuffed. Her wide grin was admittedly gross but cute.

"Again, no problem," Aaron responded, smiling. "Eat up."

They did. Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne devoured the breakfast like it was nothing. They were vigilantes and athletes so of course they needed a colossal amount of calories. Aaron wondered how they had managed to work so well in the past year without a proper cook. Lucky? Magic? Secret military-grade meals?

"Hello, Mr. Reigner!"

Chloe. Every time he heard her voice, it was like everything was going to be okay. She wasn't his prized treasure just because she allowed him leniency with the Bat Family. No, her humble jump to the chair, her patience, her smile. She was the best kid a guy could ask for. He had saved a plate for her.

"I guess Ms. Carrie left?" Aaron asked.

"Yep! Just now! We were playing Lego Batman!" Chloe explained. Some of the Robins stared at Bruce, watching his reaction. The older male merely smiled.

"I hope you had fun," Bruce said.

"I did." Chloe beamed. "Joker is my favourite. He's so funny!"

'…yeah, okay, maybe I should limit her game time after all…'

Barring Chloe's innocent comment, breakfast went off without a hitch. Stephanie and Dick left to wash the dishes. Something about a schedule. Aaron wasn't paying too much attention as he was engrossed in a conversation with Tim.

"...so since his girlfriend is super mad, he's going to bring her flowers. Honestly? There's a fifty-fifty chance it'll work."

Duke Thomas. Apparently, he was trying to make up with Izzy after the Leviathan fiasco. He had been radio silent due to the effects of the anti-metahuman bullet. Tim explained he was slipping in and out of a coma, waking up once a week, if that. When he woke up in earnest, Leviathan was attacking the city. He had no time to text or talk. Fight, fight, fight, those were the orders given to him by Batman. The Signal got caught on camera in broad daylight because his metahuman powers of light and darkness hadn't fully returned.

Aaron pitied him. That was such shitty luck. Explaining to his girlfriend that that was the truth would be next to impossible.

However, now that the situation had died down, he could. Duke left the manor early to see Izzy. It was anybody's guess which direction their relationship would go. Aaron couldn't blame either party if they decided to end it. Duke had been incapacitated by the anti-metahuman bullet and Izzy and her friends had been utterly **** for his support, only for it to never arrive. They felt totally abandoned, like they didn't matter. It was sad. Nobody was at fault here. It was just an instance of terrible circumstances.

"I give him sixty," Aaron replied. "If he gets her orchids, then maybe seventy."

"Do women love orchids that much?"

"According to my college roommate, yes."

"What about men?" Tim asked. "I have a boyfriend, so…"

"For a guy, forget flowers, spend the hundred dollars on a Lego set. I guarantee he'll like it."

Tim nodded along and tapped a finger to his temple. He was taking mental notes. Aaron wanted to laugh. What was he, a romance guru now? Guys or girls, he could advise every gender and sexuality like a Pokémon Master. This might have been the strangest change in his ordinary life yet.

It was disturbing just how well he and Tim got along. They were both coffee addicts, both from humble backgrounds, both calculated and smart, and both struggling with romance (not that Aaron would ever tell him that). The conversation switched from person to person, topic to topic, until they settled on Helena Bertinelli.

"Yeah, a school teacher. Sometimes, I can't believe it myself," Tim said. "Same with Selina. She just told us before leaving that she works at a museum."

"Work is work. Actually…" Aaron checked the time and sighed. "I'll have to leave soon as well. Running late for work…plus, I have an engagement after that."

The date thing with Iman. Fuck, it was a busy Thursday. He would have to drop Chloe off at Claire's, then head to work, and after that go to whatever event she wanted him to tag along to. Aaron wished he had had time to cool down. He was an introvert, not an extrovert. He needed at least two days to recharge. Oh well…