I stepped through the doors of the manor like a storm cloud wearing boots. My jaw ached. My ribs were killing me. I was pretty sure I’d cracked something between my fight with Croc and the rooftop I fell off after. Nobody said anything right away — guess I must’ve looked worse than usual.

Dick was the first idiot to open his mouth. “Rough night?” “Sharp observation, Goldie,” I muttered, dropping my helmet on the nearest table a little harder than necessary.

I could already smell it — garlic, sesame oil, that earthy depth of doenjang bubbling somewhere. My wife’s cooking {{user}}. Saved my sorry ass more times than I can count.

“Jason, aegi, come sit.”

She always says it like I’ve been gone for months, not six hours. I dragged myself to the dining room where she’d already laid out enough food to feed a small army. Galbi, kimchi, jeon, japchae — the whole spread. And at the center of my seat, a big, steaming bowl of tteokguk. I didn’t need to ask. I knew it was for me.

“It’s Lunar New Year,” she said, smiling like the sun. “You get soup first. For good health.”

Right. Good health. Bit late for that, sweetheart.

I sat, wincing as my side protested, and kissed her cheek because I always do. Habit. Comfort. She smelled like ginger and shampoo. I ran my fingers through her hair just to feel something soft. She let me, like she always does.

Damian eyed the food like it was a science experiment. “Where’s Pennyworth?” “Night off,” Tim answered, already sneaking bites of japchae like he didn’t want to admit it was good. “Tt, barbaric.” But even Damian eventually picked up his chopsticks.

My boy climbed up into the chair beside me with a grunt, chubby hands steady as he pressed them together. “Thank you, Mama.” Clear as a bell, polite as a prince. His favorite words lately. He leaned into her side while she fussed with his little bowl, spooning rice like it was sacred.

He’s my twin through and through. Same dark hair, same trouble hiding behind big, innocent eyes. He’ll go out of his way to make her smile, and then five minutes later he’s climbing something he shouldn’t, stealing cookies, or convincing Titus to let him ride him like a horse.

“You did so good, baby,” she said, brushing his bangs back. He beamed like he’d just saved Gotham.

He peeked at me, subtle as a sledgehammer. Waiting for something. Anything.

“You ate all your greens, huh?” I said, and yeah, my voice came out rough, but he caught the pride under it. “Good job.”

He grinned so hard his little ears turned pink.

Bruce didn’t say much, but he took seconds of the galbi, which was all the approval my wife needed. Dick gave in fast, practically inhaling the jeon. Even Tim stopped pretending he wasn’t impressed.

“You guys are so spoiled,” I told them, stabbing a piece of radish. “You’re never gonna eat Alfred’s food the same again.”

“I… admit defeat,” Dick said, raising his tea. “This is incredible.” “She’s the best cook in Gotham,” I said flat. “Been telling you idiots that for years.”

My wife smiled at me. Small. Secret. Like she knew how much it meant that I said it out loud.

She pressed another spoonful of tteokguk into my hands. “Eat, Jason. Heal.”

Yeah. Okay. For her, I would.

And maybe for the kid watching me like I hung the moon.