They were far past the outskirts of Gotham. Over the bridges that led to the rest of the world, driving down the near abandoned freeway. The Chef didn't leave the car when Edward pulled into a truck stop, locking the doors as he filled up. She didn't know where her phone was, lost somewhere in the forest.

Blood.

Fire.

Her boys...

The Chef could taste blood as she bit down on her cheek, refusing to cry. She flinched when she saw a shadow to her left, Edward standing at the driver side door, she leaned over, opening it. Neither talked, as they continued on, the sky brightening.

Edward had turned the heater on at some point, she didn't have the energy to tell him she wasn't cold. She was shaking, not shivering.

The sun rose, but no sense of peace came with it, The Chef noted distantly, mildly disappointed. Edward pulled off the freeway and their drive took an incline, driving up switch backs higher and higher. The Chef kept her eyes forward, refusing to look into the trees that lined the road.

They came to a stop in front of a chain link fence, Edward left the car running as he stepped out, unlocking the gate. The sun was high in the sky, blinding Alexandera as he walked back to the car. She unlocked his car door again, and he drove off, leaving the gate open.

"We're here." Edward spoke softly. The Chef gaze was high in the sky.

"A lighthouse?" Her voice sounded unfamiliar, her throat sore and raw. The paint on the tower was sun faded to a light pink and bone white

"I won it in a poker game, it was decommissioned sometime in the fifties. The only ones who knows where it is is Echo and Query." Edward killed the engine, pulling his keys out of the ignition. "They will be here later to drop off supplies for both of us." Alexandera opened her door, legs tingling from the long drive and how tense she was.

"Counting cards?" The Chef tried to joke, but she could hear how flat her voice was.

"Naturally. Here is the key, I need to flip the breaker box." The idea of being alone made her heart lurch, but she grabbed the keys nonetheless, and walked up the paint chipped wooden stairs to the front door. The air inside was stale, but the area was tidy. Cheese nautical decor, seashells and nets hung on walls, paintings of sail boats. Open concept, the kitchen blurring into the living room, only a small table denoting the barrier between the two. There was a thud, The Chef flinching, and the vent overhead blew with musty air. The Chef stood in the middle of the room, looking through the window, the sun reflecting off a jewel blue ocean.

"It'll be an hour before the water is hot, and the girls will be here later tonight. " Alexandera nodded,assuming he was referring to Echo and Query. "I'll show you to your room." Edward led her up a staircase. He passed a few doors, tell her which was storage, which was a bathroom. Further up, and there was a locked door, he pulled another key out, unlocking it and leading her even higher.

"I had the light housing converted into a room some time ago. Both doors can be locked with this key," Edward held the key for her, and she took it, gripping it tight, the teeth digging into her palms. "There is a bathroom up here, too." Edward finally met her eyes, he'd avoided looking at her the entire time she briefly noticed, and his brow pinched. Clucking his tounge, he turned his back to her, walking to a armoire across from an ornate four poster bed. The curtains on the bed a deep emerald green. The Chef, still clutching the key, drifted to the bed, sitting on the too soft and pillowy bed, staring blankly at the wall.

"I had some lounge wear you can change into once you've showered." Edward gave her a wide berth as he strode before her, a pile of grey and green in his hands. "I'll leave these in the bathroom for you. Careful, the hat water knob needs a delicate touch."

The Chef nodded.

"Are you hungry."

She shook her head.

"What do you think you'll want when you are hungry?" The Chef was quiet a moment.

"...Pot Roast."

"Do you have a preference on the vegetables?"

"No beets."

"Very well." Edward left to the restroom, leaving the door open when he stepped out. He hesitated a moment in the doorway to the stairs. "I'm... going to lock the doors. You can unlock them when you want to leave, you aren't trapped." The Chef's eyes burned at his tone. The lingering effects of the fear gas making her heart race at the thought of being trapped, and her face burned in anger at how weak she felt. She nodded nonetheless in understanding, and he left.

The Chef sat on the too soft bed, watching the sun arch through the sheer white curtains that lined the room.

She couldn't recall when she had drifted off to sleep.

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The Chef jolted awake with tears on her face. She couldn't remember where she was at first, or what her dreams had been, but only knew she was sore, her entire body aching in a way it hadn't on the drive here. Where ever here was exactly. She couldn't have been asleep long, the sun still lighting the room through the sheer white curtains. Pushing herself off the bed was a challenge. There were cuts and scratches across her arms and legs, the key still clutched in her hand, and her palms caked in dried blood. The dress Jervis had made her was filthy, dirt and god knows what else staining the once pristine white. Her knees were still bleeding, the scrapes worse than a child while they tried to ride a bike for the first time. A wry chuckle bubbled in her chest at the sight of a missing shoe. She was sure the shock of the night had dulled her pain better than any whiskey could.

Just like the night she was shot.

Damien was on the ground and there was bloo-

Alexandera rubbed at her eyes, flashes of light blooming as she tried to erase the memory, no, the hallucination, from her mind.

Standing, she hobbled to the bathroom, sure there were splinters in her shoe less foot, the sole stinging. The bathroom was clean, and there were fluffy towels hanging on a rack. The shower curtain was ocean themed. Everything white and blue. Turning on the hot water, The Chef stripped, getting a good look at how filthy the dress was, and feeling guilty at the state of Jervis's hard work.

She through it in the small waste bin next to the toilet. Along with the single shoe and underwear.

The Water was scalding hot, The Chef hissing as the hot water interacted with all the cuts in her body, and with wavering strength, she lugged her stiff leg up, and picked out the fuck rocks and splinter from her foot, before sliding down the side of the tub, curling up on the floor and letting the water spray. The position was familiar. A go to when she was drunk off her ass and ready to black out, when she was emotionally over worked.

She could almost taste the whiskey on her tounge.

If she had her phone, she'd have music blaring, but it wasn't on her. Probably in the forest. She'd need some way to contact Damien.

Her nails dug into her arms, staving off the sight of him dead.

It wasn't real!

But the idea hurt her.

She wasn't used to connection.

She was a wanderer. A drifter. Never in one place for too long, because when she did feel that connection, she'd panic. She'd run. The Urge to run was always there. Drove her to run away from the orphanage. From the families that picked her. From Gene. From the idea of family. Stability was a myth, a fallacy.

So why now?

Why was she more afraid of losing that connection, than having it?

Was it the foundation the whole thing was built on?

Her friends, criminals and vigilantes, who were on that same shifting platform.

Was it because they could at anytime prove her right, that it was a myth and sell her out to save their skins?

Was it because they could at anytime die in their escapades, or be taken away by the law?

That they could snap at anytime and hurt her?

Was it because, like her, they understood life is a joke. That it was cruel and unforgiving and at the end of the day trust is fragile and conditional.

That trust is only given to those who understood that fact?

She trusted them.

Jervis had broken into her home, mad as his namesake, and she still set up teatimes.

Joker had rebuilt her original diner, from the... humor, because it wasn't kindness, of his heart, and then held a gun to her head. But still, he rallied the army and led the charge to save her, then took the fall.

Damien knew her secret, and it turn shared his own. An unspoken agreement that she wasn't going to Blackgate by his own hand.

Scarecrow had gassed her... but she was worried how Crane would feel once he took the reigns and felt his swollen face.

Edward had insulted her hard work, her intelligence, but then had shouted that she was smarter than that. High praise from his ego.

Ivy didn't give her shit for eating and serving plant based foods.

Harley talked to her like a 'Gal Pal, Sunshine!'

Lex treated her like a friend.

Cobblepot treated her like an equal.

Her Diner Boys had and gave her loyalty.

And, in that tub, water running pink and grey off her toes down the drain, The Chef finally admitted she was a broken person, from the start.

That they all were broken, and all too damn prideful to admit it.

That they knew the world was broken, and anyone who saw otherwise was crazy!

She'd found her people.

She had finally...

Finally!

After years of prayer in the pews.

After cursing the skies on the streets.

After bottle after bottle...

She had her family.

Fucked up as it was, and nothing like baby Lexie saw on TV or in books. Nothing like Greg and Beth, because they were the exception, not the rule.

They were hers, the good and the bad. They were real and honest about who and what they were. There was no other shoe to drop.

There wasn't any reason to fear any falsehoods. An unmasking.

Their love wasn't a myth.

They were real.

And hers.

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Edward was at the little dinner table, typing away on a sleek laptop, when Alexandera trudged down the stairs. The creaking of the steps drew his attention, looking up to her. His brow was still pinched, the worry evident on his face.

"This place got any liquor?" Alexandera grunted, flopping down on the couch across from him, taking up the whole of the seat with her length. Edward blinked, before reaching under the table, pulling up a black plastic bag, standing to bring it to her.

"The girls just left, they went to you apartment, and grabbed some clothes for you, too." The Chef grabbed the bottle inside the bag, the glass heavy in her hand as she twisted off the cap, and chugged down the neck.

"They work quick, I thought they'd be here later tonight." The Chef hissed out, the liquor burning her throat. Edward cocked his head to the side.

"Alexandera, you slept through the night. It's the next day." Edward gave a light laugh, as The Chef felt her jaw drop a fraction.

"Huh... Well, I guess that's not a a huge surprise. I did get a workout last night." Edwards face hardened, and Alexandera scoffed. "Don't be like that, it was bound to happen eventually."

"How can you be so dismissive?! He gassed you! You could have died! His 'test subjects' regularly end up washing up at the pier, and you say it like it's-"

"Puzzles, drop it. I'll handle it later. I'm fine."

"No, I'm not going to drop it! Alexandera, Scarecrow is dangerous!"

"Edward, we've had this conversation. You are all dangerous! Gotham is dangerous. And fuck me if I'm not dangerous, too! I've got half the damn city ready to kill for me, all I gotta do is offer a damn discount at lunch! You look ready to kill for me!" Edwards looked as if she had slapped him. "I'm not afraid of dying, Puzzles. I'm... afraid of you dying. Of any of you dying, because of me." Edward looked shocked at her admission, posture as stiff as she felt. The Chef held her whiskey out to him, and waited for him to take it. Pushing up on the couch, she made space for him to sit, patting the seat to order him silently. He did, taking an even longer swig from the bottle than she did.

She watched his blank face suddenly light up, and then turn pink. Was he a lightweight, too?

"How did I miss that?" He whispered to himself, knuckles turning white as he gripped the bottle. His shoulder twitched, tensing, before his head whipped around to face her. "You're afraid of us dying?!"

"Apparently!" The Chef laughed, really laughed, from deep in her gut, grabbing the bottle. "Thinking back, I figured I would see my diner closing down due to health violations or some shit, but thanks to you fucks, I guess I'm afraid of losing you." The Chef took a swig, Edward placed a hand over his face, as he laughed with her.

"We need to work on your self preservation." He grabbed the bottle back.

"Nah, if you did that, who would put up with you psychos?" He scoffed, feigning an affronted look.

"Well that would be a shame, because there is a pot roast waiting to be eaten in the crock pot over there."

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