"-And what were you thinking, Koriand'r? They are civilians, and you used your powers infront of them." The massive wall mounted computer replayed footage from the security cameras that dotted Wayne Manor. "Background checks confirm The Jones's are clean, but all it takes is one bad day." Bruce scolded The group before him, sans Damien and Tim. They were still holed away in The Chef's room.
"I mean, what are the chances of anyone believing them if they talk? Lots of people talk about meeting heroes in real life, but its usually for clout." Kate tried to defend, but shrunk in on herself at Bruce's trademarked Dissatisfied Face.
"It's not a risk we can take. Ever."
"It seems you are losing your touch, Bruce." Talia's silky voice wormed into his ear. She looked no worse for wear, any damage from the night before already healed or covered with expertly done make up that looked uncannily natural. 'Show no weakness.', indeed. "Allowing a suspect in your home."
"She's a suspect?" Duke's fingers halted their tapping on his thigh in surprise.
"No." Bruce was quick to say, but Talia opened her mouth.
"He has a dossier on Miss Fox. Apparently he thinks she has connections with the Gallery. A few dealings with Penguin, a very interesting relationship with Luthor."
"Lex Luthor is a Rogue?" Barb interjected.
"Nothing concrete, Superman has too much faith." Bruce managed to keep the scorn in his tone to a minimum.
"But she's just a cook." Dick defended, not for The Chef's sake, but his adoptive brothers.
"And I am a mother. Bruce is a Billionaire. You are a billionaire's Son." Talia laughed, breathy and airy, yet the edge it held cut.
"Master Bruce? She is awake, and in the kitchen." Alfred called from the stairs.
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Crying woke Alexandera. She, for a moment, thought it was her own, but when she opened her eyes to the early morning glow, she spotted Tim bouncing a fussy Levi in his hold, gently shushing him. Turning her head she saw Lexie tucked into Damien's side, both children still asleep. Past them on the floor was Gene slumped against the door, Noriko's face screwing into a frown as she sleepily reached out towards a wad of blankets on the floor. Alexandera pushed herself slowly off the bed, more sliding than sitting to avoid jostling the other occupants awake. Tim watched her warily as The Chef stretched her arms high, back and joints popping louder than the fussing from the infant.
"Here," Alexandera held her hands out, to take Levi from Tim, who held the child closer to his chest. "You shouldn't need to take care of a baby. Wake Gene and Ko, maybe grab Al. Kids needs to eat." Tim blinked at her quiet, tired words, but nodded. Levi was passed to The Chef, who continued to bounce the hungry child, humming deeply to soothe him.
"Are you-...?" Tim didn't know how to phrase his question, so he gestured to his head, swirling his finger.
"Sleep is a factory reset. I ain't crazy, just a very, very angry woman." Alexandera spoke between bouts of humming. The rumbling in her chest quieting the baby. "I despise Wayne. And that bitch, Talia. I'd call her a cunt, but she has neither the depth or the warmth." Tim covered his mouth to keep from laughing at her latter statement.
"I get why you hate Damien's mom, but why Bruce?" The Chef levelled him a deadpanned stare, expression flat. She turned to look at Damien, who still hadn't woken up. Tim thought it strange that his weirdest brother wasnt up yet. He never sleeps. When he and Alexandera looked back to wach other, he inhaled in surprise. The barest trace of wetness glistening in her eyes.
"You're just kids." The Chef shook her head, walking iver and kicking Gene's foot. "You're not supposed to grow up as fast as me and Wayne did."
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Alfred gently knocked on the door, in a pattern all the Wayne children knew was his own. Tim opened and ushered him in quickly, surveying the hallway to ensure it was clear. Alfred set the heavy silver tray down on the bedside table. All the occupants of the room were in various stages of wakefulness.
"I took the liberty of bringing a warm bottle for Young Master Levi, as well breakfast for Miss Lexie, and for you, too." Alfred said to the Gene and Noriko. "Would you like for me to feed him so you may dine yourselves?"
"We don't want to be a burden." Noriko hedged, having taken Levi from his aunt and was still working on calming him down. Lexie was playing with her stuffed dragon, playfully growling as the lizard scaled the mountain that was Damien's broken arm.
"Nonsense, it wouldn't be a burden at all. Miss Fox swears breakfast is important, and I am inclined to agree." Alfred smiled genially and accepted the baby from the tired mother, swiftly holding the nipple of a glass bottle to Levi's lips. He latched quickly, and it made the old man smile wider. "Though I don't believe I've witnessed her eat breakfast." The Chef's head bounced as she huffed a laugh.
"I'll pick at it. Kids need to eat first." The Chef took the role of waitress and passed out various foods to the room. Rice and fish for Noriko, who sobbed quietly at the nostalgic dish, a greasy breakfast sandwhich wrapped in partchment paper for Gene, a bowl of brightly coloured cereal for both Lexie and Tim, orange slices and steaming tea for a watchful Damien, and a hot cup of scotch and coffee with a bowl of fried potatoes for Alexandera. She downed the coffee quickly, bit lwft the potatoes.
It was silent save for the sounds of metal utensils scraping plates and chewing. Levi was quick to finish his meal and was now being burped by Alfred, a spare handtowel covering his shoulder to catch any spit up.
"Are... We allowed to leave?" Gene asked, nervously rubbing the side of his head. Alfred never stopped his patting of Levi's back.
"Of course you are, Master Jones. You may stay as long as you'd like, and leave freely when you wish to. You are not a prisoner of Wayne Manor." Gene's shoulders sagged in relief. "I'm deeply sorry that you have been made to feel otherwise."
"But we know!" Noriko burst into sobs and it startled The Chef and Lexie, the toddler spilling aome of her breakfast on the white linen. "We know and we're liabilities or something." Alfred's eyes breifly flickered to Damien who shook his head in confusion. Alfred then looked to Tim, who was drinking the last of his cereal milk.
"I told them." He admitted. "Alexandera knows, so Damien must have told her, or she figured it out. I looked over Dad's dossier of her, and her 'only connection outside of Gotham is The Jones, phone records show she called on him and he arrived quickly, and allowed him to run her diner for a bit, which means she trusts them, and by extension Damien probably does, too. Plus they saw Kori flying, and figured out she's Starfire. It's well know Starfire and Nightwing are a couple, and they aren't shy with PDA outside the uniform. Logic dictates they'd figure it out one way or another. Add to that, Mr. Jones didn't seem too surprised when i told him we were Robin, so he knew already. I could continue with my line of logic, but in the end, it's wrong to keep them in the dark. Especially with Dad's crazy ex skulking around... No offense, Damien." Tim punctuated the end of his sentance with a burp. The Chef was blantantly staring at the teen.
"I have a dossier?"
"My Mother does not skulk, she stalks."
"Master Drake..." Alfred's facade broke, rubbing his temple. "While i appreciate your sudden interest in the persuit of honesty, that does complicate matters "
"Come on, Alfred, you called them Miss and Master, Damien calls Alexandera sister, and last night she called him bro." Tim didn't look abashed when The Chef cursed him for eavesdropping, embarrassed such a soft moment was witnessed by someone, ignoring her. "At this point, they're basically Batfam. It'll make whatever conversation they have with Dad go faster and we can go back to normal."
"I forget there is a brain behind your bravado, Drake." Damien begrudgingly said.
"Dad forgets, too." Tim smugly grinned. "I'm far more perceptive than most of you give me credit for. Thats why Duke and Dick are my favorite brothers."
"Master Drake..." Alfred intoned warningly.
"I'm just teasing!" Tim raised his hands. "For real! I'm only trying to help!"
"By telling them the whole story? They're not like us, they're normal people, they shouldn't be dragged into this!" The Chef spat, reaching into her tattered messenger bag for her back up whiskey.
"You kinda dragged them into this when you went feral and tried to eat Talia's hand."
"Ugh, I didn't try to eat her," The Chef groused, before mumbling "meat wouldn't be worth picking out my teeth."
"Listen, lady, Damien acted less like a freaky killer robot since you showed up. You're crazy, but like, in a good way? If it makes him less of a jerk, then I'm gonna help you out." Tim pointed to Damien with his thumb. "Plus, he's been way less violent on the goons we deal with, he actually leaves a few for us to kick around, and he doesn't gloat as much as he used to. Its a win win for me to keep you around."
"I ain't crazy! Im pissed. There's a difference." The Chef went to cross her arms, but knocked her knuckles and hissed in pain.
"Truly noble reasons, Master Drake." Alfred actually rolled his eyes. Levi gave a big yawn, and The Chef frowned in an effort not to coo. Noriko stood and took her child from Alfred, looking up at him with a determined look.
"My husband and I won't tell anyone. We'll sign NDA's if we have to. You don't have to worry about us. I trust Batman, and know the work he does is important." She glared at Alexandera when the woman scoffed,but continued "I... I dont like that the kids are out their fighting, but if i had their skills at their age, I'd absolutely do the same thing. I always wanted to be a Sailor Scout!" Noriko gave a big grin, and The Chef groaned.
"Sakura Card Captor was better."
"You take that back!" It wasn't Noriko who shouted
It was Tim.
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The Chef placed a hand on Damien's shoulder as everyone left to go to their own duties. Tim agreed to keep an eye on the Jones family with Damien, Damien not trusting his Mother to not use the civilians to her benefit, and Tim wanting to talk anime shop with the other nerds. Alfred announced he needed to prepare breakfast for the rest of the manors occupants, asking Alexandera for her assistanance. As their voices faded down the hall, The Chef whispered, cautious of any serveillance in the room, pulling Damien into a hug to hide her face.
"When I got my whiskey from my bag, I was looking for a phone. It was in my boot, it's gone." Damien pulled away from the hug, a sly grin on his face.
"You are very paranoid, Uhkti." He wiggled his fingers into the arm of his cast, and pulled the flip phone from inside. "That is very wise, but I disabled the cameras before your arrival." The Chef took the phone with a sigh, and quickly checked for notifications, seeing none. Her main phone only had a text from Marcus asking when they'd need to stop by for clean up
"You didn't-?" Damien shook his head, and Alexandera smiled her twisted grin. "Thanks for looking out, Brat."
"Of course." Damien primly replied, gesturing to the hall. They left the room, The Chef snatching up her whiskey bottle as they left. They walked in comfortable silence, until The Chef broke it.
"So... Been going easy on the goons, huh?" Damien didn't falter in his steps, but he ran a hand through his hair, much like The Chef was prone to do.
"A year or so ago, it would not have been an issue," Damien glanced up at Alexandera's smug grin. "It has become difficult to be as harsh when I have broken bread with many of them."
"Not so black and white, right?"
Damien nodded.
"It has been an infuriating shade of grey."
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Alfred was quiet as he and The Chef cooked breakfast. Their usual banter missing as they predicted recipe needs, passing salt and eggs with no need for request. The Chef felt it hard to swallow her liquor.
"Alright Al. Let it out." The Chef growled when an egg shell was found in her scrambled mess, reaching into the hot pan to pull it out, the gauze on her hands making it difficult. "Yer pissed at me."
"I am not angry." Alfred stiffly replied, opening the oven to place a pan of popovers in. "I am disappointed." A hot flush washed over The Chef's face, and it wasn't from the heat of the stove.
"I ain't sorry I did it... I'm sorry I did... That... In front of everyone."
"A punch is one thing, Lord knows I have wanted to slap sense into that boy time to time, but I reign in those thoughts and do better." The Chef could feel the burn of his gaze on her. "You are a role model to Master Damien, a damn fine one most days, but that was unacceptable!"
"I know." The Chef dully said, continuing to stir the eggs.
"A single punch, while something I would not usually condone, is understandable with your temperment and protectiveness, but you crossed the line. You assualted Damien's Mother and Father,on his birthday no less."
"I know." The eggs were quickly solidifying.
"What happened? Despite your anger, you retain a sense of calm despite your fury. What happened?"
"I lost it, Al! I fucking lost it!" The Chef slammed her borrowed sparula down, and it snapped, clattering to the floor. "That bitch fucked Damien's head up and he grew up too damn fast, and his fucking 'father' didn't even try to fix the damage! He continued the cycle! And they were right there! He waltzes in on his birthday with a fucking watch thinking thats enough to fix the damage! And she comes in all high amd mighty with that Nice Guy 'Where's my hug at?' routine!" Something in The Chef roared, and she vocallized it, screaming as she grabbed a glass bowl and threw it at the pristine stainless steel oven, staining it with batter and shattered glass.
"I saw enough of that fake parent bullshit when i was in the system! He needs a real fucking family, people who care about him! Not a fucking hello and a watch!" The Chef fisted her hands in her hair and pulled hard, skull stinging at the abuse.
"Miss Fox, we are his family." Alfred calmly replied, not even stepping back when The Chef bagan to pace
"Yeah! You and me and Gene and Ko and my Diner Boys! Hell maybe even the other kids that trauma bonded over Bruce Fucking Waynes inept parenting skills! Not that Woman! Not that Man!" The Chef felt something drip down her face and thought it might be blood.
"Regardless how you feel, Bruce does love his children."
"Yeah, well his fucking 'love' ends up killing them!" The Chef panted as she roared on, fire flashed in her vision, and it wasn't from the stove. The Chef heaved in breaths, trying to calm herself. Her whiskey bottle was snatched up, and she drank greedily.
"You're speaking of Master Todd." Alexandera looked to Alfred at that name, and winced at the haunted look of his expression. "How do you know about that? What do you know?" The Chef warred with herself, but in the end she shook her head. It was too much. Too much anger. Too much pain. Too much fire. There was too much she needed to do, and ahe had plans for That Red Headed Ass that she wouldn't let Batman ruin.
"I- I-" Alexandera stuttered and sobbed. What was wrong with her? Alfred gently tugged the hand still gripping her hair and patted it soothingly.
"Miss Fox. We will do all we can to protect Damien when he needs it, but you must remember," The Chef sniffed to keep snot from leaking from her nose. It wasn't blood dripping down her face. It was tears. "They must want to be saved, if we are to help them. You cannot force it, or you will push them away. We will stand by them, and catch them when they fall. They will stand on their own, but we can always offer our hand to steady them." Alfred released her hand, and smoothly opened a drawer, pulling a new spatula out.
"Now, I will fetch the family for breakfast. Please qork on a new batch of eggs. The ones on the stove have burned."
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The Chef kicked her feet up on the coffee table of the lounge room. If she left them on the floor, they would bounce unstoppably as she waited for Big Wayne's arrival. She'd sent a text to Marcus to send the clean up crew, with Alfred's permission and careful watch, and was now working her way through the last of her whiskey bottle. Her flask still had streamers knotted around the neck but it was empty and useless to her. Eyeing the wetbar that sat a few feet away from her, she mulled the idea of pouring herself a few drinks. She'd just stood to refill her festive flask when the door opened.
Bruce Wayne looked like shit. Face swollen, eyes black, nose in a splint and a cut on his lip. Talia Al Ghul looked pristine and fresh, not a blemish to be seen.
Alexandera sneered, growling.
"Take a little swim? Feel better after dipping into the Fountain of Youth?" The Chef spat, stomping to the wet bar and grabbing the first brown liquor that caught her eye. Talia only responded with a quirk of her lips.
"Miss Fox." Bruce started in luie of good morning. "How are your hands?"
"Fuck off with the false pleasantries and get to the fucking point, Batman." She barked, popping the cork of the with her teeth, what smelled like rum splashing onto her bleach stained tank top. Talia sat in a lounge chair, and crossed her ankles regally, while Bruce opted for the couch The Chef once sat at.
"Did Damien tell you?" Bruce had abandoned the charming playboy routine, but The Chef wasn't disarmed.
"No. It's not fucking hard to put two and two together. High tech batjets aren't exactly flooding the market, and Wayne Enterprises is the leader in new tech." The Chef bluffed, not wanting to put Damien in a worse position.
"She's lying." Talia finally spoke, and The Chef refrained from throwing the rum bottle at her head.
"I'll get to you in a minute, Princess Stabby Pants, the grown ups are talking." Talia didn't react to The Chefs taunts.
"When did he tell you, Miss Fox?" Bruce pressed, shifting forward in his seat and clasping his hands together infront of his face in a thoughtful position. Alexandera rolled her eyes so hard her head lulled round with the action.
"I got kidnapped few months ago. He rescued me, and called me 'Aunkie' or whatevwr the hell it is."
"Uhkti. It means sister." Talia supplied, and The Chef gestured to her blindly.
"Yeah, that. Called me Uhkti and it wasn't hard to puzzle it out from there."
"Have you told anyone?"
"Who the fucks gonna believe me, that my brat is Robin?"
"She is evading."
"Stay the fuck out of this, Bitch!" The Chef sneered. "You've done well enough until now, maybe you should try keeping your record."
"Who did you tell?"
"Gene. Damien stops by my apartment after I found out, just to let me know he's not dead. I got permission to tell Gene after the kid jumped from the fire escape. Gene damn near shat his pants, and Damien confirmed later that night."
"He stops by your apartment... To let you know he's okay?" Bruce seemed shocked.
"Surprised by that? That's sad." Alexandera mocked, swallowing a large mouthful of rum. It was too smooth for he cheap taste. "He knows I worry, so he does it and I worry less. Someone needs to care for him a fucking little."
"What is your relationship with my son?" Talia questioned, and The Chef did throw the bottle at her. It missed wide.
"He stopped being your fucking son the moment you got him to join your little murder club!" Talia smiled wider.
"He is not your responsibility. You are not his mother." The Chef barked out a harsh laugh.
"And thank fucking gods for that! My Brat deserves better than a mom who killed his childhood pet infront of him to prove a point."
"He has told you much."
"He told me everything!"
"But why, is the question?" Bruce hummed and The Chef pulled another bottle down from the shelf with a huff.
"There's no fucking question to it! He trusts me!"
"He trusts you more than me."
"You have his loyalty."
"Is that all you two care about?! His loyalty?" Alexandera asked in disgust, lips curled. "Fine! Sure, I have his fucking loyalty. I didn't ask for it! I don't even want it!"
"What do you want?"
"I want my Brat to be a kid!"
"He is not yours, Alexandera Fox." Talia tilted her head, her face still a perfect smile of straight teeth.
"The fuck he isn't! You tried to kill him! Both of you!" The Chef screamed. "You held a knife to his neck! And you keep throwing him into a spandex suit and let him fly around playing hero!"
"Damien will never be a normal child, I'm trying to give him a sense of purpose." Bruce defended.
"How would you know?! Did you try? You didn't bother to stick around for his birthday, you didn't see him playing with the other orphans you took to be child soldiers. You haven't bothered to show him normal shit like music, and movies, and people, and just -UGH!" Alexandera swallowed another mouthful of liquor and gagged hard at the gin. Slamming it down, she purposely grabbed a whiskey. "I know he'll never be normal, and i doubt any therapist could do any real good, but fuck! At least I'm trying! It's more than eother of you two have done! Don't put the sins of the father or whatever on him just because you never got over Mommy and Daddy's murder when you were a baby bat! He's not you!" Bruce reeled back as if she'd smacked him. Talia raised a hand to cover her mouth as she laughed softly.
"A rather low blow, Miss Fox." Talia reached down to grab the spilled bottle of rum, sipping it gently. "I see why Damien respects you."
"You ain't seen shit!" Talia hummed.
"Haven't I? Once I stopped receiving correspondence from my son, I did some digging. You are quite the legend, here in Gotham. Enough that the criminals have gathered under your banner." Bruce recovered from his shock, and looked to his Ex. "What do they call you? Mama Chef?"
"It's a fucking nickname that stuck, that's all." Alexandera growled
"Hmm, perhaps." Talia stood, and tugged the peplum of her suit coat down, straightening nonexistent creases. "It is of little consequence. You are no threat. Goodbye Bruce. I will be in touch." Talia made to leave, and Alexandera couldn't hold her damn tongue.
"I know what you did to Red." Talia stopped her exodus, and turned to The Chef, her smile gone as she sized Alexandera up. With predatory grace, she walked to stand at the bar, pulling set of keys from her pocket. Not breaking eye contact, she pressed one button, and The Chef could make out the barest sound of a sizzle, and then the woman pointed the fob at Bruce, who had rose up to do, something, but was sudden falling back, a tiny dart in his chest. He was out cold. Talia turned back to The Chef, and reached for a glass.
"Not everyone who emerges from The Pit returns whole." Talia poured the rum ahe still carried into the glass. "His mind is broken, he is a liability. The League would be grateful for you to take care of the situation."
"And what? I get a favor? A nice little trophy?"
"You misunderstand. You owe us. Our payment is not telling Bruce that his assumptions of you are correct." Talia sipped the rum, holding it to the light to watch the facets in the glass catch. "I would hate to spoil such young... Love." Talia smiled as she watchted The Chef's nostrils flare and her mouth tighten into a snarl. Setting the glass down, she finally began to leave.
"You are wrong, however. I love my son deeply. It is why I sent him to Bruce, away from The League." She didn't look back until she opened the door.
"Right." The Chef fought hard to keep another verbal onslaught behind her teeth, her fingers itched yo grab the glass Talia drank from and chuck it at her head.
"I trust you to keep Damien safe and happy, Bint." Talia closed the door as she slipped out, The Chef quickly texting Damien to let him know.
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Bruce groaned lowly as he started to wake up. Alexandera didn't bother with removing the small dart from his left tiddy. He pushed himself up and took atock of the room, especially the two empty bottles of booze resting on the bar.
"She been gone about half an hour," The Chef said, watching him through the bar mirror as she climbed down with a very old looking whiskey bottle. "I figured id wait another bottle before i called Al over."
"What did she say?" Bruce demanded, the effect of his words dulled by his slurred speech.
"Shovel talk. Keep Damien safe, or else." The Chef purposefully didnt make eye contact with him, breaking the wax seal off the neck of the bottle. A heavy silence pressed on the adults, and The Chef couldn't help the small flinch whe Bruce pushed himself off the couch, and staggered to the bar, sitting on a stool directly across from her. Alexandera grabbed Talia's used glass, and poured until it was full, sliding it to the listing man. Bruce eyed the glass, then grabbed it, shoulders sagging.
"Talia trusts you with Damien." Gone was the hard tone of Batman, in its stead was the despondent, quiet tone of a defeated man. The Chef had heard it more than a few times to recognize it. "My son trusts you." Bruce grabbed the glass, and took a sip.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" The Chef didn't try to cover up the harsh edge in her words. She wanted him to suffer.
"He smiled. Today. I watched the footage of his birthday. He smiled." Bruce rested his face into his palm. "I don't know what to do with him."
"You ignore the fact he's a trained killer, and you treat him like a kid." Bruce snapped his head up, not quite glaring, but his brow was pinched in a constipated expression.
"I can't pretend his time with The League didn't happen."
"Is that what I fucking said? Did i punch you a little too hard, got some nose cartilage impaled in your brain?" The Chef barked, taking a moment to calm down with a swallow of too smooth whiskey. "I said ignore it. Forget it. Treat him like a child. Show him what being a kid is. You act like a fucking parent, and not a fucking hero!"
"That didn't work." Bruce muttered.
"Let me guess, he questioned your authority, and instead of following your rules, he gallavanted off with his sword and Gotham General had an influx in the ER?" Bruce nodded, staring at his glass, and The Chef snorted. "He was testing you! And you fell for it, and gave into him! You gave him what he wanted."
"He wants to be Robin."
"He wants to be wanted, Assman." Bruce still didn't look up, but Alexandera saw his knuckles pale as he gripped the glass. "And the only way he knows that he's wanted is as an assassin." The Chef was unqualified for this, and felt like she was talking out her ass, but somehow she felt this was making enough sense, that it had to be somewhat true.
"He's not like your other brats, his sense of familial love is warped. You have to teach him what that shit really means. He doesn't know the rules, and instead of trying to show him your rules, you followed his, and you lost at his game." Bruce drank another swallow, and the glass was half empty. She refilled it.
"How? How did you... 'win?'"
"Unlike you, I didn't have the luxury of Mommy and Daddy's money and butler. I had to go into the system, and I had those rules beaten into me, time and time again." Alexandera admitted, ignoring the tear that slipped down Bruce's nose. "You, and Me, and Damien grew up faster than most, and we are stubborn. I just out stubborned Brat at every turn."
"But Dick an-"
"If you say 'they weren't like that', I'm going to drag your ass over this bar and beat you in the head with this bottle." The Chef held the whiskey up theeateningly. "Your other brats arent like us. You got them early. They at least had Al to play the caring role, they had a support system that was relatively normal. You can't compare your kids like that." The Chef knew that from experience. Bruce mulled over her words, and The Chef refilled his glass once more before he spoke again.
"I can't fix this."
"Nope." The Chef ununciated the 'p' with a pop. Bruce finally looked at Alexandera, a curious expression on his face. "Not likely."
"What did Talia mean by your reputation?" Bruce stayed silent, waiting for Alexandera to answer. She was thrown off by the change in subject, she knew it had to be on purpose.
"Are you asking as Playboy Bruce or as Fucking Batman?"
"Batman." At least he was honest.
"Why did you become Batman?"
"To avenge my parents." The Chef scoffed, and drained the last of the whiskey bottle. Turning her back to him, she scanned the copious liquors.
"I don't believe that for a minute. If it was revenge you would have killed the guy who killed your parents and then spent the rest of your days in a self aggrandizing suicide by debauchery." The Chef sighed and picked out a tequila. This was a tequila kinda day. Not yet a vodka day, thankfully.
"I wanted to clean up the city, save it. Gotham could be a beacon, but it's fallen low, and I'm the only one that can help. I can't be bought like the police, and I can be a symbol that strikes fear into the hearts of criminals, so that they'll rethink thier life of crime. I'm saving the city."
"Jesus, you sound like a shitty after school special." Alexandera caught the offended look that flashed briefly on his face. "Do you actually believe that?" Bruce shifted in his seat and Alexandera blanched before she laughed.
She laughed hard and loud, and had to lean against the bar to keep herself from falling.
"You really do! They don't care! In fact, you don't make a single bit of difference!"
"I'm putting those criminals behind bars, I'm cleaning up the streets!"
"Yeah, they get thrown in jail, only to escape or get out on parole or 'good behavior' just to wind up back in a life of crime." The Chef hiccupped from laughing so hard. "All you do is perpetuate the cycle. You made it worse! Now we got Rogues!"
"You think this is funny?"
"Obviously!" The Chef pulled herself together, but giggles slipped through her words. "You're just as crazy as them! Of course you are! You live in Gotham!" The Chef revelled in her revelation.
"I'm not crazy." Bruce glowered.
"You wear a bat costume and fight killer clowns!" Her stomach hurt. "Do you even bother to think about the effect you have? Has crime really dropped aince you came around?" Bruce ooenwd his mouth to retort, but The Chef talked over him.
"They call me Mama Chef. That's my reputation. I took a few Joker Goons and now they are average citizens. I treated my patrons like people and now they act like people. They don't act up in my diner because they know they can't or they lose the one place they can be themselves. Those are my rules, that's my game! I'm stubborn enough not to care they're criminals because I ignore it. It doesn't matter to me! They get a hot meal if they behave. And now I have a whole legion of goons who decided that living a normal life is better than prison. Im the only one willing to ignore their rap sheet!" The Chef struggled to uncork the tequila, her grip lax from the uncontrollable laughter she was fighting. "How many bosses out their are willing to overlook that? How many people have served their time, tried to 'better' themselves, and when they get out of Blackgate or Arkham, they were kicked to the curb? Do you even care?"
"Of course I care!" Bruce's voice raised in defense, But The Chef ignored it, the cork finally popping out the bottle.
"The fuck you do! How many familar faces have you beaten? How many names do you have memoriaed because you've booked them repeatedly? You ignore the solution in favor of being a 'hero'! You're not saving this city. It doesn't want to be saved by you!" Suddenly, Alfred's words from the kitchen rang through her mind. "It has to want to be saved! And they do! So many of them want to save themselves! They fell, and they wanna stand, and I'm there ready to pick them up!" Both of the rooms occupants were stunned silent. The Chef's jaw hung open as she processed her words, before she whispered to herself,
"Oh god, am I the hero?"
Bruce seemed to stare at The Chef and through her, deep in thought, his eyes wide.
Alfred, bless him, knocked on the door.
"Master Wayne? You have a call from..." Alfred hesitated a moment before trudging on. "The Justice League. They request your presence at Head Quarters." Bruce nodded, leaving his full glass of whiskey on the bartop as he stood.
"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce walked out without another word. Alfred looked to a gobsmacked Alexandera, shaking his head lightly.
"Your employees left not long ago, the backyard is pristine." Alfred walked to the bar, and began to clean it of empty bottles.
"Al, am I a good person?" The Chef grasped his arm, eyes wide. "Am I a fucking goody-toe-shoes?" She asked desperately. Alfred smiled, and patted her hand.
"Master and Miss Jones are in the nursery with all the children, I believe Young Miss Lexi was requesting you." Alfred smiled as he walked out, and The Chef scrambled behind him.
"Wait Al! You didn't answer me!"
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The meeting went as well as expected. Batman waited patiently infront of the door, waiting for a response. The door slid open with a soft his, and Batman walked into a messy room. Fastfood wrappers littered the floor, before they suddenly disappeared. The once empty trash can now over flowing with paper.
"Sorry." A deceptively boyish voice uttered in embarrassment. "How can I help you? Wasn't expecting you!"
"I have an idea, for Gotham. And you're the best person for the job." Batman's stoic voice didn't dampen the smile of his colleague.
"How can I help?" A chair out for Batman to sit in.
"I want to start a reform program. I have the first candidate, and I know someone who might eb able to help. I just need someone on the inside to ensure it is legitimate.
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"There's no way this is true, Vale." Rogers huffed, reading over the script infront of him
"Who cares if it's true? It's sensational! Besides, Baby Wayne confirmed it at his little school event in front of teachers and a horde of classmates." Vicki Vale rubbed her pinky to her water line, smudging away fallen eyeliner. "I checked my sources."
"I can't believe it..." Rogers slumped in his chair, grinning wide.
"Neither can I!" They both looked at the title of the script, mouths watering from the future ratings.
WAYWARD WAYNE! Bruce Wayne's long lost sister!