Her first day back was busy as soon as the few stragglers waiting for the door to be unlocked saw The Chef, arm out of sling, proudly displaying the still sensitive, red, puffy scar, in a seam torn tank top. The dark road, lit with yellowed aged streetlamps lit with screens of multiple phones.
"Don't bother with a party!" The Chef hollered from up the street, flanked on her sides by Kyle and Gary, Marcus ahead of her, taking point. "I just want to cook!"
The patrons who hadn't silenced their phones for work, chimed with multiple twitter notifications, adding to the tired but happy greetings shouted at The Chef as she walked to her front door. To her home.
She slid the key into the lock, and it turned with ease.
Home.
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.
.
Her wish had certainly come true, all she did was cook. From her little window in the kitchen, incomers shouted greetings, thankfully none bringing gifts she had no want of, most ordered out as it was standing room only in the lobby, all the chairs taken by her horde patrons. She ought to invest in a revolving door.
Marcus had done good in her two weeks away, she had no doubts though, they had proved they could handle Hodge-Podge without her when she had went to Metropolis. Didn't stop Andre stopping by with the delivery early and giving her a spine crushing hug, lifting her off the floor, and laughing in delight. Turns out the gentle giant of a man had a cousin in the know.
"Gildea was nearly out the door with her butcher knife when we heard!" Andre set her down much more gently than his hug had been. "Had to remind her the baby was strapped to her back."
"Shit, surprised she didn't pawn the sex trophy on you, I think I'm more scared of her than Scarecrow."
"Don't let him hear ya say that, Boss!" Kyle laughed, hands occupied by the delivery crates.
"Spooks is as fucking scary as an actual scarecrow. Notice how crows are always sitting on them?" The Chef leaned down to pick a crate up herself, but Andre kicked it, sliding the onions across the kitchen floor, it thudded to a stop against the cooler door. "Dude, health violation." Andre chuckled, flicking the brim of Damien's hat perched on The Chef's head.
"I doubt any violations would stick nowadays, Ma'am."
.
.
.
By midday break, The Chef already had the order clipboard out, her loyal patrons making a sizable dent in her stocks. Her Diner Boys had already closed the blinds and began cleaning, the sound of the dish pit loud. Alexandera had already been assured by Harley that her friends would be staying away from the diner a little longer, as a precaution and to take the time to hunt down the hooded fucker who shot her. So when she caught movement out the corner of her eye, she was on guard.
It was a huge, burly beast of a man, dressed in a comically too small waist coat, wearing a rabbit mask. In his large outstretched hand, was a brightly wrapped box.
"Uuuhh... Hello?" It took a moment for a memory to resurface. "Jervis." It was one of the men who had helped Jervis set up the surprise Unbirthday tea party in her apartment... God was it really long that ago? The Chef stepped forward, eyeing the statue still man. Setting her clipboard on the prep counter, she grabbed the parcel, and the man dropped his arm, and turned on his heel robotically, walking out the back door in lumbering slow steps.
"Always gave me the creeps." Marcus chimed from her left, hand hovering at his hip.
"Yeah, kinda weird." Setting the box on the counter, she noticed an envelope with a wax seal showing an embossed 10/6. Definitely Jervis.
My Dearest, (The Chef would deny any allegations of blushing from his prolific use of pet names, thankful it wasn't Alice) I send my fondest regards. I wish to formally invite you to the Iceberg Lounge tomorrow evening at 9. I have taken the the liberty and pleasure of designing you a wardrobe for such occasion. I do so hope you like it, and eagerly await your arrival.
Your Haberdasher
The Chef laughed at his surprisingly formal and well written letter, somehow expecting more... stream of conscience. And certainly more portmanteaus.
Refolding the letter to burn later, no need for evidence, she opened the box.
It wasn't blue. That was a bigger surprise.
It was white. And lace.
Pulling it out of the box, it was surprisingly light, tea length and airy despite the lace itself. Quarter sleeved and a lace drawstring just below the bust. Upon closer inspection, the bottom hem was trimmed in lace patterned with little foxes running. If she wore it, and twirled, Alexandera was sure it would look as if they were actually running.
"What the actual fuck?" The Chef wouldn't help but whisper, thumbing the soft fabric. "I thought he made hats!" Marcus had stepped closer eyeing the dress in her hands.
"Huh... You know, I'm not surprised. Can't get threads like his at any store I've seen." Which... Fair. Marcus leaned over, peaking into the box, and immediately laughed, turning away and covering his mouth.
"What?" Marcus just shook his head, using his free hand to gesture towards the box. The Chef leaned forward, and sputtered. "Are those?!"
"Boss, I don't even want to know how he got your panty size!" Marcus cackled, clapping her shoulder before returning to degrease the vent hoods.
.
.
.
"It's open!" The Chef shouted from her kitchen, funneling whiskey into her new flask, one of the many gifted upon her return to... normalcy.
"It is terribly dangerous to leave your door unlocked, Miss Fox." Alfred said in lieu of greeting, Alexandera peeked around the counter, spilling liquor in her fingers. She simply licked it off.
"What is anyone gonna do, rob me? Kinda got 'World's Greatest Detective's Brat' on my payroll."
"I wasn't aware you paid Master Damien." Alfred smiled slyly.
"I pay him in lessons and tolerance. Someone's gotta put up with his shit when he ain't around you." A quick scan of the living room. "Speaking of, where the hell is the Kid?"
"Currently, at a guess, flying over West and Fifth." Alfred set a bag down on her stained coffee table.
"Ugh. Keep that camera ready, I don't know if I'll behave myself if I see your boss next." The Chef turned back to her task, tipping the bottle more, before screwing the cap of the flask. "Want a drink?"
"Oh, no, I drove here."
"Al, I took a bar card class. One drink will leave your system in an hour, and I made bubble and squeak for ya."
"You're a blessing Miss Fox. Perchance, how stocked are your reserves?" The Chef grinned, some would say evilly. Taking a swig of whiskey from the bottle, she walked to the the back of the couch, beckoning the Brit. Bending down, she grabbed the lower corner of her couch, and with the tell tale ripping sound of Velcro, she pulled up with a flourish. Set lowest portion of the supports, was a shelf, filled with various liquors. Alfred hummed in delight.
"Had to get creative during my lock down. People cock blocking my liquor. Assholes raided my cabinets. Lex gave me the idea." Alfred leaned down with an ease belied by his age.
"You have quite the collection!" Alfred pulled an unopened bottle of gin, cradling it in his hands as he inspected it. "Do you happen to have lime cordial?"
"I got a homemade lime cheong I made in the back of the fridge... I got a lot of cheong." Alfred stood, brow cocked. "I got bored!" The Chef whined, actually whined, still salty at her "medical leave".
"I'll make us a couple gimlets." The Chef frowned but nodded.
"Not a fan of gin, but I trust you."
"As you should. After, we will start your hair."
"Serious Al, got any nephews?" Alfred chuckled, puttering towards the kitchen. "Nieces?"
.
.
.
The Chef dropped her arm with effort, resisting the urge to run her hand through the intricate braid Alfred had done her hair in. Her side was shaved down again, of which she was thankful, though she hadn't really noticed her roots had grown in quite a bit...
She wasn't sure she on whether to refresh the dye or not.
The cab weaved it's way through town, obeying traffic laws suspiciously well, but not making conversation, of which The Chef was thankful, she didn't feel the urge to talk. Scrolling through her phone, she sent a text to the Kid, letting him know she might not be home when he... finished his shift. Demanding him to text her and let Alexandera know he was alive. Her gut squirmed in worry, to which she settled with a swig from her flask, before she tucked it into the thigh holster. The dress didn't allow for Scarecrow's vial to inconspicuously be worn on her wrist, so she decided sexy thigh holders where the way to go. Much like the failed Falcone function.
Plus it felt better to have that under her dress, instead of the lacy, see through panties Jervis had sent.
Pervert. Had to be.
She wore them anyway. They were soft, made her ass look great, and going commando wasn't smart in Gotham. Too windy some nights.
The cab slowly turned into a near deserted parking lot. Neon blue igniting the interior of the car.
The Iceberg Lounge.
The outside deceptively dark, but if rumors were true, the inside was a winter wonderland that smelled of cooked fish, booze, and bird shit.
At least it was pretty, by all accounts.
"We're here." The cabbie grunted. Not turning back to look at her, just eyeing her from the rear view window.
"Mhmm. How much do I owe you?"
"Fares paid." The Chef blinked, removing her hand from her cleavage. The total was clearly displayed on the dashboard. "Right." Alexandera reached for the door handle, not breaking gaze with the eyes in the mirror. She tugged.
The door was locked.
Her hand immediately went to her other thigh. She could hold her breathe long enough.
"Before you go..." The man finally turned, fist coming out. The Chef wasn't proud to say she flinched. "A gift." Alexandera didn't move. The man reached further and opened his hand. Something red fell his grasp. The sound of the locks thudded.
"Thanks." The Chef grabbed the thing blindly, it felt like paper, and stepped out the cab calmer than she felt.
"Red Hood sends his well wishes for your recovery." The Chef slammed the door closed, and noticed as the cab peeled off, only now breaking the traffic laws like any good Gothamite, that the cab didn't have a license plate.
Fucker.
As the smoke from the tires wafted away, The Chef looked down at her hand. A tiny origami bird, made from glossy red paper. She crumpled the paper, and tossed it over her shoulder.
"Gonna make that damn helmet into my hangover bucket." The Chef grumbled as she stalked up to the frosted glass front doors to the lounge. Stopping briefly to inhale deeply, trying to soothe her hackles, The Chef pushed the doors open.
Immediately, The Chef shivered lightly at the cold air, colder than any Gotham night. It was beautiful, Bird-Brain had good taste. Walking further in, she had to commend the angular askew lines of the architecture, somehow chic yet still very natural, ice used to emulate actual icebergs, floating in various ponds scattered about. The floor was glass, and The Chef took the time to watch actual penguins swimming beneath her feet. Everything was bathed in a softer icy blue light, seeming to glow from the ice itself.
The Chef was almost jealous. Almost.
Alexandera spared a quick glance towards her right, a band was playing live music, a string quartet playing with a piano accompaniment. There wasn't a patron in sight.
"Dear Alice!" And there was Jervis, hands clasped together, fingers twitching. A Joker worthy smile splitting his face as Jervis bounded over. "Oh, Dearest, you look..." He trailed off, his shoulder sagging as he stared, eyes soft. Alfred had done her makeup simply, foregoing the smokey eye he had previously done the Falcone party for a shimmery pale silver for her eyes, and a sticky pink lip gloss that had Alexandera pushing her lips together to feel the skin peel apart slowly. Alexandera took the time to inspect Jervis, he wasn't wearing his usual mishmash of fabrics and textures and colours, instead he was dressed in a very well tailored black suit, that somehow flattered his figure but seemed unfitting of... him. At least he still wore his top hat. That made him feel more... like Jervis.
"Gotta admit, never thought I'd ever wear a white dress." The Chef joked, tugging at the skirt of the dress in one hand. Jervis swallowed harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"Would... Would you twirl for me?" He hand rose, meekly twirling his finger at the request, and his face blossoming in a red blush that only appeared when she teased him with naughty portmanteaus. Brows raising, The Chef acquiesced, and spun on the white kitten heel, another one the too many gifts from Lex, feeling the cold air chill her bits in the very thin underwear, as the skirt flared around her legs and waist. A very small part of her delighted in the fact it twirled so well, a long forgotten desire from her youth. The Chef stopped, watching as Jervis visibly sighed, smile dopey and... loving, as the skirts settled. The Chef raised her hands slightly.
"Well?"
"Gorgeousful..." Jervis stepped closer, reaching his hand out, and Alexandera snorted at his choice of word, placing her hand in his, feeling her ears warm up when he lifted her hand in a feather light kiss. "Would you kindly accompany me?"
"Sure, Jervis." He gently led her to a table, crisp linen draping the top, and already set with plates and silverware (was that actual silver? Would Cobblepot notice if she snuck a set out in her titties?), a pitcher of ice water sitting at the ready, barely dripping in condensation. Jervis, ever the gentleman, pulled her chair out, sliding it in for her, though he did fuss a bit at the angle, shifting it to a fro slightly until he was satisfied, before he scampered into his chair across from her. He stared at her, barely seeming to blink. "How are you?"
"Frabjous. I am utterly frabjous to be here, with you." His face was split in half again, grin wide and taut, the gap in his teeth prominent. "I have already selected a wine for us to share, white! No red roses tonight!" Jervis laughed reaching to his side to pull a bottle up, unseen from her vantage point.
"I'm happy to be here too, Jervis, thank you." The Chef eyed the label, yellowed and faded with age. "I'm surprised Cobblepot let you have the place for tonight. Doesn't seem his style, giving up profits for a night." Jervis halted his thumbing of the cork, blinking owlishly, smile fading a fraction before he lit up again. The cork popped, flying away before landing with a tiny flash and cry of squawks.
"Ah, yes, he... Yes, he agreed, he quite happily agreed. Anything for Alice. Dearest enchanting Alice." He near breathed the last of his sentence, staring at her again with that... look. Pouring the wine into the stemless glass, he handed it to her, his fingers lightly dragging along her, hot in the chill of the lounge. "Everything will be perfect tonight, Dearest!"
"Jervis, don't worry about perfect, I'm honestly... happy... to be here." The heat in her ears returned, sure that they were red. "It's been a long time since I had a date." The Chef admitted, sipping for the sweet, dry wine. It nearly evaporated on her tounge.
"Outrageous! Disgraceful!" Jervis shouted suddenly, voice raised over the music, though it didn't seem to bother the band. The Chef jumped in surprise. "I will remedy such an atrocity. You deserve.. You deserve..." He trailed off, one hand clutching his own glass of wine, the other tangling into the fabric of the table cloth. His smile was gone, as he seemed to gather his thoughts. Alexandera reached out, detangling his hand from fabric, holding it lightly in her own. Jervis eyes zeroed in on their connected hands.
"Jervis, I wasn't trying to date. Too busy, you know, staying alive." Jervis met her gaze, licking his lips, palm slightly damp with sweat. "Besides, we could always count the tea times we've had. If so, you've been taking me on dates for a while." The Chef gave a huff of humor, genuinely trying to soothe his nerves. He was certainly the flightiest of her friends, but seeing him so nervous reminded her of his confession in her kitchen. She would rather enjoy the night.
"I do so rather enjoy our tea times." He breathed of, clutching at her hands tightly. "How are you this evening? Are you happy to hold court once more?" The Chef snorted.
"Yeah, it's good to be back. I was getting some serious cabin fever." Jervis still hadn't released her hand. His eyes drifted to her shoulder, covered in the beautiful lace. "It's fine, a little sore after a couple hours flipping burgers, but nothing I cant handle."
"Marchie took care of the bindings, yes?"
"Yeah, Jekyll and Hyde took care of it. Not surprised he knows first aid, working at Arkham and all that." The Chef drained the rest of her wine, and Jervis was quick to release her hand, refilling her glass. "So, what's on the menu tonight?"
"I had the cooks whip us up cucumber mint sandwiches to start with..." His gaze dropped, sweeping the table, jolting. "Oh! Not here, not here, not here." He mumbled, hand raising to trace the brim of his top hat.
"I'm not worried about a wait," The Chef shrugged, sipping from the delicious wine. "I work food service, if they're behind, might just be because some shit went down. Give them time." Jervis looked at her again, eyes glassy and wide, smiling.
"My sweet Alice, so patient..." He tipped his hat a tad, adjusting it. "They just need direction. Terribly confusing, must be patient."
"... How hard is a cucumber sandwich?"
"Cucumber mint!" Jervis's voice raised again, his nerves showing in his inability to control his volume.
"Right..." The telltale sound of a swing door thudding open drew The Chef's gaze further back of the lobby. A white coated woman was pushing a silver serving cart, laden with silver domed dishes. "See, might just have lost track of... time."
The woman was wearing a rabbit mask. Just like the man who brought the dress.
"Oh Time! The dastardly cur! Always trying to pull japes on me!" Alexandera watched as Jervis's knuckles turned white, gripping the brim of his hat. The woman's walk sped.
The bands tempo lifted as well.
"Jervis... how did you get Cobblepot to agree?" Something wasn't right.
"Hmm? Oh, I asked and he agreed!"
"No strings attached? Not even bribe money?" The woman in the mask placed a plate in front of The Chef. She couldn't see the woman's eyes, and she moved stiffly. Like a robot. The Chef's hand drifted to her thigh.
"No, no! None at all. The Penguin was ready to help! Anything for Alice." Jervis breathed, lifting the dome off her plate for her as the server walked the cart away.
"A cart... for two plates?"
"Well yes, wouldn't want them to drop anything! Must be perfect!" Alexandera shot her gaze from the crustless sandwiches, to Jervis. Pupils blown wide, and glassy.
Oh no.
The band started a new song. Violins echoing eerily in the empty lounge.
"Hatter..."
"Yes, Dear Alice?"
Fuck!
Jervis didn't like when she called him Hatter... when he was lucid.
"I need to take a leak. I'll be right back." The Chef was already standing, and held her hand up to halt The Hatters movement. "I don't need you to wipe." He didn't even blush.
Jervis always blushed when she said something lewd!
"Right, of course!" Jervis sat stock still, no fidgeting. Not flightiness. The Chef turned on her heel, and followed the signs towards the bathrooms.
The band all wore rabbit masks.
Looking towards the front door, once unoccupied, now had a huge man guarding the door.
Trapped.
A cold feeling seeped down Alexandera's spine, and not from the décor.
Stopping short of the bathroom, The Chef lifted the skirt of her dress, pulling her phone out, and palming the vial of toxin in her other. She sifted through her contacts. Calling, it rang until it went to an automated voicemail. Fuck.
"Crane, I'm at the Iceberg, Jervis is Hattered out, and everyone here is wearing bunny masks. I think I'm trapped. Get your ass here, I don't think I can gas everyone." She hung up, and texted him the same, hoping he'd catch it soon. Next, she called Cobblepot. The line rang over and over, until his own voicemail popped up. Hanging up, she called it again, and crept further down the hall. She called again, and faintly, heard a ringing. Picking up speed, she found a nondiscript door, an employees only sign mounted dead center. Turning the knob of the door, she pushed it open.
It was obviously Penguin, sitting on the floor of a supply closet, head covered by the rabbit mask, his phone illuminating his suit pants. The Chef closed the closet door, and tugged the tight mask off his head.
"Cobblepot!" The Chef hissed, tucking her phone into her cleavage, squatting down to his eye level. "What the fuck, dude?" Cobblepot blinked heavily, like he was waking up too early from a deep sleep.
"Blue... Jay?" Cobblepot rubbed at his face, tapping his eye before reaching down for his monocle. "What... Hatter!" Well, he sounded more lucid than he looked. His eyes trailed down her outfit, to her hand, still holding the rabbit mask.
"Jervis is in Wonderland, everyone is wearing masks." The Chef shook the bunny face in her hand, hissing out quietly. "Door's are guarded. What the hell is going on?"
"Everyone?" The Chef nodded, and Cobblepot pushed himself up. "Shit. That Cuckoo has lost his mind!"
"Yeah, I got that. But again, what the fuck?"
"You don't know?" The Chef leveled a deadpan stare. "Hatter uses mind control."
"What?"
"The masks, they're connected to his top hat. Whatever he wants, they do. Harder to control with more masks active, at least that's what Jonathon told me." Cobblepot grabbed the mask from her hand, and tugged at it, ripping it apart. "If he's mad right now, it's going to be harder for him to control. Why are you here?"
"Jervis asked me on a date." Cobblepot furrowed his brow. "It's... a new development. I called Crane, but didn't get an answer."
"Might be locked in his lab. I have the number to it, but I need to get to my other phone. In my office." The Chef didn't like his tone. "You'll need to keep him occupied. Don't put any hats on! And keep him happy. If he gets upset, the poor shmucks under his control may see you as a threat..."
"I've got some fear gas." The Chef wiggled the vial in her hand, and Cobblepot shook his head.
"Won't do much when under mind control. They aren't even human right now."
"Fuck."
.
.
.
"Alice! I was worried-"
"Hatter, dance with me." The Chef bluntly ordered, ignoring his sentence, and holding her hand out.
"Of course!" Hatter's chair dipped dangerously back, almost falling as he stood quickly. He grabbed her hand, and The Chef mindlessly noted his palms were dry. "A waltz, then?"
"Sure." The band changed it's notes, a temperate pace. Breathing in, The Chef pulled Hatter close, and allowed him to lead. His glassy eyes never looked away from her, the skirt flared out around their legs as they spun. He didn't even blink.
"Oh, Alice, I'm so happy you're here." Hatters grin was back. "You look so beautiful." Despite the situation, Alexandera felt her ears grow hot at the earnest compliment he gave.
"You clean up good, Hatter." His grinned bloomed into a full smile, the gap in his teeth prominent. His hand on her waist tightened it's grip.
"Anything for you, Dearest." They fell into silence, dancing to the beat of the music playing. It would have been romantic if it wasn't for the mutters under Hatter's breath. It was deceptively peaceful.
Until a loud crash resounded, the band never stopping it's playing.
Hatter jumped, pulling The Chef uncomfortably close, holding her in a tight embrace.
"No. No, no, no, no! Must be perfect!" Hatter moved one arm from around The Chef's body, and reached for the brim of his hat.
Oh hell no!
Pulling back with effort, Hatter held fast to her, The Chef touched The Hatter's face.
"It's okay." He didn't look her way, knuckles white on his hat. "Ignore it."
"No! This frabjous night will not be ruined!" There were shouts now, the clanging of metal. "No jabberwocky will ruin ton-" The Hatter was cut off.
The Chef needed to distract him.
He tasted like wine and cucumber.
He didn't respond at first, stunned as her lips pushed roughly against his, but when her thumb rubbed against his cheek, she felt his hand return to her waist, shuddering as he tightened his hold. Already close to him, it only made her huff out a breath.
He... was a surprisingly good kisser.
"Hey Bitch!" Hatter pulled away in surprise, blinking widely.
"Marchie? Marchie?! Why are you here?!" His fingers tightened, digging into The Chef's side.
"Hatter, ya need to let go of the bitch. It's time to go." Hatter shook his head, shaking as his brow furrowed, glaring past The Chef's head. The band had stopped playing, and she could here chair scraping, steps echoing in sync.
"NO! I won't! I won't let her go!" Hatter hand twitched, and let her side go. "She's mine!" His hand began to raise.
"Bitch! Red Queen!" Scarecrow shouted, as the steps got faster.
Oh... Why hadn't she thought of that?
"Hatter..." The Chef ran her thumb over his cheek again, and he looked down at her, eyes glassy, and loving. The Chef frowned. "Off with your head."
And she tore his top hat off, it took some force, like it was adhered to his skull, and slung it to the side like a frizzby. The sound of multiple bodies hitting the floor.
"Alice?" Hatter sounded so unsure, gasping out. The Chef ran her fingers through his hair, ruffling it out of shape, feeling clips scattered.
"Alex." The Chef pushed him away, and he let her, tears brimming. "I'm Alex, Jervis."
"What... what have I done?" The tears fell, and Jervis covered his face. The Chef actually felt bad.
"It's okay, Jervis. I enjoyed dancing with you." The Chef resumed her petting, his hair growing untamed at her ministrations. The rooms temperature dropped as Scarecrow appeared by her side. The Chef wrinkled her nose, turning to the near black eyes. "You smell like shit, Spooks."
"Sulfur." Black eyes trailed over her body, licking his smirking lips. "Birdie called me, familiar face for Hatter and all that. You... look like a sacrificial virgin." He bent down slightly sniffing at her hair.
"Gift from Jervis." The Chef pushed his face away, ignoring the nip at the heel of her hand.
"Well, thanks Hattie, can't wait ta stick my blade in ya, sacrifice." The Chef rolled her eyes.
"Oh yeah, straw dick, make all the ladies scream."
"Wanna go for a roll in the hay?" Scarecrow chuckled, fingers pushing at her neck, feeling for her pulse.
"I'm on a date, so kindly fuck off." He was quiet for a moment, and the room got colder.
"A... Date?" He growled out. The Chef gestured to the table and wine, then to the passed out band. "Yer on a date... with Hatter?"
"Yep, and now that he seems out of Wonderland, I gotta do damage control." The Chef looked around, frowning at the bodies. "Mind helping out with... uhh... clean up." Jervis was still crying, sniffling pathetically.
"One condition." Alexandera cocked her head, meeting black eyes. "I get one, too."
"What?"
"I wanna date. Or I'll just leave ya to deal with the cops once they wake up." Scarecrow dipped his head in the direction of the still bodies.
"Ass... Sure, fine whatever." The Scarecrow chuckled darkly, and trailed his fingers off her neck, tugging at the neckline of her dress.
"It'll be a scream, baby." He leveled a last lewd look at The Chef, and stalked away. "Make sure ya pay Birdie back fer all the trouble, Bitch." Alexandera ignored him, turning back to Hatter, tugging his hand away from his face.
"I'm s-so sorry, Alex." Jervis hiccuped, sniffling harshly as snot ran down his face. "I... I wanted our first date to be perfect. I got... carried away."
"No need to apologize. Not like you through a mask on me," Jervis flinched. "Just... Let go apologize to Cobblepot, and then... We can head elsewhere."
"Alex?" Jervis looked like a kicked, hopeful puppy.
"Come on, I'm sure there's a goon bar close by, Tazer told me about it." Jervis's face split with a wide smile, his eyes crinkling in joy, as he grabbed her hand in his own sweaty one.
"Do you think they'll have tea?!"