Gene moved sluggishly that morning, Alexandera noticed. The bag under his eyes heavy as he blearily accepted the coffee she handed to him, blinking rapidly.
"You good?" The Chef asked, watching as coffee slipped down from the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah, just didn't sleep great." Gene groaned as he pushed himself up, wobbling once he was upright. Alexandera steadied him. "I might need an extra blanket though, it was freezing last night!"
"You can stay here today, get some more sleep. I promise there's no cumstains on my mattress." Gene laughed, shaking his head. "I know my couch isn't great from sleeping."
"It's okay, the couch is fine, just some wild dreams." He stretched, joints popping loudly. "Been a while since I've had nightmares." Gene smacked his cheek with his free hand.
"Nightmares?"
"Yeah, I was lost in this creepy cornfield, and just..." Gene trailed off, shaking his head as if to shed the images from his brain. "I'll be fine, just need a bit more coffee. You ready to head out?" Alexandera frowned, wanting to push for more answers. She dropped it though, Gene obviously not wanting to talk.
"Sure. We're gonna stop by the new site later today, Lex said something about signing off on some shit," Alexandera slung her tattered messenger bag around her shoulder. "Marcus will swing us by around midday." Gene yawned again, nodding as he did so. Gene walked out the front door, greeting Todd happily in the hallway. The Chef did one last inspection of her living room, before walking out herself.
The Chef was suspicious.
.
.
.
Gene and Alexandera went over the basics of how to operate food carts with the chosen Patrons who volunteered. It wasn't the most glamorous of tasks, and The Chef hated the fact there would need to be a set menu for ease of operation, but her team was eager to work. Especially after Kyle, Gary, and Marcus told them they could actually afford to go legit. Literally afford. Now her newbies were more than eager to do anything she said, since the risk of arrest was low. That and she had already had several calls and visits from Probation Officers in the past few days alone.
Todd was hanging by her back door, sketchpad in hand, working on whatever project he had, occasionally asking her Patrons and herself for feedback on the clothes he was designing. He'd moved from preppy collared shirts to more loose streetwear. It appealed more to the common folk, he stated. She figured he hung around for the free food she supplied. He was happy to cover dish pit for her burgers. How did he stay so fit despite his greasy food intake? She chalked it up to a spin class.
Marcus had adopted their own little group of Patrons the showed more skill in baking, and had set about making a pastry delivery service. Their work hours started even earlier than Alexandera thought was sane, arriving at the bakery at 2 in the morning to fill the few small orders they garnered. She didn't care as long as the product was good, her name and logo was attached to the boxes after all. So far, their clientele consisted of the local police stations that dotted The Narrows. When The Chef raised a brow at that, Marcus grinned.
"We got a few on the Payroll, Boss."
"Wouldn't they be on Jokers Payroll?"
"Not anymore, Boss." Marcus replied cryptically, before returning to icing a loaf of orange cake. He'd asked for a new coffee maker, she replied after a month.
A month after the grand opening of The Den, that is. Her new restaurant. Located in the heart of Glitzie territory. Apparently shed left more of a mark than she thought with Wayne's little charity dinner. Word had spread on the street and in the fancy offices about the impending opening, in part thanks to Penguin. He did have a hand in the restaurant itself, they'd agreed to a 20/80 split of profits, after all bills were paid. She had to haggle him down from fifty-fifty, arguing she'd actually be working in the restaurant itself, and he'd agreed begrudgingly. They may be friendly, but they were still competitors at the end of the day.
"What do you think of this?" Todd interrupted The Chef's musings while she watched her street team fiddle with the food carts lined up past the dumpster. The Chef turned to inspect the sketched design of a pair of pants, with bits dangling from the legs.
"What are those?" The Chef grabbed the sketch pad, pulling it closer to her face. His hand writing was atrocious.
"Straps, giving it a... Thrown together look." Todd looked nervous, tousling his hair, much like The Chef and Gene did. He'd picked that up recently.
"Boyscout, most of the people in Gotham are going to be running from the cops. Straps will get caught on corners or fences." Todd's mouth opened in a surprised 'o'. "Keep 'em if you want, but make them detachable. Clips or something. You could make a profit if you can make them in different colours and designs."
"Customizeable! Something people could use to express their individuality!" Todd expression lit up, he snatched the sketch pad, flipping to a new page and drawing fervently. The Chef shook her head. He was like a puppy. And the roughest of Goons had taken him under their own protection, didn't hurt he was seen with her often enough they thought he was under 'her' protection too. Maybe he was. She didn't deny the rumors. It was refreshing to have such innocence around. They definitely weren't getting it from her Brat.
Marcus approached, holding her laptop as he typed with one hand.
"Luthor wants your thoughts on decor for The Den." He said, passing the laptop to The Chef. An email filled the screen, with attachments of furniture and wallpapers. Alexandera was quick to pass over the more modern or ostentatious ideas.
"Move, Boy Scout." The Chef ordered, not looking up as she moved to sit on the milk crate Todd had taken up. Only, he didn't move, and she didn't bother to check if he had.
"Umm..." Todd's hands were held up, his sketpad in one hand, pen in the other. "Ma'am?"
"Don't call me Ma'am. I told you to move." The Chef began to message Lex back. She was perched on the ends of his knees. "I'm busy, use my back as a table, I don't care." She could hear his jaw click shut, before she felt pressure on her back. A couple of her newbies started to catcall, but a sharp glare from behind her screen had them apologizing quickly, going back to listening to Gene's lecture on hygiene.
"Boss, I can grab Deker's chair." Marcus sighed. The Boy Scout looked uncomfortable, his Boss completely absorbed in her corespondence.
"Hey!" Deker called. "That's my chair!"
"Technically it's mine." The Chef hummed, reading Lex's quick response, then groaning at his flirtatious message.
"But I carved my name on it!"
"Why would you deface Lady Chef's property?" Damien's voice called from the back door. Those who knew Damien called their greetings and a few handshakes and fistbumps. Deker blanched, laughing nervously before ducking behind his cart at his slip up.
"Not a Lady, Kid."
"I am not a child, Uhkti. Must we have this conversation every meeting?" Damien's tone was light, teasing.
"Guess so, Brat. What's up Smokebomb? Come to join the army?" The Chef closed the laptop slightly, looking up at Damien.
"Not today." Damien briefly glanced over the crowd. "I came to invite you to stay the night at Wayne Manor." The Chef blinked once, twice.
"The fuck?" Damien grimaced.
"My event is tomorrow, as you know. However, Alfred suggested you stay the night, after the competition, as my... Birthday is the day after." Damien did something Alexandera had never seen him do before. He ran a hand through the side of his hair. "Father has the idea, every year, that we should... Celebrate. I know he and Alfred are conspiring something. I...had hoped that you would attend. To make it more bearable, as all my Father's wards will be in attendance."
"You want me to run interference if Draco acts up?"
"Drake, and yes." Damien didn't do a puppy pout, but he did have a hopeful, pleading look.
Well shit, she couldn't say no, now could she.
"Can Gene come?"
"Can I do what?" Gene walked closer.
"Of course, and I can have his family on a plane by tonight."
"Wait, my family?"
"Throw in a fancy spa package for Noriko, she needs some pampering after rocketing a tax break outta her cootch."
"Done." Damien had already pulled his phone out while Gene started asking rapid fire questions that no one was answering.
"Where is Al, anyway?"
"Inside, arm wrestling one of your customers." Damien put the phone to his ear. "Hello, Mrs. Jones? This is Damien Wayne, we met when my Uhkti was in Metropolis." Damien got an annoyed look as Gene stepped into his bubble, near shouting, asking how Damien had his wife's number. Damien began to walk away, Gene following close behind. The Chef snorted at the scene, going back to her laptop. She noticed there was no movement from her seat.
"You alright, Boy Scout?"
"Yes." Todd's voice was rough. "I need to use the restroom." The Chef stood, typing her response to Lex, telling him 'No, no crystal chandeliers.'
She didn't notice Todd didn't go inside, but slipped out the mouth of the alleyway.
.
.
.
Gene was moping. Damien had refused to answer how he had Noriko's number. He moped even harder when he didn't get a chance to argue his case of his wife's safety in Gotham. The Chef had that covered, and she reminded him when she pulled a photo of Noriko and the kids up on her own phone and showed her Patrons.
This was her territory. These were her people.
God bless the unfortunate soul who dared lay a finger on any of them.
As Gene pouted on the couch, watching an older anime she didn't know the name of, some blonde guy in a red coat, The Chef finalized her plans with Lex, they'd moved from email to the phone. Alexandera sat on her fire escape with a whiskey tumblr and a cigarette, half watching the show through her window. Sitting on the railing was a few origami birds she found in her fridge, her bedroom, and one in her 'adult' drawer, when they'd gotten home. She was putting out her cigarettes on them, holes burnt into the wings.
"Are you sure I can't persuade you to wear that purple number I gifted you? It's my favorite colour." Lex teased, voice smoother than her cheap whiskey.
"Wearing purple in Gotham is just asking J to crash the party." Alexandera took a drag from her smoke. "Hell, just having a 'Grand Opening' with a bunch of airheaded Glitzies is practically begging him to show up, guns blazing and pockets open."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." Lex simpered. The Chef narrowed her eyes, even though he couldn't see it.
"What do ya mean?"
"Just a favor repaid, Miss Fox. Worry not." Lex laughed at her disgruntled noise. "How about a little black dress? A women can never go wrong with that. Maybe you could even wear those purple garters I picked out."
"Goodnight you horn dog."
"Woof." Was the last thing Alexandera heard as she ended the call hurriedly. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her laugh. Stretching her neck from the cramp position she'd been in, The Chef took notice of the fact Gene's head was no longer blocking her view of the old box TV she owned. He must have finally fallen asleep. Shooting a text to Marcus, letting him know he was on his own with the newbies, Alexandera climbed through her window. Gene was knocked out, snoring softly while he cuddled a wadded up blanket. She took a spare and tossed it over him. Settling on the floor, leaning her back against the front of her couch, Alexandera settled in for a long night.
If Gene started to have nightmares again, she would be there to stop them. At least that was the plan.
She fell asleep four hours into her watch, in the middle of a slap chop info-mercial.
She missed the hooded figure slipping in, leaving a paper bird in her lap.
She missed the cold chill that tugged at her hair and Gene's whimpering.
She missed the call from Alfred.
She missed the fact Damien didn't stop by her fire escape when the sun started to rise.
.
.
.
"-xie! Lexie!" Something shook her shoulder roughly, waking The Chef suddenly. She bolted upright, holding her whiskey glass, ready to throw. Gene whispered in her ear. "Someone's in your kitchen. Cooking. I think. I don't know but I heard humming and giggling." The Chef lowered her glass slowly. Turning her head, both of the cooks looked to the kitchen doorway. She couldn't see the occupant, but could hear dishes clattering, and could smell tea.
Tea.
"Ah. Fuck. Umm... Gene," the man looked to his friend. "Guess you're meeting my boyfriend."
"What?" Gene perked up a little, eager, then shrunk in on himself. "The Hat guy?"
"Surprise!" Alexandera gave a little jazz hand gesture, before pushing herself up. The sun blinded her once she left the shadow of the couch, before it slipped behind the usual gloomy clouds of Gotham. "Jevis?" She called, stretching with a loud groan.
"Oh! Good morning, Dearest!" A all too cheery voice responded. "And good morning, Dearest Guest!" The clattering got louder before Jervis slipped out of the kitchen, an old serving tray she nicked from an old job perched effortlessly on his hand, laden with mismatched mugs and plates of food.
"Uuuuuh, morning?" Gene hesitantly replied, detangling himself from the blankets. Jervis expertly set the tray on the living room table, then stood, holding his hands out. Alexandera looked at them blearily, before grabbing them, causing Jervis face to split into a beaming grin. Gene looked between the two, their hands, then back to Jervis. "You're Lexie's guy?"
"Oh, aren't we all?!" Jervis hummed, releasing one of her hands and holding it out to him. "Jervis Tetch, at your service. Though you may know me as my working title, The Hatter." Gene's gaze briefly flickered to Jervis's barren head, then shook his hand.
"Yeah... Lexie told me about you."
"All good things, I hope?"
"Mostly." Gene murmured, retracting his hand.
"Mostly?" Jervis looked back to The Chef.
"You've got your mad moments, Jervis." The Chef titled her head, looking at his eyes intently.
"I'm here." Jervis said, in a quiet happy tone, eyes bright and clear "I've... Been working on that. With Jonathon."
"Good..." The Chef's grip tightened on his hand. "Wait, Jonathon? Where is he? No one's seen him, not even Edward."
"I... Cannot say. We spoke over the phone."
"Jonathon is the creepy guy, right?" Gene asked, already helping himself to one of the mugs of tea. "This is really good." Gene sighed into his mug, steam curling around his face.
"Yeah." Alexandera released Jervis's hand, grabbing a cup for herself.
"I brought a Darjeeling tea, with scones provided by your right hand man. I ran into him this morning!" Jervis hunched over, handing Alexandera and Gene still sticky pastries. "I didn't realize you were taking the day off, but when I heard, I had hoped to give you breakfast in bed!" Jervis blushed a bright pink, smiling sheepishly.
"Ah, yeah, I have plans with my Brat the next few days." Alexandera muffled out between a mouth full of lemon poppyseed. "Glad to see you, though. I've been busy."
"So I heard!" Jervis turned to Gene. "You are Alice's old beau, yes?" The Chef choked on her food a moment
"Jervis." She said, warningly.
"Merely endearment!" Jervis quickly appeased.
"Uh, yeah. Lexie and I are friends though."
"Oh, worry not." Jervis waved his hand, not bothered by the history between the cooks. "I love Dear Alice, I trust her deeply." Gene's eyebrows disappeared behind the locks that fell over his forehead.
Alexandera had dropped her scone and jaw. Her phone rang from under the table. Taking the opportunity to escape the brewing situation, The Chef grabbed her phone, and all but ran to her bedroom.
"What?!" She answered breathlessly, feeling an odd knot in her stomache.
"Good morning, Miss Fox." Alfred's voice greeted over the line. "Are you well, you sound... Unwell."
"I'm fine. Just a... Busy morning. What's up, Al?" The Chef took a moment to look at her floor-drobe for something relatively clean to wear for the day. And something for Damien birthday.
"I wanted to give you and Mr. Jones a courtesy call. I will be leaving the manor shortly to pick you up in about an hour for Master Damien's event." Alexandera could hear a door close in the background. "Do you have what you need for his party?"
"I just need to call Marcus the morning of, and he'll drop it off." Alexandera paused in her kicking of clothes. "Speaking of... The Kid didn't stop by this morning..." Alfred didn't answer for a moment, before sighing.
"I see... Miss Fox, I ask you to refrain from shouting."
"What?"
"Master Damien was injured in a fight last night with Red Hood and his associates. His arm is broke."
.
.
.
It seemed the two floors above and below The Chef's apartment felt the floors shake with the woman's bellow.
Jason Todd was woken from his deep and painful sleep from the shouting next door.
Jervis choked on his tea and Gene crushed his pastry to crumbs.
Alfred had preemptively pulled the phone from his ear, but was sure his phones speaker may have busted.
Dick Grayson could hear the shouting from the phone through his closed door, where Alfred had passed by.
"HE WHAT???!!"