Jefferson had always tried his hardest to not be perceived as a threatening figure. He supposed there were many reasons why one might be a little unnerved by him. If his reputation of his past dabbles with drugs and alcohol didn’t precede him - and they often did, as Cherry Grove was a small town -people tended to take one look at him and firmly make their mind up. The head to toe ensembles he sported were often a bit of an an eyesore, Jefferson always choosing to throw together a mix of clashing blues, yellows and reds into one outfit. Either that, or they caught sight of his tattoos, the cursive that sloped over one shoulder, or the words staining his knuckles even he was ashamed of. However, once he opened his mouth, and people heard the British accent, the array of quirky adjectives that spilled forth, and the crooked smile that upturned his lips and leaked into his speech, people became quickly aware he was nothing to fear. And that was how Jefferson always wanted to be. Bright, happy, approachable.
The professor bundled papers into his briefcase, attempting to contain the spillage that burst forth every time the instrument, hinges bursting and overstuffed, was opened. His briefcase contained a multitude of oddities and items, from playing cards to swatches of fabric, and often Jefferson could never locate the paper he was attempting to hand back to a student. But that was quite alright, because Jefferson would be taking no queries from students today. He was, of course, always accessible at his email, his office, or even by pigeon carrier, if that student was so inclined and believed in themselves enough to carry forth that daring venture. But today, he had places to be.
Students shuffled in their seats today, but none so antsy as the hatter. He stood up abruptly, sending a chair clattering backwards as students hastily packed away their pens, amused grins playing on their faces as they wondered just what had gotten Mr Madigan’s tailcoats in a twist.
“Ah, well, as we’ve all gathered, class is dismissed.” he announced, clutching his briefcase to his chest, clinging to it as though a life buoy. “Please hasten to remember your exam is on the 31st, and the newest of happy years to everyone!”
Without recognising his blunder, Jefferson tore from the classroom, leaving a muddle of confused students in his wake. He took the steps two at a time - something he did when he wasn’t rushing, actually, simply for the sheer childlike joy of it all - and crashed almost headfirst into his rickety old car, tossing the briefcase through the window he’d failed to close fully earlier that day. He might have tossed himself through the window, too, if he hadn’t had enough sense to unlock the door first. Sense, hm, perhaps Benji was rubbing off on him after all.
He blushed to think of the reason he’d taken a daring dive down three flights of stairs, hopped, skipped and jumped through a gaggle of college students who may or may not have been getting high, and nearly reversed into a wheelie bin. Truth be told, he made a promise to a particularly pretty piemaker, one he was dangerously close to breaking. Jefferson had promised her he’d be back in the New Year, and if he didn’t get a leg on, by the time he reached her, the doors of Potts ‘n Pans diner would be firmly shut to him, the lights snuffled out til the next day. And Jefferson felt antsy to be reunited with Mrs. Potts.
Patricia Potts was a source of genuine befuddlement to him. She was a blonde enigma, wrapped up in apron strings and lightly dusted with sugar. He was never quite sure what to make of her. Which was nice, actually. Jefferson preferred to run with the least predictable of human beings. But, he was beginning to fear that the confusion might lie not with her behavioural patterns. No, not her behaviour. She was dependable, an absolutely joyous occasion to behold, always at the foot of his table armed with a smile, a pot of tea, and a multitude of attractive qualities! Which was exactly the problem, the issue, the pièce de résistance of this whole warped mystery. Jefferson had found himself reacting to these niceties - Patricia’s hand brushing his shoulder, her pet names that he awkwardly delighted in - in a less than straightforward manner. He blushed without refrain, he tugged hastily at his ascot, he sent his tea spilling over the diner’s newly polished floor. Once, in fact, he had come over so dreadfully warm and dizzy, he had been forced to remove his jacket! That night, he’d made Belle take his temperature, gaze upon his tongue for the sight of any maladies or illness. She’d simply petted his hair, however, and told him she knew exactly the kind of illness he’d been afflicted with.
Jefferson was still trying to work out what she’d meant by that.
The car skidded to a stop gracelessly, Jefferson tearing from the vehicle, his breathing spectacularly out of whack! He raced towards the entrance of the diner he’d become so lovingly acquainted with, a feeling of hopelessness overtaking him as he briefly considered the ludicrous, crushing, devastating possibility that one Patricia Potts had locked up and gone home for the night.
As his hand reached the handle, about to give it one final wrench that confirmed his fears, his gaze immediately set upon the woman he’d been so eager to see. His heart gave a mighty gallop in his chest, noting that he’d caught Patricia just as she was locking the inner door. A screen stood between them, but even then, he could make out the features of, unabashedly, his favourite waitress. He cleared his throat, wondering if she’d gotten prettier, or if his memory had merely done a disservice to her.
“Patricia!” he exclaimed, smoothing down the front of his coat. “Am I too late?”
Too late for what, you great numpty? He chided himself. He flexed his fingers in agitation, happiness managing to overtake his face nonetheless. He hadn’t missed her.
“I’ve been teaching. A late class. But I didn’t want to be late, I mean, punctuality, is very important… oh, Bunny would have my guts for garters.” clearing his throat, he let out a long breath. “Salutations, and a Happy New Year to you.”
Patricia's cheeks burned at the mere sight of Jefferson. She couldn't tell you just why she was so thrilled to see the strange, bedraggled gent, or how he'd become such a permanent fixture in that brain of hers, but her heart stammered in her chest all the same. Hastily, she withdrew her key from the lock, slipping it into the front pocket of her apron, and tugged gently on the handle, slipping out into the tiny vestibule, past the door that had been separating them. The space was tiny, just big enough to fit the two of them, but that was all she needed. She beamed back at Jefferson, a giggle slipping from her lips as she cocked her head to the side, eyeing him curiously as she considered his question.
“Too late for what, sugar?” she mused, crinkling her nose at him. With a gentle shrug, she twisted her mouth, as though deep in thought. “Too late for... a little pumpkin pie? Never!”
It was a silly thought to feel so nervous in Jefferson's presence, she knew that, but there she stood. The two were inches apart, and she felt a whole world of tension leave her shoulders as she took him in, her eyes raking in his appearance from head to toe. There was something about that momentary break between Christmas and the New Year, that lapse in routine, and the lack of the hustle and bustle of Potts n Pans, it was like there was a great chunk of her life missing. She certainly didn't miss Chadwick, nor the grating noise that the coffee machine so often made when Katherine placed the beans in wrong, or the rude customers that hounded Joy, trying to take advantage of the sweet girl. There were a whole number of aspects that she hadn't missed while she'd enjoyed her break, but the things that she had missed had left an empty cavern in her chest that had been slowly but surely filling up since she'd gotten back to work. All but one space, of course, that had been woefully empty all day; all up until Jay's arrival.
Taking in his stature, his appearance, and the flush of his cheeks, it occurred to her that he'd been rushing. She listened intently as he told her he'd been working, and she nodded in understanding. He was clad in an outfit as flamboyant as his wonderful personality, just as he always was, with his trademark hat perched atop his head. Her eyes shone at the sight of him, overjoyed as she was to see that crooked smile once more. Shaking her head, she reassured him with a smile. “You aren't late, honeybee. In fact, you're just in time. No guts to be had whatsoever.”
She giggled, enjoying their light, and somewhat perplexing, banter. It came so naturally to the pair of them, a nature with which they'd slipped into so effortlessly, and she felt delighted to realise that they hadn't lost it.
“Happy New Year, you.” She returned his greeting, taking another step towards him as she did. Gently, Patricia let her hand lift to the lapel of his jacket, setting herself to work as she straightened it, an almost instinctive, motherly response – not that her feelings for Jefferson were even remotely maternal. Not that she would claim to harbour any sort of feelings for Jefferson.
Clearing her throat, she cocked her head to the side and studied his features, a slow smile working its way onto her lips. Feeling particularly brave, and a little cheeky, her hands slipped away from his jacket, and instead she reached up, and plucked his hat from his head. With a giggle, she propped it atop her own head with an overly dramatic flourish of her hand. Staring back at him, she noted, “You know, I don't quite think I get to see you this way very often, handsome. With all that gorgeous hair on display.”
Once more, her playful disposition getting the better of her, she ran a hand through his hair, gently combing her fingers through the messy locks and ruffling it in the same manner that she would Charlie, before retreating back from the Hatter. Backing away slowly, she felt her bum brush against the door behind her, pushing it slightly ajar once more as she ventured back inside the diner. She stopped short of the doorway, however, as she jutted her chin out proudly, as though presenting Jefferson with the image of herself, standing there in his hat.
“Ooh, I quite like it, actually. I think it suits me, don't you?” she teased, biting her lip as she suppressed another smile.
She knew that Jefferson was much too polite to protest, even if he happened to feel ever so slightly naked without the accessory, but she felt no shame in having a little fun with the moment all the same.
“In fact, I don't think I'll give it back,” she boldly stated, hovering inside the door frame with a fierce, proud look on her face. “Unless, of course, you felt so bold as to come and get it back?”
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