"Sure, sure! Lemme see what I grabbed," without looking John reaches backwards and hauls his cartoonish looking picnic basket in front of him so he can flip open the lid and paw through the mysterious stash.

He pauses though as Riddler continues to explain, jaw dropping open beneath saucer-wide eyes.

"Something Serious must have happened," a ludicrously easy deduction; after all, the same kind of emotional disaster had happened to him and Harley, him and Bruce, like Gothamites are cursed to have miserable chaotic love lives. What the hell, even? He winces with an imitation of empathy that's rather perfect, and probably hides some strange mutation of the feeling beneath.

"I'm guessing he didn't give you many straight answers either," he sinks into cutting calculation, forgetting his search for a few moments. He fishes out a can of fizzy green apple martini and brings it with him as he clumsily shuffles closer, and deposits the drink into his buddy's hand.

"... at least he didn't try to kill you, that's something!" sadly sincere, because by the standards of his own relationships, that is a big plus. "Hey, don't be so blue. A bunch of smart guys like us? We'll figure it out, you can bet on it." He leans to the side, playfully nudging his shoulder against his companion's. "You and me, and me and you. We'll get all the answers."