8:10pm, February 14; The Iceburg Lounge; Edward Nygma

VIP. Very Important Person. Not just important. But Very Important. Capital V. Capital I.

A VIP.

At the Iceburg Lounge.

Because Penguin decided to make him one.

It was great. It was amazing. It was spectacular.

It made no sense.

None.

Granted, Penguin had indulged him in some idle conversation and had seemed more amused than mad at his trespassing. But that couldn't be enough to be deemed a VIP. He wasn't powerful in any way. Didn't have any connections that Penguin couldn't get access to far easier than he. His position didn't usually put him in contact with mafia related crimes since his focus was homicides and specifically the very weird ones. About all he could offer Penguin was intelligent conversation. Which, to be fair, was probably the most intelligent he'd had in some time. But as much as he was certain the man valued intelligence, he didn't seem to prioritize it among his underlings. Certainly not enough to make someone like Ed a VIP.

There had to be something else going on there.

Unless he was just a curiosity for the Crime Lord. A passing fancy that would eventually be forgotten about and dropped like so much waste.

That was... well, a very depressing thought. He definitely hoped that wasn't the case. He just didn't have enough pieces to puzzle out what else it could be.

These thoughts circled around in his head at every free moment, and in theory he understood that Penguin currently favored him, even if it frustrated him to no end that he couldn't pinpoint exactly why. If he had been able to, he'd have a sure fire way of remaining in his favor.

It wasn't until the Thursday after their impromptu lunch that the reality of the situation struck him, however.

The guys were going out, of course. The after-work outings back on track again. They'd planned on hitting The Tap Room, but there was a shoot out that very morning and the place was destroyed. So their fall-back, because somehow it had become the fall-back despite the expense, was the Lounge.

They were becoming regulars as much as Ed was.

Which gave him a sense of dissatisfaction. He'd sort of started thinking of the Lounge as his place. Not theirs, as a group. But his. An entirely unfair line of thought since the Lounge belonged to no one but Penguin. But still, he'd found a semblance of sanctuary there.

Had, guiltily, spent every night between Sunday and Thursday up there enjoying Wren's company while he nursed a free drink or two at a small table off to the side. Allowed to completely occupy his other friend's time without repercussion. It was nice.

When Flass clapped him on the back and said there'd been a change of plans, he'd taken it in stride. Then Flass told him what those changes were and he felt a sudden heavy weight settle in the pit of his stomach. Instead of enthusiastically agreeing, he gave a 'I'll see if I have time, lot's of work today, what with all the homicides' and a laugh. Flass didn't seem to think anything of it, which Ed was grateful for. Then felt guilty for feeling that way. And then mad at himself for feeling guilty.

In the end, he had to admit he just didn't want to share his place with them. He felt special there. And less special when they were there with him.

He almost didn't go. But the guilt ate at him. They were his friends and he hadn't been out with them for over a week and they'd made sure to let him know they wanted him along that night.

When he met them there, they were hanging out a few feet away from the entrance, milling about. He joined them, confused about this, and got a groaned apology from Choi.

"All of us forgot something, Ed," he hissed, a mix of disappointment and embarrassment on his face. "It's uh... Thursday."

"Yes, that's right," he agreed, not following how that was a problem.

Flass cleared his throat, "The fourteenth."

"Yeeesss," he drawled out, still not seeing the problem.

Kowalski coughed, sniffed loudly, wiped at his nose, and grunted, "Valentine's Day."

"Why would that be a-" he stopped, twisting about to look at the entrance. "Oh."

"Yeah. Reservations only," Flass shook his head. "And Kristen's gonna kill me, too. Shit. I should have been at her house already and I... I thought it was next week."

"Do you... do you need a ride there?" he offered, uncertain.

Flass shook his head, "I don't know if that'd even be a good idea right now. I told her I'd gotten reservations to a great place. And I did. But it's on the other side of town and we should have been there an hour ago."

At one time, Edward would have said he didn't know what Kristen saw in Flass. But now that they were friends, such thoughts were entirely uncharitable. Especially as he knew that despite being a terrible person in a lot of ways, Flass was good to his friends and seemed to actually care about Ms. Kringle.

"I'm gonna let you figure this one out," Choi said, "I should stop by a store and grab some flowers for my old lady. We didn't have plans, but you know how women are."

He said his goodbyes and left. A couple minutes later, Dougherty and Jacobs did the same. Flass was still mentally kicking himself for a few minutes before he, too made his goodbye, cursing under his breath.

Ed felt bad for him, he truly did. But he also had a moment of satisfaction that at least this night, his place remained his. Well, not that he could go in or anything. But well, he hadn't had to share it.

He turned back toward the door and waved at the security guard. The security guard waved back, then waved him over. He hesitated, but wandered toward him after a moment.

"Yes?"

"You planning on going in, or should I tell Wren to give your table away?"

Ed straightened up and tilted his head, "My table?"

"Yeah. You taking it tonight or not?"

His mouth fell open and then snapped shut with a grin, "I am. Yes. I am. Should I just...?"

The guard grabbed the door and pulled it open for him, "Have a nice dinner, Mr. Nygma."

"Thank you," he answered, meandering inside and feeling very important indeed, "I will!"