10:15pm, January 17; The Iceburg Lounge; Edward Nygma

He didn't get another chance to try it before the next time Dougherty invited him out for drinks with the crew. Three homicides in four days linked by the victims all wearing the same clothing meant overtime hours to try and figure out the culprit before a fourth could join them. Edward was rightfully acknowledged by the department as the best at spotting patterns and noticing odd details most others missed. It was only because of his work that Gordon and Bullock were able to, once again, heroically locate and stop the suspect just before the next victim was to be executed. He didn't feel any real disgruntlement about that. The lack of recognition in the papers and GCPD at large wasn't personal. Forensics was crucial to cases like that, but their work wasn't exciting enough to gossip about. A heart-pounding chase through an alley or a last ditch shoot out, those were memorable and worth mention.

But in the aftermath, Dougherty remembered him. He was closest to Ed among Flass's crew, though that only meant he was the only one that waved to him when they passed in the hall. Still, it was more than most people gave him. The closest thing he had to a friend.

He happily agreed to come. They were going to the Lounge again. Apparently the place they'd been planning on going got shut down over a failed health inspection and the Lounge was their hold out option. They tried not to go there more than twice a month, supposedly. He wasn't sure if that was just something they said or something they actually did. They claimed it was because the prices were too high to hit it normally. So far that hadn't seemed to be a problem when Ed was around, though.

And of course it somehow ended up being his turn to cover the tab. Again.

Only this time, there was an actual problem in that prospect. He tried to tell them that his paycheck hadn't cleared at the bank yet so he could only safely cover the first fifty. He had. He'd brought it up with each drink ordered, tried to get a word in edgewise while the others talked over him with their own conversations about this investigation or that hot piece of ass or what they thought the spread for Sunday's game would be.

And he'd dutifully paid the first fifty of the tab, including tip. He'd gone up to the bar, paid his part, and told them the rest would be covered by the others. The bartender took note of it. Their bird took note of it. And apparently security had been informed because, when the guys set to leave they were, one by one, stopped and informed that they had a bill to pay first. Each of them claiming one of the others would pay for it and getting sent back into the crowd and denied passage to the exit until it was taken care of.

That led to Flass himself rudely digging his wallet out of the pocket of his coat while he'd gotten up to grab some more napkins to deal with a spill. This in turn led to his card being run and declined. And that led to him being roughly manhandled by security up the stairwell to the Loft to join the rest of the group where he was pushed into a chair, his coat, wallet and card handed to him, and told to stay put.

After his second encounter with Penguin he'd dared to imagine the third one going much the same. Where he'd find a way to sneak up, maybe use the service entrance since no one had questioned his presence in the back as he'd made his way through it to the floor, and be allowed just a few feet closer. Be allowed a couple more minutes of conversation before his dismissal. He'd even been preparing topics to talk about that he hoped the man would find interesting. At least enough that he could stay just that much longer.

This was so far removed from any of that, that all he could do was wring his hands in his coat and hope he wouldn't be permanently kicked out of the club. He liked the atmosphere as much as anything else. The people were nice to him. At least they were. Until his card had declined.

"If you couldn't cover the tab on your turn to do so, you shouldn't have come out with us," Dougherty hissed at him. He didn't sound mad. He looked concerned. Ed hoped it was concern for him and not because they may all be at risk of losing their kneecaps.

He bit at his lip, worried at it a moment, then murmured back, "I said I could only cover the first fifty when we were ordering! And I paid it, too!"

"Shut up," one of the gorillas grunted, kicking his chair to jostle him. "No talking until the boss gets here."

They fell into silence and Ed mentally began counting the seconds just to keep himself occupied and his mind off all the terrible things that could happen to them. It took two thousand and twenty two seconds for them to be approached by Penguin himself. The sound of his limping gait was distinctive as he came up the stairs of the service entrance and stared coolly at the group.

The lights were on this time around. The loft itself was an exercise in restrained opulence. All the seats were black leather and the tables white-frosted glass from the top to the bottom. Supports and all. It was likely a security glass for strength and to avoid accidental breakage from impacts, but it was glass all the same and it lent a delicate, ice-like ethereal quality to the room. An entirely different atmosphere than one got below the burg.

At the moment, it also had an arctic chill that suffused the room. And it emanated from the Penguin himself. His dispassionate gaze making Ed feel more exposed and bereft of protection than he'd felt since... well, those were days he'd hoped to have behind him. At least if he was beaten senseless it would be business and nothing more.

A smile blossomed on Penguin's face and it held not a lick of warmth, "Gentlemen. My staff informs me that the six of you are trying to give them the run around on your bill. Usually I don't step in on such disputes and leave it to my fine associates here," he lifted a hand to gesture toward the bulky men surrounding them, "But as this concerns you, Mr. Flass," Penguin's eyes fell on the detective and his hand closed into a fist while his lips pressed into an even harder forced smile, "I felt it necessary to see to this personally. You and your ilk are allowed on these premises only-" Penguin's lips curled and the famed temper that all the reports spoke of shone through for a blink-and-you'd-miss it moment before the false friend facade returned "-because Commissioner Leob and I have a mutual understanding regarding each other's friends."

He let his eyes fall to his cuffs and straightened them for a few seconds, making a show of pretending to do some thinking on the matter. When he was done, he let his hands drop to his sides and ticked his head towards them. One of the men came forward and held out his own hand to the group.

"Each of you pay up a hundred immediately and I will forget this affront ever happened. You'll still be allowed to come by. And I won't have take time out of my very busy schedule to ask Leob if really needs to you stick around his organization that badly, Detective. I'm sure we'd arrive at some sort of mutually beneficial agreement, but the less I have to speak with the dear Commissioner in person, the better."

The guys waited for Flass to act first before they followed suit in digging out their wallets and counting out a hundred each in various bills. As each stood and put the money into the goon's hands they were allowed to leave, one at a time. They exited down the hall. Dougherty was the last to go. He tossed Ed a pitying look and mouthed 'sorry' with a shit-happens shrug before he turned his back and disappeared.

That left Ed. Alone. Without the money necessary to buy his own exit.

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. When he let it go and opened his eyes, he stood up, folding his coat neatly. He took a step to the side and turned to set it down on the chair furthest from where he'd been sitting. His glasses followed as did his wallet, set just to the side. He shuffled back to his chair, squinting as he tried to make out more than just the shapes of the men around him, defined more by the dark lumps set against the stark white of the Loft's decor.

He smiled and it fell quickly. Trying to be pleasant about this wasn't going to help him at all, nor would it get it over with faster. Setting his shoulders, he folded his hands in front of himself and nodded. His voice came out with a meekness he wasn't proud of, but none of them would be able to say he wasn't ready to take what they believed he deserved, "I'd really appreciate it if you didn't break my glasses, so if you feel the need to toss me around, please do so away from them."

He did, however, squeeze his eyes shut very tightly in anticipation of the first blow. He didn't want to see it coming, no matter how little of it he'd be able to see.

The distinct thump-drag of Penguin's gait was loud in his ears. It wasn't until he spoke that Ed realized he'd been coming toward him, not leaving his men to their work.

"You, Mr. Nygma, are no longer allowed to open a tab." Ed opened his eyes to find the Penguin close enough he could easily count every freckle on his nose and cheeks without any being blurred by distance. He was looking down because the man was shorter than him, but he felt like he was looking up at someone so far above him he had no chance of bridging the distance. Ed's breath hitched as Penguin pressed just a fraction closer and it was like he was being swallowed up by his presence alone. He hadn't really wondered at people being scared of the man. He had cunning and resources and a clear willingness to do what it took to claw his way to the top. But now he understood the fear, how unnervingly he must be to others who saw him this way. There was a power to it.

"Wow."

He didn't realized he'd said it or that he was grinning down at the man until his face twisted with confusion at Ed's reaction.

"Sorry," he gulped, nervous laughter bubbling up out of him as he reached backwards for some sort of support and found it in the chest of one of the men he'd completely forgot had existed until that reminder, "It's just... wow. You're absolutely frightening when you're like that."

The confusion continued to play across his features and he crossed his arms, but didn't move away. Something Ed appreciated because he liked his features remaining so crisp and defined and not being a smeared mass of fuzz the way everything else was.

"You aren't acting particularly 'frightened', friend."

Friend. He was back to being called friend!

"Oh, I'm utterly terrified," he admitted, still laughing, knowing he would probably break down crying once he got home. "But I've hit the point that epinephrine, more commonly known as adrenaline, has 'kicked in' as they say. Because I'm not currently experiencing the sort of danger and physically stressful situations that it's intended to help a body survive, I'm starting to feel the side effects in the more detrimental ways. A one time exposure of this sort isn't going to cause any permanent damage but it does produce a light-headed sensation and dizziness due to my airways dilating to allow an increased oxygen flow to my muscles which my body currently assumes I'm going to need. And I probably will once you have your men start beating me into a pulp, but for the moment it's really very... it's pretty great."

Penguin stared a few moments longer, eyes searching his face, before he stepped back and became one with the blobs and blurs. He could tell he was straightening his coat, the action just large enough for his mind to supply the appropriate mental image if not track the real one.

"As I was saying," he started again while turning and starting the walk to the service entrance, "You are no longer allowed to open a tab. Do enjoy the rest of your evening."

He disappeared entirely, no longer anything in the surreal frame of moving smudges that was his vision. He was taken by the arm and led the other way, down the hall. At the top of the stairs his glasses were handed back to him, then his wallet and coat once he'd put them back on with shaking hands. The man who'd grabbed him gestured downward. Ed stared back at him, not sure if he was supposed to walk down them or throw himself down them so the man didn't have to put any effort into roughing him up. The impasse was broken as the guy let out a frustrated noise and growled 'get!'

He jumped at the sound and hurried down the stairs, the excess energy finally having something to do other than than make him high. He didn't remember making it to his car or even the drive home. He got there, obviously, since he woke up in his bed still fully dressed from the night before.

He couldn't open a tab. But he wasn't banned. And the only hand laid on him was the one that escorted him out.

He could still go back.