1:07am, January 31; 805 Grundy; Edward Nygma
He collapsed into bed as soon as he had his door locked and his coat hung. He hadn't been home for close to six hours. He'd never spent so long at a bar before and he'd never stayed out so late at one, either. He'd been expecting Wesker to come get him and tell him to leave whenever Penguin got back to the club. But nearly three hours passed with him left to his own devices in the Loft before Wren came upstairs and asked if he needed anything. Followed very shortly after by the Penguin himself.
A glass of wine for both of them was brought up and after Penguin spent about ten, maybe fifteen minutes catching up with the staff - presumably about anything that might need his attention - he'd joined Ed for what he'd called a nightcap. So Ed had the unexpected pleasure of sharing a glass with Penguin and making idle conversation. He had fully expected to be dismissed inside of a half hour.
But one glass became three, and that half hour bled away into two.
They hadn't talked about anything of importance, Penguin leading the conversation. He inquired after Ed's friends and the paperwork. Ed was honest in saying he was just working out a new budget and that the guys were good. He got another of the soft chuckles when he brought up their complaint about the prices. 'Ambiance is expensive' he was told and the topic shifted again. To questions about his job and what he did for fun besides hang out at bars with friends from work. He didn't press for information or GCPD secrets, nothing like that. He just seemed genuinely curious what exactly being in forensics meant. As with most people he had only a vague understanding of the processes, theory, and practical applications involved with the field.
Ed hadn't expected the time to fly so quickly, nor to feel so relaxed in the Penguin's company. But any tensions and worries had drained out of him by the time Butch came upstairs to let his boss know he was heading out for the night and Gabe would cover closing. Gotham's liquor laws allowed alcohol to be sold as late as three AM, so the place still had a few hours of business when that happened. But it did effectively draw their time together to a close since Penguin had other things to attend to.
He laid there, fully clothed still, hands folded over his stomach, and grinned. It had been one of the best nights out he'd ever had. Time with the guys was fun, but... This odd sort of secret friendship he'd somehow struck up with the Penguin was so much more exciting. If it could rightfully be called a friendship. He still wasn't sure where he stood with the man beyond perhaps being a curiosity not yet worth disposing of.
It was well known, after all, that the Penguin had no friends.
Butch Gilzean was the closest to that. He was Penguin's most trusted man, second only to Penguin himself. Victor Zsasz came in a close third because the assassin gave his priority and loyalty to the current King of the Underworld. But he could still be bought if someone somehow came up with enough money to get him to turn and a good reason to do so. So far that hadn't happened. Butch, however, was in it for life.
He wondered if Penguin and Butch ever spent a few long hours just talking. They probably did. Butch had a casual way of speaking with Penguin that didn't carry the mix of fear and respect everyone else directed at the Crime Lord. He talked to him like he as just another person. One he had to obey, sure, but also like he had no fear of reprisal or punishment for talking back and voicing a disagreement.
He turned to glance at the clock, not feeling tired at all. He had no energy to get up and do anything but his body refused to even consider sleeping while his thoughts raced around and around, circling back through the night, on repeat. A broken record of the mind.
He needed to go back again.
Maybe the next night?
Wait. No. The guys were going to hit the Dizzy Anchor, some new bar that opened near the docks, and wanted him to come. It was going to be the first impressions night for them. See if it was any good and worth coming back to and that meant they all needed to go so they could decide together.
They really liked having him around.
His smile turned bittersweet. He'd managed to figure out the budget, but it was going be real tight. He'd have to curate his food purchases to only the essentials for cooking himself dinner and making breakfast at home. He could cut costs further by making his own lunch and taking it in everyday, but sometimes the guys bought him lunch so it was never a sure thing which days he'd need to make his own or not.
If an emergency bill under five-hundred came up, he'd just have to forgo going out with the guys for a week or two to cover the costs. As long as that wasn't a regular occurrence, they wouldn't think he was subbing him. If one more than five-hundred came up, he could dip into his savings. He didn't have much, but a couple thousand was enough to work with for anything he could foresee potentially being a problem.
He could do this.
9:20am, February 3; Greg's Autobody; Greg
"Yeah, your radiator's shot. Ain't really your fault," he said, letting the hood fall shut as the lanky guy in glasses rocked nervously from one foot to the other. "The temperature dropped a lot further than usual. Couldn't have seen that kind of freeze coming. But the tubes in the heat exchange are ruptured. The only thing you can do at this point is replace it."
He felt bad for the guy. The car was in good condition otherwise and well-cared for. Just a bout of bad luck.
"How much will that be and how long will it take?" he asked, clearly trying not to sound worried.
Greg shook his head, "I gotta call around, see if anyone has the part for your model. Labor's gonna be at least four-hundred, but could be higher depending on if we gotta lift it or not. Which I won't know until we get the part. And cost of the part... radiators ain't cheap. Anywhere from two-hundred to seven-hundred."
The man took a deep breath. No one liked being told they were going to have to shell out that much. He understood the worry.
"And how long?"
"Depending on where I gotta order the part from, probably five days. You can leave it here and we'll call you when it's done." He started moving to the computer, "I'll get you an estimate after I find the part. You can decide then if you want us to do it. Lot storage is waived if you do, and twenty a day if you don't."
He felt bad for the guy. But business was still business.
8:17pm, February 4; The Iceburg Lounge; Edward Nygma
Public transportation was a joke.
He'd been heavily, and quite seriously, debating with himself about just selling his car to a junker and freeing up some money each month by no longer having to pay insurance on it. His attempt to get from the body shop to work, then work to home, then home to work the next day, work to home, and finally home to the Lounge convinced him the cost of repairing and keeping his car was worth the headache. It basically ate up all his savings, but what had been a half hour drive in the morning rush had been a forty-five minute pain in the ass on the way in and somehow an hour and a half nightmare on the way out. There was no way he could deal with that on a daily basis. His anxiety would rocket through the stratosphere if he tried.
So it was that he arrived at the abnormal (they weren't supposed to go out on Mondays) meet-up, late and more disheveled than he'd have liked. Choi had called him a couple times already to make sure he was really on his way. He didn't know why they'd insisted on the Lounge tonight. The Tap Room was closer to work. He could have walked there. Not only that, he wouldn't have had to go home and change to just to meet the dress code.
Wren greeted him again, her arm slipping into his and giving him pause, "Mr. Nygma, so good to see you so soon. Your friends have a table already, if you'd like to join them?"
He blinked at her, glancing down at where she was holding him. She followed his gaze and started to pull away, "I'm sorry if I presumed too much familiarity, Mr. Nygma."
"No." He stopped her, free hand reaching out to keep her from breaking the connection as a smile fluttered into life, breaking his melancholy, "You're fine. It's fine... Unexpected I am, shocked you will be. I amaze and astound, and sometimes confound. What am I?"
Wren's reaction was the one he was used to when a riddle spilled from him and others didn't expect it. Her going still, staring at him, brows scrunching...
"Give up?" he asked. "It's-
"A surprise!" she answered at the same time, a grin lighting up her face. "Right? Unexpected, shocked, amazed, astound, and confound are all synonyms for surprise."
She'd gotten it right.
"Yes," he said, a little breathless. "That's right. I um... I was just... surprised. By this." He patted her hand where he held it to his elbow.
She continued to smile, and looked down demurely as she firmed her grip, locking elbows with him once more, "Well, you're my favorite customer, so..."
"I am?"
"Mmhmm," she nodded, glancing up at him once again before tugging at him to start leading him through the room. "Just don't tell anyone, okay? Jealous customers are a nightmare in this business."
"Okay."
He wasn't really paying attention to where she was leading him, but the loud shouts of his name from Dougherty and a strong slap on the back brought him back to reality.
"Make moon-eyes at the staff later," he joked, dragging him away from Wren and down to sit next to him. "We got a surprise for you."
Wren gave him a wave that he returned, getting a fair few whistles and kissy noises from the guys as she left them. He blushed and tried to deflect the teasing, "A surprise?"
"Yeah!" Kowalski slapped a stack of tickets onto the table. "March Madness. Round one. March 21st. Center court line. Eight rows back. All six of us."
A loud round of cheers went up from the rest of them and though Ed had no real care about sports, the fact that he'd been included was enough to get him laughing right along with them.
The joy was short lived, however, when the man continued, "Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm great. I got a friend who works at the stadium so these came at a discount. But I still need you assholes to pay me back. Seventy-five each. You got two weeks to ante-up."
Another bill to pay. But it was only seventy-five and it had been made in good faith so he could come to the game with them. And none of them knew about Ed's car yet. He'd bring it up later. Now was not the time.
"Oh come on Ed, don't make that face," Flass drew him back to the conversation. "I know it's not anywhere as exciting as that bird hitting on you, but at least look like you care."
He sputtered and laughter followed. His attempt to deny any flirting on the part of Wren was cut short by her dropping off his drink of choice and giving him a wink, "Sounds like you're celebrating, so first one's on the house tonight."
The guys went quieter than he'd ever heard them and they waited, mouths pressed shut, a couple with fists covering them to hold it all in, until Wren was lost in the crowd and Ed had finally dared to look up from his drink. And then what felt like pure chaos erupted. Dougherty wrapped an arm around his neck and dragged him down to knuckle at his head while the others reached over to slap him with more laughter and shouts of 'you sly dog!' and 'fuck yeah' and 'you better get after that' and more that was drowned in the heady excitement of it all.
10:20pm, February 4; The Iceburg Lounge; Edward Nygma
The guys were finally breaking the party up and heading home. Flass had already left, as had Choi. Dougherty was too in the cups to drive and a taxi had been called for him. Jacobs was about to go into work. So getting a ride home with any of them wasn't happening. And he couldn't afford a taxi of his own. He'd just have to catch the bus on it's last round of the night, then walk the four miles from the nearest stop on that line to his apartment.
He slipped away from the table and up to the bar. It was crowded, but he found a spot on the end near the door he knew led to the kitchens and back rooms. The guys had convinced him to try asking Wren out before he left. They were certain she was into him. He wasn't so sure, himself. She was a waitress and he'd seen her flirt with other customers. It was a way to get better tips and make them feel important.
But they'd made him promise to give it a shot.
Mr. Wesker broke away from his other customers to come lean up on the other side of the bar from him, giving him a warm smile, "Mr. Nygma. Is there something I can get for you? Wren said it sounded like you and your friends were celebrating."
"No, thank you. I'm good on drinks," he started, then glanced around, then leaned in himself in a conspiratorial manner. "I have a question about, um... about Wren. Do you... do you think she might... like me?"
"You're her favorite customer," Mr. Wesker said, but hissed in a warning breath, "If you're asking if she likes you in a general, friendly way, then the answer is yes. She thinks very highly of you. But if you're asking if she's into you in a she-wants-to-date-you way? No. Sorry to disappoint if that's what you were hoping for."
He was disappointed, and it showed, but he shrugged, "Honestly, I figured that was the case. But, the guys were saying she was flirting with me and-"
"Oh, she was," Arnold interrupted, causing Ed's head to snap up and look at him in confusion.
"They were getting handsy." Wren announced her presence as she slipped herself between Ed and the wall and joined the little circle of stage-whispering. She rested a hand on Ed's shoulder and rubbed it lightly, "I'm glad I caught you before you left. I wanted to apologize for not telling you what was up. It's just... I've found that if I flirt with one of the guys in a group like that, the rest will leave me alone because they think their friend will have a chance at scoring. It doesn't always work, and for those times, I can call in a bouncer. But if we can keep it from coming to that, it's a lot better for business."
He nodded along, still feeling hurt he'd been used. It was tempered a bit, however, by Wesker's reaffirmation of her earlier statement, "So... I'm really your favorite customer?"
Wren laughed and shook her head, "Rest assured, Mr. Nygma, if I was somehow the only one on staff and this place was packed and I was over-worked and at my wits end... if you walked through the door I'd drop everything else to come take care of you."
"Oh... thanks. I mean... I'm... I can't even afford to tip extra or anything."
"It's not about the tips. You're just a really good customer and always have been. The staff likes you."
"Okay." He didn't know what else to say to that. He didn't usually get compliments like that from the other places he went to or ordered from on a regular basis. His favorite Chinese place constantly complained about his picky eating and regularly 'forgot' to fulfill his requests to remove certain offending vegetables from his meals. He'd even been banned from a couple restaurants for continued attempts to help them improve their menus and business practices. It had been a while since that happened, though. He'd learned to keep his thoughts to himself on those matters. Though he really couldn't understand why they'd taken such offense.
He blushed and looked down at his hands, eyes falling to his watch, "Oh! Shoot! I have to go. The last bus is going to be here any minute."
"Oh... uh," Wren frowned and cringed, "Actually the last bus came by ten minutes ago. I walked Sparrow out to make sure she got on safely."
His expression must have been as devastated as he felt because Wren bit at her lip and then offered, "You know what? I can give you a ride. My shift is almost over. I'll just clock out early and I can drop you off wherever."
He turned to stare at her and was met with a kind smile, "I mean it."
"You... you won't get in trouble?"
She shook her head for a second, then paused and considered, "I might get written up for leaving early, but you were my last table and I don't have enough time on my shift to take another. I'll be fine."
"I don't want you to-"
"I'll be fine," she reassured, grabbing his wrist and squeezing lightly. "Let me get my stuff and I'll meet you at the door."
She left before he could continue to protest.
When he turned back to look at Wesker, the man shrugged, "Like I said. Favorite customer. Have a good night, Mr. Nygma."