1:30pm, February 10; 805 Grundy; Edward Nygma

Technically, Wren picking him up so he didn't have to take the bus wasn't the same as having someone over. But also, technically, she was coming over and as far as he was aware there was no set minimum of time a guest had to be inside a home to count as 'being over'. So if he invited her in to wait while he got his coat - and he did - he could, by technicality, say he'd had a friend over.

Because she was his friend.

She'd given him two rides home and offered to take him into the Lounge for lunch on Sunday afternoon. And that was the sort of things friends, did. Helping each other out and go out to eat together.

"You have a lovely home, Mr. Nygma," she said, looking around as she stood just inside the door.

"Please, it's Edward. Or Ed," he replied as he gathered up his gloves and scarf, then checked his pockets for the essentials: wallet, keys, notebook, pen.

Wren opened her mouth and shut it slowly, biting at her lower lip. She looked, for the first time, shy and uncertain, "You don't even know my real name, you know."

"That's okay," he shrugged, doing a final pat down of his pockets. "I mean if you're not comfortable with using mine, I understand." He whispered over-loud as if sharing a big secret, "I don't like using Detective Flass's first name and he's my friend, too."

"Right," she laughed, the sound coming out oddly, right before she spun around and grabbed the door to open it, "I just... I'm used to calling you Mr. Nygma, Mr. Nygma. It feels weird to use anything else."

He stepped through and held the door open for her, then locked it behind them, "That's fine! Just fine!" He didn't want to upset her or push her away. If she wanted to call him Mr. Nygma, she could keep doing that.

"So I was thinking, since you drove me home and are doing the driving today, I could pay for lunch. For both of us," he offered while they walked downstairs and to her car. He really couldn't afford it, but he didn't want her thinking he wouldn't pay his fair share.

She tucked her arm into his and led him along to where she'd parked, not too far from the building entrance, "Don't be silly, Mr. Nygma. Today is my treat." She leaned in to talk to him in the same conspiratorial stage whisper he had upstairs, "Employees get one meal a day comped. We can just split something and no one has to pay."

Ed felt a laugh of disbelief bubble up out of him. He'd never done anything like that. Share a plate with a friend, not take advantage of a policy. He'd taken advantage of plenty of loopholes in policies. Particularly at work.

1:44pm, February 10; The Iceburg Lounge; Oswald Cobblepot

He wasn't the sort to pace. He didn't shift nervously from foot to foot. But there was a lot of excess energy bottled up and it felt like it was building with no where to go. If it kept up like this, it was perfectly possible he'd explode.

"How long did it take her to get back last night," he asked Wesker for perhaps the twelfth time in the last half hour.

"Approximately forty minutes, sir," was the answer. Same as before. He repeated himself to the letter. "I assume that means it's roughly twenty minutes there and twenty minutes back, barring traffic."

He checked his watch, good leg bouncing a few times before he pushed himself up and straightened the silverware on the table. Adjusted the plating. Decided it was shit.

"This won't do!" he barked, taking the place setting and throwing it at the floor. "Bring something better!"

Wesker turned tail and rushed downstairs to grab another setting - he'd already had to replace three others - Oswald yelling after him, "AND CLEAN THAT UP!"

After he was alone again, he sucked in a deep breath, his hands pressing against his face, pulling down. This man... this... odd-ball of a man... was driving him nuts. He hadn't been able to keep him out of his mind since the long conversation they'd had the previous week. He'd spent the time between going about his business and found himself wondering what Edward might think about something or other at the worst times. Ended up completely distracting himself. At one point almost to the detriment of a business deal involving a small arms shipment. Nothing that would have slowed him down had it not gone through, but it caused enough of a problem that he had to acknowledge there was a problem.

Clearly the problem lay with the other man. But in what manner, Oswald wasn't exactly sure. In the few times they'd spoken the most he'd done was try to be friendly. Which meant he was likely a plant of some sort. Someone he needed to watch and keep close so he could figure out who sent him.

A strange pick for a plant, though. Not even trying to hide he worked for the GCPD. Completely open body language when he got excited about a topic. So either he was an extremely talented actor... or he was being used. Maybe whoever sent him was trying to get Oswald to let his guard down enough that Edward could start wearing a wire around him.

That seemed the most likely. Very few people could fool Oswald with their intentions after that many encounters, no matter how short. So the man was probably being used as a patsy of some sort. Which meant that Oswald had time to manipulate him. Try to weasel it out of him by gaining his trust. Get him to turn on his patron willingly.

Considering the so-called friends Edward hung out with, it was probably Leob pulling the strings. That group had nothing in common with the forensics specialist outside of being part of the GCPD. He'd had his own plants at Central look into all of them discreetly. They shared no interests, nothing to bind them. From all reports, Mr. Nygma had been working there for years without any contact with them and all of a sudden, starting in mid-December, he'd somehow become their new best friend.

The only thing it added up to was that Edward was being used by them, probably led by Flass, on behalf of Commissioner Leob. But he'd need to confirm that, not just act on the assumption.

He let his gaze drift to the table and reached out to push a fork a fraction of an inch so it lay properly straight on the napkin. Wesker appeared at his elbow and put another place setting down to replace the first.

When the man stepped back, he locked his arms behind himself and cleared his throat, "Mr. Nygma has arrived, sir. Shall I ask Wren to bring him upstairs?"

"No," he said, shaking his head and hurrying to the railing to look down. "Wait a moment until they've ordered drinks and are looking at the menu."

He couldn't act like he knew Nygma was coming. It had to seem like a casual coincidence that he was just now having his own lunch. He licked his lips, fingers curling and uncurling, and went to sit down again. He hated having to wait so much.

2:13pm, February 10; The Iceburg Lounge; Edward Nygma

Even though Wren had said not to worry about the drinks, he still decided a water was the better call. She also let him have the menu so he could choose what they were going to split. Since she'd already tried it all and he hadn't.

He was just about to the point of being ready to make a decision when Mr. Wesker approached the table, "Mr. Nygma! So good to see you again so soon. I wasn't aware you were planning on coming by."

"Wren invited me to lunch," he answered, looking to her with a smile.

She grinned back, then reached out to poke Wesker in the side, "It's my day off, you know."

"Of course," the man laughed. Then he cleared his throat, "But uh... Well, I do apologize for interrupting your friendly little date here, but... Uh, you were asking after Mr. Cobblepot yesterday,.."

Ed blinked at him, not sure what that had to do with anything, "Yes, and?"

Mr. Wesker laughed, looking surprisingly nervous, "Well, you see. Mr. Cobblepot is here. Today. Right now. If you wanted to go talk to him, he's said he wouldn't mind the company for lunch. Should you be inclined to join him."

"Oh. Oh!" Ed couldn't help the big, opened mouth grin that took over his face, "Really? He wants me to... really?"

Mr. Wesker nodded, "Yes, sir. I can take you to him right now."

"Oh that would be-" Ed cut himself off and his face fell, his gaze turning to Wren and then back to Wesker. He gave a weak smile, "That would be great, except I'm here with Wren and-"

"It's fine, Mr. Nygma," Wren interrupted. "It's not often someone gets invited to eat with Mr. Cobblepot. It's a real privilege. You should take the opportunity."

"But you-"

"You can make it up to me," she shrugged, leaning across the table to rest a hand on his wrist and rub it in a soothing motion, "After you get your car back tomorrow, why don't we meet up here and go somewhere for dinner? You can drive this time."

He was torn. He wanted to go and see Penguin, but he didn't want Wren to think he didn't care about her friendship either. "Are you sure? I don't want to-"

"I'm positive," she reassured him. "Please. When you see me tomorrow, you'll just have to tell me all about it, okay?"

He bit at his lip and nodded, then let out an excited laugh and clapped his hands, "He wants me to join him!"

Wren drummed her own hands on the table to match his clapping, "I know! So get going already!"

"Right!" He pushed himself up a bit too forcefully and the water spilled. Thankfully he was pulled away by Wesker before it could cause a very embarrassing wet spot. "oh! I can take care of that!"

"It's okay, sir!" Wesker gripped him a little tighter and edged him backwards so he wouldn't knock into anything more. "The staff can take care of it. We really shouldn't keep Mr. Cobblepot waiting."

2:24pm, February 10; The Iceburg Lounge; Oswald Cobblepot

That man was a disaster. An absolute tornado of clumsy as he stood up from his seat and had to be guided away. He chuckled softly to himself and despite being alone, covered his mouth to hide his smile.

It didn't take very long after that for the sound of Wesker leading Nygma upstairs. Oswald pulled himself together and put on a welcoming grin as he came into view, "Mr. Nygma. What a pleasant surprise seeing you here today."

"Mr. Penguin! Hi!" The man's face scrunched up in excitement as he hurried over to shake Oswald's offered hand and slide into the booth opposite him. "I can't believe you remembered me."

"How could I forget? It's not everyday someone trespasses twice just to try and talk with me," he answered back, leaning his elbow on the backrest and his chin on his hand. "And one who's so good to the staff, too. Very few customers are so well thought of."

Wesker brought the second place setting to the table as though it hadn't been planned in any way.

"Have you had lunch here before? I've only seen you in the evenings, after the restaurant side shuts down."

Ed shook his head, "No. I usually can't make it in because I work until five most days. And with the dress code, I have to go home and change. If I left right from work, the earliest I could get here with everything is probably just after six. And that's assuming good traffic. Which, being rush hour, is not a good assumption to make. But last night, Mr. Wesker was telling me about what the kitchen usually serves in the evening and it all sounds absolutely amazing and-"

"You were here last night?" Oswald interrupted, trying to wrest control of the conversation back into his hands. "I didn't hear about that."

"Oh yes!" Ed lit up. He crossed his arms and leaned forward on them. "I was my first time coming on a Saturday night. I'd seen the Loft a few times when it was shut down, but I thought it might be fun to see it when it was open."

Wesker brought over the wine and poured it as someone from the kitchen brought up the appetizer. Oswald slid his own glass across the table to the other man, then took the second. He maintained a face of placid interest while Ed looked positively overwhelmed. Like he'd just been offered wine from the hand of God.

Excellent. If Leob was trying to use Edward's 'hobby' to his advantage in getting him close to Oswald... Oswald could do the same. Get him close and keep him close.

Ed picked up the glass and glanced over, grin the giddy sort as he cautiously took a sip. Like he couldn't believe this was happening and was expecting the wine to slapped out of his hand at any moment while people jumped out of hiding to laugh at him for thinking he had the right to be there.

"I uh... If no one said anything about me being here," he started after a second, more confident drink, looking rather sheepish, "Then I think it's only right to tell you I... I uh... I have legs, but never walk, carry food, but never eat. I'm round and square and oval and beside you when you sleep. What am I?"

This wasn't the first time Ed had thrown out a riddle at seemingly random. Their first long conversation, he'd done the same. It happened when he was nervous or on edge. Or excited. As before, this one seemed related to the topic at hand.

"Table," Oswald answered, taking a drink of his own. Previously, Ed had said 'give up?' and given the answers before Oswald had a chance to speak. It had given the distinct impression that the man was used to no one trying.

From the way his face lit up, Oswald was certain that was true.

"Yes! Table!" he laughed and gestured at the table, "I sat at your table." His face fell a second later, "I hope that's okay. They said it would be fine, but if no one told you..."

"Oh, no, friend," Oswald reassured him, reaching out to put a hand on one of Ed's. The man froze, eyes wide and unable to look away from where he was being touched. "I was informed a VIP was allowed the use of my table. Perfectly normal. I just I wasn't informed that VIP was you."

"V-VIP?" Ed stumbled over his own words, gaze following Oswald's hand as it released his own and slid back across the table toward it's owner. From there his eyes followed Oswald's chest upward to his face, where he was smiling his warmest, most pleasant smile. "I'm a..."

He couldn't seem to get the word out. His mouth moving around the letters for a good minute before he shook his head, "Why?"

Oswald gave a slow, languid shrug, "Because I said so." He didn't give Edward time to process that further, however, as he straightened up and gestured toward the stairs, "Ah! Finally. Lunch is here. I hope you don't mind, but I ordered for both of us. I was in the mood for duck."

Ed, in a daze, turned to follow the gesture and then the food from where it was carried in and placed in front of him. He looked completely out of his element and remained that way for the first few bites. But Oswald found victory in the fact that the man eventually started to grin again and make small talk. Much of it riddled with riddles.

He'd just have to get used to that, he supposed.