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Despite the endless list of reasons they should not, the citizens of Gotham had an inordinate fondness for costume parties. No number of fatal incidents could keep them from enjoying a good time, no, not the likelihood of masked interlopers, or first-hand accounts from so-and-so's sister about the effects of such-and-such toxin, or even the tastelessly garish decorations haphazardly covering the damage from yet another recent attack.
At least, Edward thought, taking a hearty sip of the cheerfully orange punch, the refreshments were decent.
Leaning casually over the balcony banister, he took another sweeping look across the party's guests. Maybe it was simple stupidity, at the end of the day, that had the crowds returning again and again, the same costumes and masks and drinks. Maybe it was just that none of them possessed the minute amount of intelligence required to even splice together a damned pattern, to recognize the same situation bearing fruit again and again and again.
Or, worse, he grimaced, seeing yet another couple dance by in pointed cowls and shiny capes, it was just that they had such unerring faith in their winged hero.
Please.
It wasn't like the Dark Knight saved many lives, in the end. He was a detective, first and foremost. He arrived at the scene after the damage had already been done, piecing together the evidence and chasing down the trail of blood. If someone were to attack the party, as happened so frequently that it was really more notable when they went off without a hitch, the victims would be victims regardless, and the only protection the damned Bat could offer was closure for their families in the aftermath.
Tonight, Edward was here to be twice the hero Batman could hope to be.
Tonight, he already knew who was going to launch their tedious machinations, and he would stop them before they could cut the first throat, as it were.
After all, he had a certain advantage that was especially useful in a situation like this one; masks didn't fool him.
Everyone had certain tells they couldn't quite cover, little things that broke through no matter how they disguised themselves. Bone structure, for example, or the way they held themselves. A little quirk in speech patterns. A certain way they held their wrist when reaching for something. Even the smallest of things could add up, revealing the true self beneath the fluff.
The little witch in the corner, for example, a personal assistant for some middle manager at the new Queen Industries building that wasn't really important enough to merit one, who was wearing a long wig under the pointy hat that she had to constantly mess with, used to her much shorter hair hidden beneath.
Or the wolfman hiding behind the refreshments table, brought along as moral support for his reporter sister, surveying the crowd just as he did during his day job as a construction worker.
Or the Batgirl here on the upper level near Edward, the genuine article, though in a cheesy knockoff of the costume, acting silly and giving cartoonish speeches about justice like she didn't flip around in the evenings actually defending the innocent and smashing in heads.
Edward angled himself away, hoping young Miss Brown didn't recognize him in his Sherlock Holmes getup, tugging the cap so it better covered the distinctive ginger of his hair. Maybe he should have opted for a wig like that secretary below, questioning now his impulse to be recognizable for the cameras when he made his big arrest.
He gave the crowd one more probing sweep, intending to reposition himself should he still not spot his quarry, when a strong hand gripped his elbow, keeping him in place.
"Mr. Nygma! I wasn't aware you were on the guest list tonight!"
Batgirl glanced over at the commotion, eyes flicking down to the grip on his elbow, and turned away, apparently not interested in making a scene just yet.
Unlike, apparently, Bruce Wayne.
"Mr. Wayne, good to see you again. I trust the reason we haven't seen each other in a while is because things are going well, and not the opposite?"
Wayne grinned down at him, flipping the shiny aviators up onto the costume policeman's hat, the better to show off the enchanting blue eyes he knew- must know- Edward often stared too long into.
Like right now.
Damn it.
"Yeah, things are looking up. I really appreciate you helping out with that whole mess in May, we've really come out of the whole thing way ahead." Wayne chuckled, leaning against the banister, the short sleeves of the costume stretching pitifully against the bulk of his bicep. One ankle hooked behind the other, really selling the whole casual pose, and the jangle of the plastic handcuffs at his hip drew Edward's attention to the indecent length of his shorts.
He snatched his gaze away, sipping deeply from his punch, disappointed to find it nearly empty. "That's good to hear. I saw so many reporters putting so many spins on the events, I couldn't be sure how your investors would respond. Pleased, then?"
"Pleased as punch." Wayne chuckled, tapping a nail to Edward's drained cup. "Need another one?"
"I'm... fine, for now." The cup crinkled and Edward forced his grip to relax. He had a job to do here, and it didn't evolve getting distracted by Bruce Wayne or his thick thighs. "Was there something you needed from me?"
Wayne shrugged, pecs bouncing a little even under the straining fabric of his little costume uniform, and Edward pretended to check his nails just for the chance to clear his head of the image. "Just surprised to see you, honestly. Not to dredge up any bad blood, but I know you crashed a few of these kinds of parties yourself, before the whole-"
A hand waved vaguely, indicating Edward's person.
"Detective gig?" Edward guessed.
"Yeah, that."
He wondered how much of the punch Wayne had dipped into. His social graces were usually better than this. "I'm here on the detective gig, actually. I apologize, but I don't really have time to just chat-"
"Oh, can I help?"
It was for the best that the punch was empty, because Edward was sure he would have dropped it, otherwise. "Can you... help?"
"Pretty sure that's what I asked, yeah." Wayne laughed, a playful little twinkle in his pretty blue eyes that almost made Edward bristle in offense. "You know, dust for prints, hold the magnifying glass, uh... check for clues? I don't really know what detectives do, honestly."
Edward snorted at that, despite himself. "No, Mr. Wayne, none of that will be necessary tonight. I already have all of the clues, and I've even tracked down the culprit to this very party."
Something in the casual posture stiffened at that, Wayne's eyes going sharper and flicking to the crowd below before training back onto the man beside him. "Here? Who?"
"All in due time, dear Watson, all in due time." From the foyer, a small group had just entered, all wearing thematically similar costumes and peering around the room far too observantly for mere party guests. Sure enough, Edward's man arrived at the back of the group, wearing so many vibrant costume pieces it appeared as though he'd simply tripped through a costuming boutique on the way here, and yet doing nothing to disguise the distinctive twist of his mouth Edward recalled from the security footage he'd reviewed. "I apologize for cutting this little chat short, but I am here on business."
---
Edward's quarry had nearly reached the little entertainment stage by the time he made it downstairs, the live band playing there watching the gaudy advance warily without breaking their stride. Commendable, really. Edward had to wonder if venues paid performers a bit extra for simply ignoring villainous activity.
The man, a Jake P. Wallweathers, the subordinate of Edward's client she'd asked him to look into, caught sight of his tail when attempting to hop up onto the stage, and visibly blanched.
Tsk, tsk. It was a very basic lesson in supervillainy, to adapt to, to embrace, the unexpected.
Even when the unexpected was the private eye who had finally tracked you down.
"Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Wallweathers." Edward called. "I do hope none of your plans for the night were time-sensitive? My apologies, but your timetable is about to be altered."
Without even a word, the man bolted, his cronies scrambling, disorganized, to either follow or form a barrier between him and their boss, though they seemed to struggle deciding which. Edward sighed. He'd really hoped he'd trapped the man, standing between the door and the stage, but clearly he was willing to risk cornering himself. Damn.
With all the slow purpose of a stalking tiger, Edward crossed the room, one foot in front of the other. Two of the goons stopped, taking up defensive stances, blocking the way. Edward missed his cane, having chosen not to bring a prop which wouldn't match his costume's theme and would give him away, besides. A targeted bolt to the chest would take them both out easily, saving Edward the trouble. Instead, he was reduced to cheap tactics, charging at them and slipping beneath their fists when they were provoked to action.
Edward dashed after his target, trying to outpace the two henches through the crowd, when there came twin grunts and thuds from behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see young Miss Brown twisting a grown man's arm behind his back until he whimpered 'uncle'.
Looks like she listened to Query's lessons, after all.
Edward returned his focus onto Wallweathers, narrowly dodging as the asshole tossed the bowl of punch off the table to spill across the floor. He continued trying with more of the refreshments, candies and cupcakes and tiny sandwiches scattering, to little avail, slowed down as much by the spilling of them as Edward was by the dodging.
Frustrated, Wallweathers turned to sprint again, but a wall of muscle slipped out from the crowd, and in an instant he was laid out, Bruce Wayne hovering over him and slapping costume handcuffs over his wrists.
"You have the right to remain... right where you are." Wayne scolded, though his heavy knee between the man's shoulderblades would prevent any movement regardless. He glanced up, shooting a grin at Edward, standing awkwardly over him. "This, uh, was the right guy, right? I'd hate to have grabbed some random."
"That's him, Mr. Wayne. I appreciate the assistance." Edward ignored the flush he felt creeping across his face at Wayne's eager beaming, and pulled Wallweathers to his feet.
"You won't stop me!" Wallweathers insisted, tugging at the surprisingly-sturdy cuffs. Edward took a second look at them, realizing Wayne had had a real set on him, not the plastic kind he'd expected. "My plans are already in motion! In just ten minutes, this entire place will-"
"Yes, yes, it'll blow up. Except, of course, it won't, because I called in the GCPD's explosives squad long before you arrived. If they've done their jobs, there won't be a single one left armed by now."
Wayne whistled. "Impressive work, Holmes." He winked.
"Oh, don't sell yourself short, Officer." Edward purred. "You were instrumental in cracking this one. I think a drink is in order. In show of my gratitude, of course."
"Of course." Wayne agreed.
"Ugh." Wallweathers disagreed.
"Quiet, you." Edward grumbled.
---
One arrest, several excitable reporters, and a handful of drinks later, and Edward was leaning heavily into the blue fabric stretched across Wayne's chest, giggling madly at a surprisingly-clever pun the handsome dolt had managed. They'd switched hats at some point, and Miss Brown kept shooting them confused looks, but Edward was pleasantly buzzed, and people kept congratulating him, and he'd stopped the idiot before anything could even go off, so they had no reason to cancel the rest of the party.
Take that, Batsy! Twice the hero, indeed!
"A toast!" Edward called, and was met by a cheer. "To me!"
Wayne laughed, the sound of it vibrating into Edward's back where he was pressed into him, and tapped their glasses together. "To you!"
A smattering of cheers went up, a few others joining in on the toast, and a sense of giddy joy shivered up his spine at the realization that the night just could not get any better than this.
"You know..." Wayne murmured into Edward's ear, and arm snaking around his waist to trace a calloused thumb across the buttons of his shirt, "I've got an apartment near here I use for late nights at the office. If you'd like to see it."
Edward turned to him, the room spinning a little with his shock (and the punch, probably) and Wayne (Bruce fucking Wayne) just winked at him, nodding toward the door with a mischievous little smirk.
Well then.
For once, Edward wasn't too terribly upset over being proven wrong.