A Musebox for Flying Squids

"Sometimes a break helps." He'd never gone to college. She would not be finding that out. "You can get your head together, look at other potential paths. I've found that college can make on feel locked into a certain career goal."

Ozzie had even picked the restaurant. Good for him, because he made enough decisions in his life without having to worry about what place wouldn't either overcharge you on the steak or poison you with it.

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"It's not so much a break as -- simply putting my studies on hiatus. I have some issues with my sister, and... they take priority at the moment. You have a brother-- I'm sure you know what it's like."

She's very sure. She's seen them together.

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Not a twitch. He was getting quite good at this. Cypher instead offered a grin and a shrug. "Of course. He's quite clever, but he's also an amazing pain in my ass. The two may be related." At the moment, if Cypher recalled correctly, his twin was helping Jon with a bit of weapons manufacturing sabotage. And Alice and Waylon were both at work, and Belladonna was researching, and Jackie had better damn well be in bed but probably wasn't.

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"My sister's the successful one. But I'm the clever one," she said.

(Jackie was getting sexts. He was not in bed.... well, he was, but he wasn't sleeping.)

"How did both of you get involved with investigation?"

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Sexts were acceptable as long as he wasn't taking them from the rooftop. The man needed some damned rest.

"We're nosy and decided to make a profit from it." It wasn't too far from the real truth. "What does your sister do, then?"

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"The polite answer is 'be idly rich'," she said wryly. "The honest answer is 'be at home with a rare illness, while I handle her day to day living. Siblings, huh? Can't live with them, but you can't just abandon them, either.' She's my half sister. Same father, different mothers, very different circumstances."

There's something that doesn't fit here. The story is so practiced it slides on like a well worn dress, but there's something she's not giving.

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"Really? How did that happen?" He's a detective. He assumes everyone lies, and with an agreeing nod he pretends that none of them do. It's the way to get people to tip their hands.

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"The same way it usually does, Edward," she said, casting a glance in his direction. "One's the daughter of his rich Bollywood wife, one's the the daughter of his 'true love' that society won't let him be with. The usual."

Perfectly pat. The complete story. Tale as old as time. No reason to suspect it's at all false, right?

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"Ah. How cinematic." Every reason, but for a first date and a one night stand Eddie isn't going to stir the pot by pushing. (Is he curious? Yes. But he can research her after she leaves in the morning, or get the story out of Ozzie. These things can wait.) "And then there's you, caught in the middle through no fault of your own?"

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"Very. I'm sure her mother knows a Bollywood song and dance number about it," she said, and there was no sharpness there, only a wry fondness.

"As for fault, I'm just too curious for my own good. You understand."

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"More than you know." He rolled his eyes in good-natured agreement. Curiosity nearly killed the cat enough times that only Timekeeper could keep track of them all. What could he do, it was in his blood. The world would be boring otherwise. "But I'm a private detective, it counts as a job skill."

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"Except I'm totally not engaging you one bit," she said with a musing smile as the car stopped. Well, time for a nice, if awkward, meal. "Which is okay, if I'm not your type."

The brief pause between car and being seated weren't tense--at least, not for Bunny. But reservations were made, Ozzie ha helped, and there's already a good bottle of wine waiting.

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Great. Gotham's greatest detective and he couldn't maintain a decent enough cover to pretend he was into the woman he'd been set up with. Cypher hoped it was just the near-death experience that had rattled him rather than this being a problematic trend.

"It's not you. I'm a rotten date, there's always something on my mind." He gave her an embarrassed smile as they were seated. "Detectives don't really get days off."

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"No, they don't. But you really need to take one," she said with noe of her dazzling smiles. "You know I've got an array of forensic skills. Do you need a helper to handle the grunt work?"

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Oh hell no. "Unfortunately it's not that kind of work," Cypher said with a regretful smile, toying with the stem of his wineblass. "As much as I would love to have you along, private detectives don't come across dead bodies very much. We mostly deal in interpersonal drama. It pays, and it does get interesting on occasion, but police work was much more exciting for me."

She seemed smart, though plenty of people seemed smart until you put a magnifying glass and a set of tweezers in her hand, but the kind of work he was thinking about did not need outsiders involved. (Cypher had no intention of setting up another Harleen Quinzel situation.)

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Something teased at Bunny's lips; a gotcha she didn't share.

"But you went straight from police work." She said. Like leaving the force was actually the honorable thing, that it was crooked and she knew it.

Not that many in people in Gotham didn't it, but it wasn't exactly common talk when a cop could be listening, could be ready to get you in trouble. But she was relatively safe, right? With an ex-cop.

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"I found I didn't fit in with a team-oriented environment." Cypher returned her smile--a secret of euphamisms shared between two people in the know. He hadn't realized how filthy he'd felt beneath their heel until he was out from underneath it--taking photos of adultery felt like a breath of fresh air after being pressured to destroy evidence against his colleagues.

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"Then I guess private investigation is the best route for you," she said with a return smile. "I'm glad it's treating you mostly well..." Though it's apparently destroying his ability to get anywhere with a woman. Oh well, win some, lose some.

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It would definitely have been easier if he wasn't straight, Cypher had often mused. He'd have more of the team open to him--as it stood, Pam was attached and there was a mutual not-my-type going with Tetch. Then again that still left him with Timekeeper and Waylon, neither of whom would fit the bill in terms of personality.

Maybe his problem was that he had standards.

"It does have its share of entertainment," he said, leaning back in his chair with the glass of wine in his fingertips. "I once had a husband and wife each hire me to catch the other cheating. I was tempted to take a picture of them together and then give them each a copy."

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Or that he set the bar so high that no one could reach it. It was safe in being alone, because then no one could ever disappoint him. It was the mirror of Edward Nygma, who set the bar low so he could be easily disappointed and use people as he needed but never have a real relationship...

Well, until he finally met someone who made him want to raise his standards on his own life, in all arenas, who made him want to be better, stronger, everything that he could be...

"That would have been the truth, no?" she asked, before another sip of wine went into her mouth. She swallowed it down, musing. "I think I'll stick to forensic anthropology. Making sure the dead rest peacefully."

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"Quite a noble look at it." As the salads arrived Cypher launched into a few stories of his time on the force, neatly excising the details of how the administration had seen his surplus of insight.

He'd been better, once. It would have been less of an act, or at least a more enthusiastic act, to trade life stories with the beautiful woman across from him. She wouldn't find it so easy to tell how distracted he was by other matters.

The tumor was gone, but the cancer lingered. Since Red Hood brought him back from Egypt Cypher had thrown himself into his work so hard he caught bruises, working his fingers to the bone to prove that he was once again an asset to his former friends. People like Waylon trusted too easily, people like Jonathan would never reforge what was once broken. All he had to give them were results--and anything besides that was selfishness. Selfishness had gotten Harvey Dent murdered.

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"You can tell a lot from a person's bones. What they eat, where they lived, who they were, what did they do for work, how they made love, the children they bore..." Bunny said, picking at her salad.

Something was wrong with Edward Nashton's bones. She just didn't know what yet. She couldn't peel back the layers and find out, either.

"All the things I want to have. But no one will ever read mine," she added. "Or jump them."

Yeah, she can tease.

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"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Cypher offered a grin over a forkful of tomato. "You might have an interesting death. Or an interesting life." Sex was definitely not off the table, even if he wasn't as engaged as he should be in order to be a courteous date.

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"My life is already very interesting," she said, blinking her eyes once. "I'm a melanin challenged waitress with a kink for truth and justice."

She crunched a crouton, tilting her head. "I suppose I should ask what yours are."

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