Angel admires the way the sun pours into the crystal dispersing rays of copper around him. He draws the glass out of the concentrated sunlight and presses it to his lips. The liquid flows into his mouth. It's a perfect blend of sweetness and bitterness. Angel closes his eyes, savoring the taste for a moment before swallowing and thus inviting a burn to climb his throat. Angel leans forward and sets the drained glass of bourbon on the coffee table.
After his meeting with Alan, he knew focusing on work would be futile and left early. Returning home, probably wasn't ideal. At least, at Fairwood Industries he would've had the distraction of work.
His thoughts drift to Seraphim. Helping her, has come with a price, not just for her, but him. Angel has always abided by his mother's moral code, by Alan's. He's never crossed the line. His one close brush with it was enough of an awakening. Angel surrender the mantel before he could fall to far.
Seraphim has crossed the line, multiple times now. Angel can understand her reasoning. He felt the same rage towards the former Guardians. Angel has managed a degree of separation, guiding Seraphim while never venturing close enough for the blood to stain him. It does all the same though. He is responsible, as much as Seraphim.
Yet, Angel can't abandon her. He's enabling her revenge, but if he can just find answers maybe Seraphim will finally accept help. If not...Angel shakes his head. No, he won't allow himself to go there, because he doesn't know what he'll do if she doesn't accept help.
Sometimes he wishes they could just be teenagers again. Everything was much simpler than. As Angel reaches for the crystal glass an idea occurs to him.
***
"Angel? What's wrong?" Seraphim's concern drifts through the phone. She sets the ham and cheese sandwich on the paper towel and steals a sip of water.
"Nothing. Are you free tonight?"
"Yes." She drags out the word. "Why?" She can't keep the suspicion out of her voice.
"I want to take you out," he replies.
"On a date?" Seraphim asks, growing more confused by the second.
There's a moment of hesitation. "Yes."
Angel's answer dangles in the air, plunging the two into an uneasy silence. Seraphim gnaws at the loose skin of her lip. The wise thing would be to say no. Angel doesn't deserve to be dragged further into her mess, but a night out could be nice.
"I'd like that."
"I'll pick you up at six."
***
Seraphim lays the blouse on the mattress beside the pair of dark jeans. She thumbs the lace trim of the dark green blouse. It's the only thing she brought with her that is appropriate wear for a date.
She gnaws at her lip, her foot tapping impatiently against the worn carpet. This isn't like the gala. This night will be just the two of them, free from a judgmental audience. That should comfort her, but if anything her anxiety is worse than before. Perhaps, it's because she attended the gala with the understanding it wasn't a date. This is a date.
Seraphim has all but forgotten what it's like to spend a night out without the promise of vengeance. She doesn't know if she can lower her guard long enough to enjoy a date. It shouldn't be like this. She's settled her scores, made her would-be murderers pay, but someone pulled their strings. They are still out there and if they've been paying attention they will know she is alive. Will they come after her?
Seraphim briefly considers calling Angel to cancel. He won't accept the cancellation, besides why should she live in fear? If anything the puppeteer should fear her.
Her face set, she grabs the clothes and disappear into the bathroom.
***
It's 5:43 when Angel knocks on Seraphim's door. She'd already heard his arrival or rather the rumbling of her 'Cuda. Seraphim smoothes out the imaginary wrinkles from the blouse and opens the door.
Angel smiles at her. The short strands of his molasses colored hair are casually brushed off to the side. He's dressed in a soft blue button up with the sleeves bunched up around his elbows and the first couple buttons undone. Instead of a pair of pressed slacks, he's opted for a pair of deep blue jeans.
The look reminds Seraphim of when they were teenagers, before Angel had to calculate every word and smile, before he had to worry about what a board or suits think about him. They've never talked about it, but Seraphim knows he misses the freedom of not having to constantly cultivate an image.
Angel's lips curl to form a gentle smile, giving a peek at the pearly whites beneath. He takes one of her hands and leans forward to kiss her cheek. "You look beautiful," he compliments before pulling away.
Keeping ahold of her hand, he turns it over and then presses something into it with his other hand. Seraphim doesn't need to look down to recognize what it is. The shape and teeth of the key are familiar as is the shifter knob keychain.
"You drive tonight," is all he says.
"I don't know where we're going." She drops the key into her other hand.
Angel is not phased by her argument. "I'll tell you where to turn, but its your car and you deserve to drive it."
Seraphim glances down at the metal. The hallway light may be insufficient to the eyes, but it produces enough illumination for the key to glint. It lies in the cradle of flesh, daring her and she is to weak of spirit to refuse. She folds her hand around the key and looks up at Angel. "Okay."
***
No matter how many times she drives the classic muscle car, nothing rivals the first time, on the back roads, beyond the city limits where traffic was almost a mythical creature and the speed limit barely an enforced suggestion. Driving through the city, just can't rival that first drive. Seraphim would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the stares the car draws though, but the congestion of vehicles and low speed limits doesn't give the motor a change to flex its wings.
Still, Seraphim relishes being behind the wheel. Angel's never been able to understand her connection with the car. It's not something that can easily be quantified into words. There's something about the way it moves, the way it rumbles underneath her that she understands. The car speaks to her.
"Where are you dragging me to?" Seraphim inquires, downshifting to accommodate the slowing SUV in front of her.
"Dragging?" Angel looks over at her with a raised brow. "It's hardly dragging. You're coming willfully."
"That doesn't answer my question," Seraphim retorts. She soars under a green light and passes the SUV that had been holding her up.
"I'll give you a hint. It's someplace you've been before."
Seraphim shoots him a quick glare. "That doesn't narrow it down."
"Allow me to rephrase - it's a surprise."
Seraphim hits the brake a little harder than necessary as the yellow light gives to red.
***
It doesn't take Seraphim long to figure out where they're headed. The sprawling grounds of Pandora Park are scarred into her mind. At Angel's instruction she pulls in front of their destination and shifts the car into park. She looks out the window at the illuminated neon sign that arches over the restaurant's top.
"Jeannie's Diner. I can't believe it's still here," Seraphim says with a light-hearted chuckle.
"Jeannie will never die," Angel jokes.
Seraphim rolls her eyes. Of course, Angel would bring her here of all places. After the death of her parents Seraphim refused to venture anywhere near this part of the city. While Alan tried to push her to overcome it, Angel never did. It wasn't until a few years later when they were fifteen that Angel decided it was time for her to conquer her fear..
He discovered Jeannie's Diner and started by coaxing her to come once a week. As time passed, some of her reluctance dissipated and they would spend two or three afternoons a week there. It took several months before Seraphim was comfortable enough to cross the street.
By the time, Seraphim conquered her fear Jeannie's Diner had become part of their routine. They continued to go twice a week. They would have dinner and then cross the street to the park where they would walk or, if the weather was nice, seat themselves under a tree and do their homework.
The routine continued through high school into adulthood, though they were forced to settle for once a week as Angel's duties as CEO and Seraphim's hefty college workload consumed much of their time.
Seraphim steps out of the car, pushing down the lock. She shuts the door and pockets the keys. She takes a couple steps and waits for Angel to make his way around the car. He laces his hand in hers, savoring the warmth that radiates from the limb.
Seraphim's eyes flicker over the "open" sign hanging in the window, illuminated by neon pink light. Angel pulls open the door. A rush of artificial cool hits her, bring goosebumps to the surface. She slips inside.
The open floor of the restaurant is lined with red and white vinyl booths. The floor itself, composed of black and white tiles, glistens in the overwhelming light. The creamy white of the walls is broken by a strip of red and white checkered squares. The bland color is further drowned out by a myriad of records, 50s movies and band posters, and other memorabilia.
Pressed up against the wall beside the door is Jeannie's pride and joy - a red and yellow jukebox.
On the other end of the restaurant, in front of the kitchen, is a counter. The countertop is white with black specks scattered throughout, while the sides are covered in red and white tiles. The silver edges of the five circular stools bolted to the floor, gleam in the light.
Jeannie emerges from the kitchen, wearing the same outfit as her waitresses. The "uniform" consists of a short sleeve shirt with slightly puffy sleeves and a distinctive white collar, and baby pink poodle skirt. A white apron is tied around her waist and a matching diamond hat is tucked in her snowy white hair.
She surveys the floor. Her gaze locates Seraphim and Angel and her eyes widen. She scurries across the floor, nearly colliding with a waitress shouldering a family of four's meal. She pulls Seraphim into a hug. Seraphim tenses for a moment before wrapping her arms around the sixty-two year old diner owner.
"Where have you been?" Jeannie demands, planting her hands firmly on her hips.
"I've been out of town," Seraphim answers.
Jeannie huffs. "Well, it's good to see you again child." She turns around and snags two menus from the stack next to the register. She gestures to an empty booth with a view of Pandora Park and Seraphim's parked 'Cuda. "Eat. Enjoy." She all but shoves them into the booth.
Angel and Seraphim sit across from one another their backs pressed against the chevron strip.
"I never realized how much I missed this place," Seraphim says. Her eyes graze over the diner as if trying to commit it to memory.
"It's nice to know I chose wisely," Angel teases. Seraphim can't help but smile.
She almost doesn't notice the waitress approach. "My name is Jane and I'll be your waiter. Can I get you something to drink?" If Seraphim had a guess, she'd say Jane's in college based on her age. Seraphim eyes the tribal wolf tattoo on her forearm. The 50's style clothing seems to exist in direct contradiction to her natural style.
"I'll have a Coke," Angel tells her.
"Sprite."
Jane jots down their replies on the notepad before tucking it into the apron tied around her waist. She flashes a smile before heading towards the counter to grab their drinks.
"This is strange," Seraphim comments.
"What is?" Seraphim's lips part. She hadn't realized she was speaking aloud.
"Being here, eating, being...normal. It's bizarre." Seraphim looks up, taking in Angel's panicked expression. She flashes a reassuring smile. "It's a good feeling."
Angel visibly relaxes. "That's a relief."
Jane returns with two glasses. She sets one In front of Angel and the other in front of Seraphim. She drops two straws on the table between them and pulls out her notepad and a pen. "Are you ready to order?"
Seraphim glances down at the menu. Caught up in the throes of conversation, she's neglected to even crack it open.
Angel meets her gaze. "Do you mind?" he asks. Seraphim shakes her head. "Two of the usual," Angel tells her.
Jane jots down the order and heads back to the kitchen. Seraphim regards Angel with curiosity. "The usual?"
Angel scratches the back of his neck. "Since the...I've been coming here once a week." He plunges the straw into the soda and stirs, disturbing the idling ice cubes. Angel continued their weekly dinners because it remind him of her, of better times.
Seraphim is unsure how to respond, so instead she places the straw against her lips and sips.
***
Jane returns with their bill as Seraphim is munching on the last of the French fries. The "usual" as if turns out was their favorite meal as teenagers - a burger and fires. Without blinking Angel lays a fifty dollar bill over the receipt. Seraphim raises a brow. "Shouldn't you see how much it is?"
Angel shrugs. "Does it matter?"
"Suppose not."
The meal has been the most pleasant she's had in ages, since before the Attack. They talked about trivial matters - Angel's stifling board meetings and their own hilarious misadventures. Seraphim was able to relax, to truly enjoy herself for the first time in a long time.
"How about a walk through the park before we call it a night?" Angel suggests.
Seraphim looks out the window at the waning sun and the massive trees that populate the park's border. "That sounds nice."
The two get up and leave. On their way out, they wave at Jeannie who is busy yelling at one of the cooks. The humid air engulfs them, clinging to their skin and chasing away the pleasant coolness.
The two wait for the pedestrian light to turn green to cross the street. They stroll through the open metal gates into one of nature's untouched beauties, thriving in the heart of human progress. The stone path that winds through much of the park is illuminated only by light from the street-lamps that manages to break through the wall of trees. Combined with the half moon though, it's enough for them to make their way.
The park is all but deserted at this hour. Angel glances around to be sure there are no prying ears. "Does it bother you? What you've done?" It's a stupid question, one he knows will ruin the relaxed tenor of their evening.
As if on cue, Seraphim tenses. She attempts to retract her hand from Angel's, but he refuses to relent. "Sometimes when you've gone so far there's no turning back." Seraphim's tone is blank, devoid of all emotion.
"That's my point. You can end this now. All of it. I can get you help," Angel pleas. He stops and steers himself into Seraphim's path. He releases her hand and gently cups her chin.
Seraphim yanks it free. "You don't understand. I have to finish this." She can't bear to meet Angel's eyes, to see the disappointment in them.
"Don't you understand? This isn't going to end well. You're going to get yourself killed," Angel exclaims. There's rage in his tone.
Seraphim's own anger swells to the surface. "Did you ever think that maybe that's what I want?" she screams.
The comment is spiteful, rude, and only half-true. When she first arrived in Metro City that had been her intention, but Angel wiggled his way under her skin as he always does.
Angel recoils as if Seraphim's physically struck him. He hoped she would value her life enough to fight for it. If anything, he feels even worse now, but if he doesn't finish saying his peace, he never will. "If you keep along this path, innocent people are going to get hurt. Do you honestly believe you can keep all of this contained? You're putting more than yourself in danger."
A bitter chuckle spills from her lips. "If there's one thing I've learned there are no innocent people."
There's a beat of silence. "Does that include me?" Angel asks, fury burning in his eyes.
"Yes."
With that single heart-breaking word, she storms off in the opposite direction. Angel's feet remain rooted to the ground. Even after the shock breaks, he doesn't follow.