Vengeance

15

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.