Vintage Memories

Chapter Thirty-Four "Coming Clean"

(A/N: I think I might have about ten chapters to go until this story's done. I have the pivotal moments swimming around my brain and individual scenes I need to put in their places, but no definitive layout yet. Plenty of you know that I'm revising the first half. That's what's really taking me so long. That's my fault for getting too excited and posting it before the plot was ready. Egg on my face... but anywho. Speaking of eggs—)

"I think we ought to discuss what happened last night." Other than a mannerly good morning, that was the first thing out of Alastor's mouth when Angel sat down across the breakfast table.

Like Hell we do! Angel kept his gaze on his breakfast—a simple trio of eggs, toast, and hash browns.

It was the one topic he dreaded most. He lay awake in Alastor's bed for an hour before coming down, wringing the sheets, drowning in the smells that triggered the same turmoil of emotions from last night. The most prominent: mortification. He considered grabbing his boots and slinking out in the early morning hours just to avoid it. But his stiff, healing body made it difficult to get out of bed, let alone sneak out of the house undetected. On top of that, he was suffering through the worst brain fog he'd ever experienced. It was hopeless. Besides, Alastor likely had the whole place on Extermination lock-down anyway.

"Nah, Smiles, I'd rather not." He was already tired from his restless sleep. That damn white, flying orb plagued his dreams the whole night through. He reserved his quickly draining energy pool for facing Charlie. There was none left to spare.

"I think it's important." Alastor sipped from a cup of black coffee. "Lest we have another mishap like that again."

"Really, it's fine. Ya don't gotta worry about it." Angel stabbed his fork into a piece of egg and shoved it into his mouth. It was tedious to do with his bandaged hands, but he managed. "I won't pull that shit again, okay?"

"Oh? That's a shame."

Did he hear that right? Angel gaped at the overlord across the table, casually sipping his coffee as if he didn't just flip the room on its head.

"Huh?"

"Last night... It caught me off guard. I assumed at most, you wouldn't loathe me after all was said and done." Alastor set his cup down. "I was reasoning with myself all the ways I might've misinterpreted your intentions. Fatigue, ailment, confusion. I think you interpreted my utter shock for blatant rejection. That's my fault. So I'm going to lay my intentions bare."

He couldn't even untangle his own intentions. Compulsion, maybe—that dumb slut brain Val was always upbraiding him about—but he hesitated to stamp it such and ship it off. Despite the Xyco's vestigial numbing, he could still feel an ache in his chest.

"I lost you once." Alastor's gaze was as unmoving as the resolve in his voice. "I'm not going to make that mistake a second time."

"Ya didn't lose me. I lost you," Angel corrected, sounding more unfeeling than he intended. But the pain of that day was still too much to reflect on after all these years. I lost ya so bad, I lost myself too.

"Yes– Well... When I found you—no, even when it was just a suspicion—I was imbued with a thrill I hadn't felt since my living years." Alastor said, tracing his finger along the ear-shaped curve of his cup's handle. "It's been so long, I thought my reconstructed anatomy was incapable of such... reactions. It was new and terrifyingly brilliant all over again. Like when we were young–" Suddenly his hand came up, like he had to physically stop himself. "But I don't expect you to accept my advance from words alone. And I wouldn't fault you if you choose to reject it altogether."