Skyborn The Divine

25: Angel

Clawson paused at the door.

"Make sure you record this," he breathed just loud enough to be heard by the microphone in his lapel.

"I will," was Athena's reply in his ear. "Do you want a team standing by?"

"No. Not for this. Just make sure you get it all. I have a feeling we're going to get lucky today."

"What makes you think she'll want to talk to you?" asked Athena.

Clawson didn't know how to answer that. He hoped he hadn't come here for nothing.

He raised a gloved hand and knocked on the door. Not hard, just enough so he thought he'd be heard.

He started when the door opened almost immediately. The wooden grain of the door had been replaced by a woman. She was beautiful, he realized, in many of the same ways that Alice was beautiful. Maryanne Fillmore had long, thick, brown hair. Her eyes were dark and sharp, and Clawson felt himself caught in her unsurprised gaze. Clawson found that he was at a loss for words, though he wasn't sure why.

"I was wondering when you'd be here," she told him, though something about her eyes and the tilt at the corners of her lips told him she hadn't been wondering at all. Had she been expecting him?

"Ms. Fillmore..."

"Gregory, isn't it? It's nice to see you again. And you can call me Maryanne." She held out a smooth hand and Clawson took it, the leather of his gloves creaking as they shook.

"Would you like to come in?" she invited.

Clawson stepped into the home and noted the smell of food coming from the kitchen. A grandfather clock in the living room ahead softly chimed the half-hour, and his polished shoes on the carpet made nearly no sound at all as he followed Alice's mother into her apartment.

"I'm afraid you just missed her," said Maryanne without looking at him. "She left here about fifteen minutes ago. I'm not sure when she'll be back."

Clawson found himself standing beside an overstuffed couch the color of caramel with cream and chocolate-colored pillows. The sight of it made him suddenly realize how tired he was of standing, and he was hit with an almost overwhelming urge to sit. He remained standing.

"I know. Ever since she left our care, I figured she wanted some personal space. Still, we like to keep tabs on her. I have a lot of things I'd like to talk to her about, but I can wait until she comes to me."

"I think that's wise," Maryanne replied almost absently. She was in the kitchen slipping on a pair of oven mitts. "I'll let her know you stopped by."

Clawson stepped towards the kitchen. Something about the smell of baking and the hum of a dishwasher caused the slightest lump in his throat, and he found himself distracted by memories of his mother's kitchen long ago.

"Actually, I came here to see you," he croaked. His voice felt heavy in his mouth. He felt like he was tired beyond belief, and somewhere inside him he knew he'd feel better if he could just sit here in this house for a while, maybe if he ate something, he'd feel better.

He tried shaking off the feeling. When he got back to ORIGIN, he'd take a power nap and get some food. Only, he knew it wouldn't be the same.

"Oh? And what can someone like me do for you?" Marryanne removed a foil-covered pan from the oven. The smell of potatoes and beef and melting cheese flooded the room. Clawson's stomach gave an uncomfortable rumble.

"You must be quite the cook," he said.

"This?" she said, nodding to the pan. "Oh, heck no, I didn't make it. Alice has a friend with a talent for cooking. Sometimes I pay her to make me a little something. I'm afraid I don't do much besides tea. Is that why you're here? The food?"