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"Is this a trap?" Vince asks, and Peter smiles at him from the other side of the table as he spears a piece of cucumber on his fork.
"I believe this is what normal people would refer to as 'dinner'."
Vince scowls; Peter's smile widens.
"Granted, neither of us really fits that description anymore. Still. Have dinner with me, Mr Faraday. Consider it a thank-you for having saved my life - oh, say, two dozen times now? My, but that is an impressively high number, isn't it?"
"I'm going to kill you," Vince says. He feels very calm, very much in control of himself, of this situation.
"Don't be silly," says Peter. "What, you think I'm an idiot? You think I don't know?"
"Then what's with all this?" Vince's gesture includes the food, the table, the room. The single red rose that came attached to Peter's invitation to meet here, to 'discuss certain things of mutual interest'.
"No reason we can't enjoy each other's company until that fateful day when one of us ends up killing the other, is there? Come, sit down. I don't mean to brag, but really, I think my chef is quite excellent."
Vince sits down. He doesn't fall down a trapdoor, or get shot. "How do I know it's not poisoned?"
"Now, really." Peter looks mildly offended. "Where would be the fun in that?"
Dana becomes Mrs Travis Hill on a lovely spring day in May.
Vince intends to attend, to quietly show his support ("your support? to whom?" Max asks, and Vince shakes his head, not answering, and Rollo gives him a worried look that's somehow worse than Max's scorn) but something happens, as things have a habit of doing, and so he only reads about it after, in the newspaper.
The Cape tells Trip he won't be coming around anymore, that Trip's got a new father now.
"Let me go," Peter says. The wind is tearing at his clothes, and Vince can picture how he would look, falling down. Peter wouldn't scream, Vince doesn't think; Peter's all about control, these days.
Control of the police force, of the ports, of the business district. Of the media, that seem to be quite taken with the story of Palm City's very own caped crusader, these days.
There's a lawsuit, still in the early stages, suing 'The Cape' for copyright infringement. Peter's put a small army of his lawyers on squashing it, calling the lawsuit 'a perversion of justice'.
"No," he says, hauling Peter up. Back to safety.
"What would the Cape be, without Chess?" Peter asks, lifting his glass.
The wine is a dry red - expensive, Vince assumes. He's never been much of a wine guy himself.
"Happy?" he suggests.
"A Batman without the Joker. Superman, without Lex Luthor. People need heroes, Mr Faraday, but heroes don't need people. They need villains. Proper, evil villains."
"Is this where you offer me a deal?" Vince asks. He feels comfortably unimpressed, even if yeah, okay, the food was pretty good. Better than what he cooks up himself, anyway.
"Not at all. This," Peter says, "is where you tell me I'm wrong. This is the real world, Mr Faraday. You and I - we are real people. We're not comic book characters. Without Chess, the Cape is simply a cop. Somewhat eccentrically dressed, I'll grant you, and with some unique abilities, but still, at heart, a lawkeeper. One of the good guys."
Vince says nothing. Chess isn't going anywhere; Chess is sitting right in front of him, sipping wine.
"I propose this city owes you a debt, Mr Faraday. A decent salary."
Vince manages not to choke on his food. It's a close call, though. "I'm not for sale."
"Everyone's for sale," Peter says. "Everyone and everything. It's how people like me get to the top of the food chain. Everyone's got their weakness, Mr Faraday. The only trick is to find it and put it to good use."
Vince shakes his head. Peter knows his name; he knows where Vince's family lives. He knows Orwell; he knows about Max, and Rollo, and Ruvi, and Raia.
"I'm offering you two years of backpay and an immediate reinstatement," Peter says. "Nothing immodest - if you want the big bucks, you'll have to do a lot more than just your job."
It's not the offer Vince expected. "You're out of your mind."
"Not at all," Peter says and there's something a little bit strange about his smile. "Trust me, you'd know if that was the case. And possibly not survive the experience."
"You can still run, you know."
Peter tosses his shirt on the floor and Vince reaches out to touch naked skin, his fingers tracing familiar scars. An old bullet wound; the place where Garzati's knife went in.
"I can run, but I can't hide?" Vince has left the Cape at home. He thinks it was a smart decision now, even if he didn't exactly plan on this.
Whatever this is. Sex, lust, a momentary lapse in judgment and common sense.
"You can hide." Peter grins. "In fact, isn't that what the Cape is for? To hide? Even from yourself."
"No," Vince says, but Peter kisses him when he opens his mouth to explain further, slipping his tongue inside, tasting of expensive wine and melted chocolate.
Vince doesn't think he should kiss back. Does so anyway.
"Last chance," Peter murmurs. "Leave now, or forever hold your peace and come screaming my name."
"Shut up," Vince snaps, grabbing Peter's arm and kissing him into silence, because turnabout is fair play.
Vince makes some more room in his closet, installs two more mannequins.
One to carry the Cape; one for his old uniform, from before everything changed.
And one for his new uniform, the one he never intends to wear, but knows he will, anyway, some day, when the time is right, or when it's convenient, or when he needs to get in some place where wearing an ARK uniform will get him inside more easily than wearing the Cape.
He knows Peter will be waiting for him.