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It’s been about a year since SL-9, and Angel Starr doesn’t feel like she’s any closer to finding the truth than she had been the day she was fired.
She’s certain that something fishy is going on at the Prosecutor’s Office. It’s no coincidence that Skye had grown so distant; she’d been so kind and personable before, but her demeanor had seemingly turned on a dime in just a few days.
Angel supposes she’s changed too. It’s hard for her to hide her bitterness, and while she thinks they’re helpful, her boyfriends haven’t solved SL-9 yet.
Frequently, she wonders if she needs to get closer to the source.
This isn’t new. Angel has… admired Lana for many years, in more than one sense. While her feelings have shifted, they’re still there. She tells herself that getting closer to Lana is just for information, but under the surface, something continues to simmer.
She passes Skye in the parking lot that evening, presents her with a Salmon Swirl. Skye declines with a curt shake of her head and a polite but stiff “No, thank you.”
Angel puts the lid back on, stuffs the box in her basket. Passivity isn’t going to get her anywhere. She grabs Skye’s wrist before she can walk away. Skye turns towards her, eyebrows furrowed, aquamarine eyes bewildered. It’s the most emotion Angel has seen her express since she became Chief Prosecutor.
“Are my lunches not good enough for you?”
“Ms. Starr. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Angel grips her wrist tighter, pulls her closer. “Acting like an ice queen won’t work with me.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Angel’s the Cough-Up Queen. She’s used to interrogating suspects who won’t talk. One method that’s tried-and-true is to catch them off guard. Change the subject. Fluster them. That usually gets them talking, and despite Skye’s frigid exterior, Angel is sure some vestiges of honest detective Lana remain underneath.
She flips her bangs, softens her gaze, smiles sweetly. “If you’re not hungry, would you want to get coffee instead? I know a place not far from here.”
As expected, Lana blanches, though almost imperceptibly. “I- What? Well, that is to say-”
Satisfyingly, a blush begins to creep across her pale face. Angel resists the urge to smirk.
“Come on, Skye. Surely you have time to grab a cuppa.”
The duration of Lana’s silence begins to worry Angel. She’s about to open her mouth to speak when Lana mumbles, “…Fine.”
“What was that?”
“I said, fine. I didn’t sleep well last night. Some caffeine might help me work more productively.”
While her words are clipped and her tone is irritated, this is most they’ve talked to each other since that fateful incident over a year ago.
Lana starts fishing around in her bag. “Should I drive, or…?”
Angel laughs. “You aren’t above walking, are you, Skye? It’ll take five minutes.”
“Ah. Of course.” It’s kind of cute how easy she is to fluster, even now. Angel wonders if anyone else still sees this side of Lana, or if they’d even be able to pick up on those sorts of subtleties. She feels special, somehow.
“I can’t believe you didn’t know about this place,” Angel says as she holds open the parking garage’s pedestrian door.
“I’m usually occupied.”
Angel shrugs, pulls out her pack of cigarettes. She offers one to Lana. Lana shakes her head, but eyes it with more interest than Angel had expected.
She lights her cigarette and smokes as they walk, making an effort not to exhale in Lana’s face. Lana looks mildly uncomfortable, but she doesn’t say anything.
They arrive at the café, which is still open despite the late hour. That’s one reason Angel likes it; she can take her boyfriends here after their shifts, or just sip some coffee alone after a long day of selling lunches.
Lana orders a simple latte, iced. Angel decides on one of their silly spring-themed specials. They sit at a table for two by the window and shoot the shit. Angel is surprised by how easy it is. She remembers why she liked Lana so much in the first place. Lana doesn’t resist when Angel gets more touchy, more playful, when she winds a strand of hair around her finger and leans forward with interest.
Angel gets too comfortable; she forgets herself, and she fucks up. She mentions her unofficial investigation, her collaboration with Jake, asks if Lana wants to know what they’ve found out. The words “SL-9 incident” never cross her lips, but she immediately knows she’s said too much.
Lana’s gaze abruptly cools. She clenches her jaw and her mouth sets into a hard line. “You aren’t a detective anymore, Ms. Starr. The case you’ve been referring to has been solved. End of discussion.” She grabs her disposable cup, stands up, and walks away before Angel has the chance to say anything at all.
Minutes later, she’s smoking a cigarette with vitriol as she makes her way back to the Lunchland van. She should have known it was too good to be true. During their exchange, Lana had mentioned her work only superficially, and veered away from the topic whenever possible. It was all just small talk; the second Angel had tried to bring up something real , Lana couldn’t handle it.
At least she’d gotten a modicum of information. While she had long suspected that Lana was more involved in SL-9 than she let on, her strong reaction to a mere reference to the incident all but confirmed it. Unfortunately, she isn’t sure she’s going to be able to get anything else out of her; at least, not until Skye has had a chance to lick her wounds and regain her composure.
On a more personal level, their conversation had left Angel longing for what once was, and almost more painfully, what could have been. She isn’t usually one for sentimentality, but she knows she’s going to hold that glimpse through Lana’s armor closer to her heart than she would ever admit.